“…stay with him, Zach, we’ll handle…”
* * *
When I finally claw myway back to consciousness, I’m lying on a gurney with bright lights overhead.The emergency room.Not as a doctor this time, but as a patient.The pain in my head has dulled to a persistent throb, and something tight wraps around my skull—bandages.
“He’s waking up,” someone says.Tiana, I realize, as my vision clears.
Zach’s face appears above me, his features tight with a rage I’ve rarely seen, even during the club war.His eyes are red-rimmed, and his jaw is clenched so hard I can see the muscle twitching.
“Hey,” I manage, my voice sounding strange to my own ears.“Not exactly how I planned our evening.”
“Don’t,” he says, the word raw and broken.“Don’t make jokes.Not now.”His hand finds mine, squeezing with desperate gentleness.“You could have died.If I hadn’t come looking for you…”
“But you did,” I remind him, attempting to sit up, only to be gently pressed back by Tiana’s firm hand.
“Stay down,” she orders.“Doctor’s orders, and I mean the doctor who treated you, not you.”
“What’s the damage?”I ask, automatically slipping into clinical assessment.
“Mild concussion, twelve stitches,” Tiana reports.“You were lucky the brick caught you at an angle instead of head-on.No skull fracture, and no bleeding on the brain.”
“Lucky,” Zach repeats, the word dripping with bitter irony.His fingers tighten around mine.“Someone throws a brick at your head and calls you a—” He cuts himself off, jaw working as he struggles to control his fury.
I remember the slurred shout before the window shattered.Devil-loving faggot.The words sear through my memory, ugly and hateful.
“Did they catch who did it?”I ask, already knowing the answer from the dangerous gleam in Zach’s eyes.
“Not yet,” he says, voice deceptively calm.“But we will.”
“Zach “
“Don’t,” he interrupts me once more, something wild flashing behind his eyes.“Don’t tell me to let it go.Don’t tell me to let the cops handle it.Someone tried to kill you, X.In your own clinic.Our clinic.”
“We don’t know they were trying to kill me,” I reason, though the words sound hollow even to my own ears.
Zach makes a sound, half laugh, half snarl.“What do you think they were trying to do?Welcome you to the neighborhood?”
Before I can respond, the curtain around my bed pulls back, and a doctor I recognize from my time at this hospital enters.Dr.Reeves, a competent physician who always treated me with professional courtesy.
Right behind him is my parents, frantically trying to lay eyes on me.My mom looks like she has been crying, and my sister pushes her way through.
“Dr.Blane,” the doctor greets me, his eyes flicking nervously to Zach and then back to me.“How are you feeling?”
“Like someone hit me with a brick,” I reply dryly.
He manages a tight smile.“Well, your sense of humor is intact, which is a good sign.Your CT scan looks clear: no fractures, no bleeding.We’d like to keep you overnight for observation.Standard protocol for concussions.”
“No,” Zach says immediately.“He’s coming home with me.”
Dr.Reeves hesitates, clearly intimidated by Zach’s imposing presence, but also concerned for my well-being.“Mr.Kennedy, I understand your concern, but?—”
“It’s fine,” I interject, not wanting this to escalate the situation.“I’m a doctor.I know the warning signs and what to watch for.
Dr.Reeves looks unconvinced but recognizes a losing battle.“I’ll prepare the discharge papers with detailed instructions.Someone will need to wake you every two hours tonight to check your responses.”
“I won’t be sleeping,” Zach states flatly, his eyes never leaving my face.
CHAPTERTHIRTEEN
