“Skylar called and ripped my head off this morning. Someone want to tell me why all of you ain’t attending your follow-ups at the hospital? Actually, don’t fucking tell me. I don’t care.” He tossed three brown envelopes across the table. “I asked Alexei to hack into your records. Every one of you has an appointment tomorrow morning. I’m rounding you up like children and taking you myself.”
Wonderful.
I claimed my envelope and dropped it in front of me.
Nash did the same. Only Rubi ignored his, face scrunched in a scowl. “Why do I need to go? They already told me they can’t do fuck all for me.”
Cam fired him a glare. “So you want to live in pain forever?”
“Not what I said, bro. Itoldyou already it’s gonna hurt whether I drag myself to that shithole or not, so what’s the fucking point?”
He could’ve plucked the words from my head verbatim. Rubi had concussion syndrome. I had a small bowel that was still regularly unhappy that it had been perforated by a serrated garden knife. The only fix in the world for us was time, not the anger and frustration Cam and Rubi filled the room with while they glowered at each other.
Nash frowned between them. Then sighed and looked to Saint. “How come you didn’t get an envelope?”
Saint glanced up from retying the ribbon in Ivy’s hair. “I go to my appointments.” His gaze flickered to me. “It’s not like they can take my spleen twice.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Rubi grumbled. “You’re the fucking Avatar. I’m pleased for you, man.”
“That’s what you think?” Saint finished the complex bow he’d made of Ivy’s ribbon. “I fell asleep in the shower yesterday.”
A pause settled over the room. Saint never talked about the brutal injuries he’d suffered a month or so after I’d been stabbed. Smoke inhalation. A ruptured spleen. Severe concussion. A burn on his chest that was so grisly Rubi’s gentle soul couldn’t look at it. He had no business looking so annoyingly healthy, but perhaps he was telling us there was more than we could see.
“I hear you, brother,” Rubi said. “Just jealous that you’re a stronger motherfucker than me.”
Saint slow-blinked and effectively removed himself from the conversation. Done with it already. Unaware that he’d left the room reeling with the most personal he’d ever been with so many of us at once, if I didn’t count him revealing his long-lost foster brother three nights ago.
“All right.” Cam braced his fists on the old table. “Eleven o’clock tomorrow. If you don’t want my company, make your own arrangements, but this ain’t a discussion I want to have again.”
He finally sat down. It should’ve amused me that no one questioned the fact that Alexei had hacked our medical records. That it was more normal for us than Saint telling us he took a wet nap in the bathroom. But I was more irritated than I cared to acknowledge. I hated doctors. They smelt like chemicals and death.
Wasn’t a fan of taking orders that had no part of club business either. Only the tension in Cam’s jaw kept me quiet. The last year had been tough on all of us, but no one more than him. He had the weight of the world on his shoulders, and some days it showed.
That’s why I didn’t need to ask why Saint didn’t have an envelope on the table. He went to his appointments for Cam. Because he loved Cam far more than he’d ever love himself.
The conversation moved on to business. Everyone had something to say, even Saint. “How are the strays working out?”
His question was for me. The adopted Crows weren’t brothers, but we were trying to treat them the same as any other new member, which meant their wellbeing and happiness was my responsibility.
My answer was honest. “I like Locke. He’s easy. All he cares about is paying his maintenance bills to his ex and making sure his kids don’t bunk off school. Folk is harder to read. I think he’s only here because Rocco might come to us when he’s ready to break cover. Same with Ranger. Actually, I thinkhe’dbe happier as a nomad.”
The table chewed on that.
“I’m good with Locke too,” Decoy offered. “He helps out in the yard. Orla likes him.”
Nash drummed his fingers on the ancient wood, then reached for his smokes before he remembered Ivy. “Orla doesn’t like anyone.”
Rubi snorted. “Keep telling yourself that.”
“Fuck off.”
Cam rolled his eyes.
Beside me, Mateo snorted into a quiet chuckle, his amusement seeping into me, the way most of his emotions did when I let them. And I liked it when he laughed. It tempered the despair that seemed to smoulder in him the rest of the time.
Don’t look at him.
The warning came too late. I glanced sideways, and there he was, grinning a little, leaning closer to me as if we were the only two people in the world.
