“Yeah, I figured.”
“But if I don’t say something? And it happens again? What if someone gets killed? And I could’ve done something to prevent it?”
I squeezed his hand. “I’ve got you, okay? You’re off work for a few weeks, right?”
“A few days, at least.”
“Well, then don’t worry about it.”
“What do you mean?”
“Just that I’ve got your back. That everything’s going to work out.”
“I don’t understand.”
“And I can’t say any more at this point.”Because I’m not sure what I’ve figured out and I still want you to be vigilant. In fact, maybe I’ll just wrap you in bubble wrap and keep you with me forever.“Look, just rest, okay Finn? You scared the shit out of me.”
“I think I scared the shit out of myself.” He offered a rueful smile. “But I don’t understand.”
“You don’t have to. You just have to focus on getting better. On healing up. Then you can think about going back to work.”
“Fuck, Ulysses, I’m not a child. I don’t need to be petted on the head and told not to worry.” He winced. “What if something bad happens when I’m not there?”
“That can’t be your concern. You just need to worry about yourself right now.”
“But I always worry about everyone else.”
Which is something I love about you.I squeezed his hand yet again. “Just don’t go and do something stupid, okay?”
“Does that mean you care?”
I cocked my head. “Of course I care. I always care.”
“No.” He squinted. “I don’t mean like you care because you’re human and I’m human. I mean—” He rubbed his forehead with the hand not gripping mine. “You know what I mean.”
“Yeah, I do. I know what you meanandI care a damn lot about you. I don’t want to…but I do.”
He closed his eyes—almost like he was basking in my words. Finally, he opened his eyes. “I care about you, if that helps you. Fuck…I think I love you.” He did a slow blink, then his eyes shut.
I didn’t answer.
When Quinton shooed me out, I went willingly.
And spent a lot of time trying to figure out what to do next.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Finn
The Fire Chief, the Corruption, the Drugs, and the Illegal Dog Fighting.
I balanced my laptop on my lap on my own nice, private couch. I wasn’t supposed to be looking at the screen, but fuck it. This was too important. The top story for the Mission City Gazette.
Ulysses’s byline.
I scanned the article, noting Marlon, Giancarlo, Selah, Meyer, and Debra’s names.
Jesus.
