‘And if you get bored, you can find all the rude words.’
Brodie gave a quick flicker of a grin, a spark in his old eyes where the worry was heavy.
Finn leaned back against the wall beside his bed.‘Look, don’t stress about all the rest.Besides, that’s not how the law works.You protected Lydia.You did what no one else could.’
‘Yeah, but—’
‘Butdon’t say anything to Marcus or anyone in the NT Police, not unless I’m with you.Look, we haven’t found Red, so as far we know Red isn’t dead.And forget saying you stole Red’s ute.Yeah?’Finn waited for the kid to nod, it was small, even if his old eyes weren’t so sure.‘And don’t worry about the licence thing.I’ll spin it a bit.Worst case, we’ll say the bull was driving.’
That got the faintest huff of a grin from Brodie, which he took as a good sign.That’s if Red was still alive.If not, then they’d have a whole gun-barrel of trouble to deal with then.
‘I’ve already told Izzy to come and back you up.’Finn then added, straight-faced, ‘Heard you’ve got a crush on her.’
Didn’t the kid go redder than a road train’s tail-light, dragging the hospital sheet up to his chin like it could hide the burn.‘Isobel Callahan is the best criminal lawyer in the Territory,’ he muttered, all stiff and defensive.
Finn bit back a grin.‘That she is.Scary when she wants to be.Might even bill you extra if you keep blushing like that.’
Brodie groaned and hid his face behind his palm.
‘Yeah,’ Finn said, smirking, ‘you’re gonna be just fine, mate.’
The door creaked.
Finn turned as a doctor, with tablet in hand and a stethoscope looped casually around his neck, entered the room, looking like he’d just walked off a magazine cover and into a bush clinic.
Dr Stewart Mannen.
The Hot Doc,according to Tanisha.Who’d nearly tripped over her own cactus slippers when she’d realised this doctor was on shift.She’d wanted to volunteer and stay all night.
Pfft.
‘How’s Lydia?’Finn knew Brodie would want to know the same.
‘She’s stable.Still critical, I’m afraid.’Dr Mannen checked the IV, then adjusted something on the monitor.
‘Can I see her?’Brodie’s voice was hoarse, barely more than a rasp.
‘Let me check on you first, before we decide.’The doctor checked Brodie’s head wound, peeling back the dressing with practised care.
The jagged line of eight black stitches ran just below Brodie’s hairline, swollen and angry looking, but clean.No infection.
The doctor checked Brodie’s shoulder full of angry purple and blue bruising.
Brodie winced, eyes flicking shut for a second.‘Hurts less than it did last night,’ he muttered.And for a kid who used to endure torture from his parents, that said more than any pain scale ever could.
Finn’s jaw tightened, with his hands curling into fists at his sides.The kind of tension that came from knowing—really knowing—what it meant when a kid downplayed pain like that.‘His pain?’
‘You’ll feel that for a while,’ the doctor said, gently pressing along Brodie’s collarbone.‘Luckily no broken bones.But your ligaments are going to scream at you for a week.Your neck muscles, too, due to a slight whiplash from the vehicle rollover.’He then flicked a pen light to check Brodie’s eyes.‘You have a moderate concussion, but you’re coherent, responsive, and no swelling, which are always good signs.’
‘Can you give Brodie something for the pain, to take the edge off it.’Because the kid might be playing tough, but he was hurting.‘Just nothing addictive…’ It’s how his mother got hooked.
Brodie nodded.
Finn also knew Brodie’s parents were addicts too, so the kid steered clear of anything to do with drugs, scared he’d end up like them.
Dr Mannen jotted down some notes as he spoke.‘We’ll keep Brodie on light painkillers—nothing that’ll fuzz him out.He needs to rest.And to drink plenty of water.’
Brodie adjusted his legs under the sheets, trying to get comfortable.Moving slower than usual, but still moving.
