“I’m sorry,” he whispered, so small it barely existed.
“Hey, no,” I said. Oliver flinched against me. Shit. I’d spoken with too much force. I took a deep breath, trying again, softer this time. “You don’t have anything to apologize for. Not for this.”
“There was no one else to call . . . I . . . I have no one.”
“You have me. I meant it when I said you could call me whenever, and I’m so glad you did. I’m so glad you’re not dealing with this alone. What we do next is up to you. Do you want to leave here?”
“I . . . I have nowhere to go.”
“Don’t worry about that. There are options. You aren’t trapped here if you don’t want to be. I can help get you away from here. Would you like that?”
“Yes,” he whispered, fear leaking into the single word, as if the affirmation alone would bring Vincent’s wrath down on him.
“Okay, we can do that. First, let’s see if we can get you standing.”
He nodded.
“On three. One . . . two . . . three.”
We moved together, his body slow to respond. “Hurts,” he said.
“I’ll bet,” I said, voice shaking. No matter my years of working with abused clientele, I would never get over seeing someone in so much pain at the hands of someone else. It punctured my heart every time. “We’ll get you resting and comfortable ASAP. Just lean on me, okay?”
Once upright, he slumped into me. My arms settled around him. “That’s it. I got you. If I hold you like this, do you think you can walk?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Alright, if you feel up to it, we should grab anything essential so we don’t have to come back. Stuff like your laptop, medications, things you need and can’t replace.”
He gave the faintest nod against my chest. “My personal and work laptops.”
“Okay, I brought a backpack, and I can help pack things if you’re comfortable with me going into your room?”
He nodded again, looking a little lost, but he led me to what must have been his office. We hastily packed his belongings, and then together, moved down the front steps.
“Thank you,” he choked out as I helped him into the passenger seat.
I squeezed his hand. “I’m so glad you called.” I would keep saying it until he digested that truth. “Can I take you to a hospital?” I asked as I pulled away from the curb. “I’m concerned about the extent of your injuries.”
“I can’t! Please no! Please don’t take me to a hospital. Please.”
“Okay, okay, no hospital.” I’d hoped, selfishly perhaps, he might agree so he could be treated by professionals. As a requirement through work, I had basic first aid, wound care, AED, and CPR certifications, but what I could perform was not a substitute for true medical attention. While not unexpected,I didn’t like it. I swallowed the sigh trying to escape. “Would you be okay coming back to my place instead? I’ve got a spare bedroom. You can stay tonight, or longer if you need.”
The answer didn’t come right away, pending seconds of silence, until at last in a hushed voice he said, “Yes, please.”
“Alright, it’s about a twenty-minute drive.”
He nodded.
“Peanut butter.”
The sentence, ten minutes later, came out so quiet I almost thought I’d imagined it.
“What was that?” I asked.
“Peanut butter milkshakes, that’s my favorite.”
“Yeah? Solid choice. Creamy, nutty, buttery deliciousness.”
