“Gonna hurt for a sec,” I warned. “But you’re safe, okay? I swear it. Nobody here’s gonna let him touch you again.”
His fingers twitched in my palm, but he didn’t answer.
Rawley leaned in, squinting at the worst of the bruising. He prodded Danny’s ribs, soft, but deliberate. “Count for me,” he said, and pressed just above the left side. Danny yelped, then bit down hard on his own lip.
“Three, maybe four broken,” Rawley said, as if he was diagnosing a busted carburetor.
Hooper handed me a roll of gauze, already cut to length. “You wanna do the honors?”
I nodded, then lifted Danny’s torso just enough to get the wrap started. He hissed, but he didn’t pull away. I could feel every bone in his back, every tiny tremor. If I’d let myself, I’d have cried right there, but I poured the energy into focus instead.
“Keep breathing,” I said. “Don’t stop.”
“Can’t,” he whispered. “Hurts.”
“I know.” I kept my grip gentle, but I had to squeeze to keep from shaking myself. “But it’s proof you’re still here. And I need you here.”
Jojo reappeared with a blue ceramic bowl filled with something that smelled like a hippie commune after rain. He started dabbing Danny’s face with the herbal sludge, hands feather-light. “This’ll help the swelling,” he said. “Promise.”
Danny tried to smile, but his whole face twitched instead.
Rawley was already on the phone, voice low and professional. He spoke in code—just enough to get his point across without triggering alarms. “Yup. Broken ribs, eye’s a mess, probable concussion. No internal bleeding that I can see. We’ll keep himawake for a few hours, then put him down with the meds. Thanks, Doc.” He hung up and met my eyes. “We’re good for now. Just watch for shock or if he starts puking blood.”
“Copy,” I said, and returned all my focus to the guy on the table.
Danny’s head lolled to the side, cheek mashed against my arm. His eyes fluttered, but he stayed awake.
“You want anything?” I asked, softer. “Water? Food?”
He thought, then shook his head. “Just… stay?”
“Not going anywhere,” I said. “Ever.”
A long silence, broken only by the creak of old house and the quiet slurp of Jojo spooning more goop onto Danny’s cuts. The smell was oddly comforting. It reminded me of every time I’d gotten hurt as a kid—how my mom would use whatever she had on hand, oatmeal or honey or even whiskey, to fix what needed fixing. It was the first time in years I remembered that, and the memory punched me in the throat.
Hooper kept watch at the window, arms crossed, jaw set. Rawley drifted in and out, checking vitals, then retreating to his office to “handle logistics.” But really, nobody left. We orbited Danny, like planets around a busted sun.
He faded in and out, sometimes alert, sometimes muttering half-coherent apologies. At one point, he tried to sit up, but I held him down. “Easy,” I said. “You’ve done enough for one night.”
He grimaced. “Did I ruin your morning?”
I let out a noise. “Ruined is an understatement, bud. Next time you want to drop by, try not to bleed all over my kitchen table.”
That got the ghost of a smile. Then his eyes closed, and I panicked, but Jojo caught me before I could freak out.
“He’s just sleeping,” he said, laying a hand on Danny’s arm. “It’s the best thing for him. We’ll wake him every hour to check, like Doc said.”
I nodded, even though my brain was already spiraling a thousand miles ahead. What if Dennis came looking? What if this wasn’t the end? What if Danny woke up and realized he didn’t want to be here, with us, with me?
I didn’t say any of it out loud. I just sat there, holding his hand, watching the rise and fall of his battered chest.
Rawley circled back in, voice softer than usual. “You did good, Burke,” he said. “He’ll make it.”
I stared at the bruises, the way Danny’s whole body seemed to fold in on itself. I wanted to say something—anything—but my voice didn’t cooperate.
Rawley squeezed my shoulder, then left, calling over his back, “We’ll keep a watch tonight. You take first shift.”
I grinned, despite myself. “Wouldn’t trust anyone else.”
