“The police need your statement,” he says finally, voice steadier.“Then I’m taking you home.”
It’s not a question, but I nod anyway, suddenly exhausted.“Okay.”
He steps back reluctantly, his hand falling away from my face.The loss of contact leaves me cold despite the warmth of the room.“I’ll wait for you downstairs.”
As he turns to leave, I catch his wrist.His skin is warm beneath my fingers, pulse jumping at my touch.“Zach.”He pauses, looking back at me.“Tonight still stands.After everything that’s happened, maybe even because of it, we need to talk.”
A ghost of a smile touches his lips, softening the hard lines of his face.“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Doc.”
His fingers brush against mine before he pulls away, a fleeting contact that somehow feels more intimate than anything we’ve shared before.The door closes behind him with a soft click, leaving me alone with the lingering warmth of his touch and the strange certainty that something fundamental has shifted between us.
I press my hand to my cheek where his palm had rested, still feeling the phantom pressure.Outside this room waits a barrage of questions from police, statements to administration, patients who need reassurance.But for a moment, I allow myself to simply breathe, to process the fact that the man who just gently washed blood from my face is the same one who unhesitatingly fired a weapon to protect me.
Two different worlds colliding in a single person.And somehow, impossibly, I find myself drawn to both sides of him.The protector and the predator, the gentle caretaker and the lethal enforcer.
I push away from the lockers, straightening my clean scrubs.My reflection in the small mirror shows no trace of blood now, just tired eyes and a small cut above my eyebrow.But I know I’ve been marked in ways that aren’t visible.Changed by bullets and blood and the fierce protection of a man I’m only beginning to truly understand.
* * *
Zach
I pace outside the conference room where Xavier’s being interviewed, every muscle in my body tense with the need to protect, to guard.The hallway’s been cleared of debris, but evidence of the shooting remains: bullet holes in the walls, and the sharp scent of gunpowder lingering beneath the hospital antiseptic.
My brothers are scattered throughout the building, some giving statements, others maintaining a watchful presence.Grey’s handling the police liaison, using his particular brand of diplomatic intimidation to ensure our side of the story sticks.The story where we were heroes, not vigilantes.
I check my watch again.Xavier’s been in there for forty-five minutes.Too long.My patience is wearing thin when the elevator at the end of the corridor dings.The doors slide open, and a man strides out with purposeful steps, his face tight with worry.
I recognize him immediately from the photos in Xavier’s apartment.Police Chief Ethan Blane.Xavier’s father.
He spots me before I can decide whether to approach or retreat.His steps falter for just a moment, eyes narrowing as they take in my cut, the visible tattoos on my arms, the stance that broadcasts exactly what I am.Then his gaze sharpens with recognition.
“You’re Zach,” he says.Not a question.
I straighten, meeting his eyes directly.“Yes, sir.”The ‘sir’ comes out automatically, respect for both his position and for being Xavier’s father.
He closes the distance between us, and I brace myself for the confrontation I’ve been expecting since Xavier first mentioned my name to his parents.Instead, he extends his hand.
“Ethan Blane,” he says, his grip firm when I take his hand.“I understand you helped protect my son today.”
The statement surprises me.“Word travels fast.”
“It’s my job to know what happens in my town.”His eyes never leave mine, assessing, weighing.“Especially when it involves my son.”
I nod, respecting his directness.“The Reapers targeted the hospital.Xavier was helping a wounded nurse when they came back through.”
His jaw tightens at this information.“And you happened to be there.”
“I was,” I confirm, offering no further explanation.
Something shifts in his expression—understanding, perhaps.“You’ve been watching out for him for a while, haven’t you?”
The question isn’t accusatory, just knowing.I consider deflecting but decide on honesty instead.“Yes.”
Chief Blane nods slowly.“Shaylin mentioned you might be.Said you’ve had your eye on Xavier since high school.”
My mother.Of course.“Our mothers talk,” I say, the realization settling oddly in my chest.
“More than you’d think.”A ghost of a smile touches his lips.
