Jax stares at Max. He puts his cheeseburger down.
“Max,” Jax says. “Are you talking about taxes? Or are you… asking me something?”
“I’m stating facts,” Max says, finally looking up. His blue eyes are perfectly calm, but there is a tiny, frantic tick in his jaw. “We live together. We work together. You tolerate Alistair. I tolerate your taste in music. It is a stable merger. Logically, we should ratify it.”
Max adjusts his glasses.
“I have an opening in my schedule next Tuesday at 4:00 PM. We could go to the courthouse. Sign the license. Merge the genotypes. Unless you have a conflict?”
Jax gapes at him.
“Did you…” Jax starts to laugh, a look of pure disbelief spreading across his face. “Did you just propose to me via spreadsheet?”
“It’s a cost-benefit analysis,” Max defends, his ears turning pink. “It’s romantic in a fiscal sense.”
“You want to marry me,” Jax says, leaning in, a wicked grin forming. “You want to make me an honest man, Ice King.”
“I want to save twelve percent!” Maxsnaps, flustered. “And… perhaps… ensure you are legally bound to me so you can’t leave when I get annoying.”
Jax softens. The look on his face is so tender it almost hurts to watch.
“Max,” Jax whispers. “You idiot.”
He opens his mouth to answer.
BEEP-BEEP-BEEP.
The sound shatters the moment.
It isn't just one pager. It’s all four of them. Max’s, Jax’s, Luke’s, and my phone.
Then the PA system crackles to life.
“Code Orange to the Main Lobby. Code Orange to the Main Lobby.”
Max flinches. The romantic tension vanishes, replaced instantly by the Surgeon.
“Code Orange?” Max frowns. “That’s… hazardous material?”
“Or a chemical spill,” Jax says, standing up, the proposal left hanging in the air like a suspended chord. “We have to go.”
“Wait,” Luke says, tilting his head. “Code Orange… Lobby… It’s Bromley.”
We all look at each other.
Mr. Bromley. Our frequent flier.
“He was discharged yesterday,” I say. “Psych cleared him, I spoke to him personally even.”
“He’s back,” Luke says, standing up. “I can feel it in my bones.”
Max looks at Jax. “We will discuss the… merger… later.”
“Oh, you bet your pretty ass we will,” Jax winks. “Let’s go.”
We run.
We hit the lobby in record time. A small crowd has gathered near the grand staircase—the one with the ornate, wrought-iron banister that Alistair donated in the 90s.
