He nodded weakly, one arm wrapped protectively around his midsection. "Just bruised, I think."
"We'll see," I said, not convinced. His breathing was too shallow, his face too pale. I'd seen enough hockey injuries to recognize when someone was downplaying their pain.
Ricky hesitated. "Look, man, I appreciate what you're doing, but he won’t go—"
"He's not going to the hospital or your place," I cut him off. "He's coming to mine." Both Ricky and Phoenix stared at me with identical expressions of shock.
"What?" Phoenix managed through swollen lips.
"You need somewhere to recover," I said, keeping my voice matter of fact. "Somewhere with an actual bed."
"But why would you—" Phoenix started, then winced as the effort of speaking pulled at his split lip.
"We can sort that out later," I said firmly. "For now, let's just get you somewhere safe." I gave Ricky the address, and while I was at it, texted the one person in the entire world I trusted with this. Nancy O’Dare was a registered nurse with nearly twenty years’ experience in the ER. Officially she was the Assistant Medical Officer, but rather than treating us all with kid gloves like a lot of the team’s medical staff, she was more likely to clip us around the ear for not following orders. We all adored her, and she would come to my place no questions asked.
I’d never tested the theory, but I was pretty sure she’d bring a shovel if I asked.
Twenty minutes later, we pulled into the underground garage of my building. Phoenix had kept his eyes closed during the drive, occasionally swearing or wincing when Ricky hit a pothole. Each sound of pain twisted something deeper in my chest.
"Fancy," Ricky whistled low as he parked in the space reserved for my Bentley. "Jesus, Cole, this parking alone must cost more than I make in a year." I didn't bother correctinghim that my father paid for everything, that I had about as much real financial freedom as Phoenix did. Shame burned through me when I replayed my thought. How I could possibly compare the two, I had no idea. I might’ve been trapped but that was in luxury.
"Can you walk?" I asked Phoenix gently as I opened his door.
He struggled to sit up, his face going gray with the effort. "Where are we?" I didn’t answer, not wanting a fight about it, but when he tried to stand, his knees buckled immediately. I caught him before he could hit the concrete, pulling him back against my chest. His body was trembling violently now, whether from pain, shock, or the temperature change from the warm car to the cool garage, I didn’t know.
"Right, we're doing this the easy way," I said, lifting him again. He didn't protest this time, just let his head fall against my shoulder. The elevator ride to the fifteenth floor felt endless. "Almost there," I murmured, though I wasn't sure if I was reassuring him or myself. My apartment was exactly what you'd expect from someone whose father controlled their life—expensive, sterile, and utterly impersonal. Floor-to-ceiling windows, designer furniture that looked good but felt like sitting on concrete, and not a single photograph or personal item in sight.
"Fuck me," Ricky breathed, staring around at the minimalist décor. "This looks like a hotel." He wasn't wrong. I'd been living here for seventeen months, and it still felt like I was staying in someone else's space.
I carried Phoenix straight to my bedroom, laying him carefully on top of the duvet. He was shivering uncontrollably now, his lips taking on a bluish tinge that made my stomach clench with worry. "Get some blankets from the hall closet," I told Ricky, then knelt beside the bed. "Phoenix?" His good eye opened halfway.
"Cold," he whispered.
I pulled off my sweater and draped it over him, then grabbed an extra blanket from the foot of the bed. His skin felt like ice when I accidentally brushed his hand.
My phone buzzed with a text from Nancy:On my way. What happened?
Friend beaten up. Possible broken ribs, concussion. Hypothermia maybe.
ETA 10 minutes. Keep him warm and conscious.
I loved how she didn’t bother asking why I wasn’t in an ER. Nancy arrived ten very long minutes later, her medical bag in one hand and a thermos of what smelled like soup in the other. She took one look at Phoenix and immediately went into professional mode. "How long has he been shivering like this?" she asked, pulling on latex gloves.
"Since we found him about an hour ago," I said, hovering uselessly by the foot of the bed. "He was in an abandoned warehouse, probably been there all night."
She nodded, already examining his face with gentle but thorough fingers. "Can you hear me? I'm Nancy, I'm a nurse."
His good eye focused on her with more clarity than I'd seen since we'd found him. "Yeah," he managed.
"Good. Can you tell me your full name?"
"Phoenix..."
Nancy glanced at me briefly when a last name wasn’t forthcoming. "Okay, Phoenix. I'm going to check you over, make sure nothing's seriously damaged. This might hurt a bit." For the next twenty minutes, I watched her work with professional efficiency. She checked his pupils with a small flashlight, felt along his ribs, examined the cuts on his face. Phoenix answered her questions in short, slurred responses, but he was coherent enough to follow her finger with his eyes and squeeze her hands when asked.
The relief when she finally pulled off her gloves was overwhelming, and I followed her out of the bedroom. "Well?" I asked.
"He's banged up pretty good, but nothing that won't heal," she said, packing her equipment back into her bag. "Badly bruised ribs, but without an X-ray, I can’t be a hundred percent sure they’re not cracked. Mild concussion, and he's severely dehydrated. The hypothermia was mostly from exposure and shock, but his core temperature's coming back up. If he wasn't shivering when I first saw him, he'd be in an ER right now." Phoenix had stopped shivering, though he was still pale and looked exhausted.
