The IV.
Locke sighed. “I’m not taking it out until it’s empty. Ten more minutes. Please?”
Whatever he saw in Folk’s face convinced him to unfold his tall frame from the floor and step out of the room.
It left me and Folk alone, a scenario I’d been craving for days, but god, not like this.
I took Locke’s place in front of Folk and put my hands on his knees. Found his bleary gaze. “You don’t like needles?”
Folk made a faint sound that once upon a time, might’ve been his quiet laugh. “I’m not needle phobic.”
“Locke said you needed the IV to disperse bubbles in your blood. From the dive.”
Folk shifted, wincing hard. “He’s not wrong.”
“But you don’t like it?”
For a long second, I thought he wouldn’t answer. He clamped a hand on my shoulder and used me to haul himself to his feet. Then he held his hand out, like he was anywhere near stable enough to return the favour.
He wasn’t, but I took it anyway and brought myself eye-level with him, waiting.
Folk coughed, rubbing his chest. “I already feel like I just had eight rounds of chemo, and having a needle jammed in my arm reminds me of that even more. I cansmellit when I close my eyes—at least, I could until you walked in the room, and that made me think of something else.”
“What?”
“I was never scared of dying until I loved you.”
I loved him too. I took a breath to tell him, but movement over Folk’s shoulder distracted me.
Cam. He was still on the phone, his gaze hard as it fixed on Folk. “We need church. Can you get to the table?”
Folk pointed at the IV still hanging from Nash’s guitar stand. “Ten minutes.”
Cam grunted and moved on.
I wanted to punch him. I held Folk tighter. “They can bring church up here.”
“It’s fine.”
“It’s not fucking fine—”
Folk laid his shaky hand over my lips. “When it’s over, will you do something for me?”
I pushed his hand away, still halfway to fighting him, but primally unable to resist the plea in his tired gaze. “Anything.”
“Take me home?”
I pressed my lips to his temple. “I love you, Folk. Whatever you need.”
* * *
I told Folk I loved him.
And he didn’t kill Viktor.
As I fought to keep track of the disjointed story Folk and Alexei were telling, and to stay in place at the chapel door, they were the only two things I was sure of, besides the fact that Folk was fast losing the will to live. It defied logic that he’d walked over here under his own steam, but he had, carrying himself as if any sudden motion would shatter his bones, and yet still moving with the grace of a predatory lion.
“Buthowdo you know you didn’t whack Viktor by mistake?” Cam loomed over the table, bringing me back to the present, tattooed fists braced on the ancient wood. “You bombed this fucking boat from underwater. How do you know for sure who was on it?”
