Page 67 of The Big Fix

“They’ve been feeding me rice and boiled chicken so I can focus enough to do the hacking. When I asked if I might have a portion for you, after the requisite ‘how did I know you were even still alive’ bit, they gave me some.”

“You’re saying I have food?”

He smiled at me. “Such that it is, yes.”

“Could I have that, please?” I said sarcastically.

“In a minute, yes. But first, are your ribs broken?”

“Really badly bruised, but I don’t think anything cracked. Not yet. Soon.”

“That’s very good news,” he whispered and bent and kissed my forehead. The warmth that spread through me was both welcome and comforting. “Not the soon part, the not-yet part.”

“I figured,” I said with a slow exhale.

“Let’s have some water, all right?”

Best idea ever.

Owen filled a tin cup and held it to my mouth, making sure I took only slow sips. “I don’t want you to throw it back up.”

That was smart.

After a few minutes, checking to make sure the water stayed in my stomach, he refilled it, and I had a second cup, downing it that time in two gulps, the hit of water absolutely life-giving.

“You look terrible,” he said solemnly, but he pressed his lips together so he wouldn’t smile.

“What the hell?” I growled at him. My entire body felt like hell, and he was laughing at me? “Have you lost it completely?”

“I’m just thinking of all the times I’ve commented on some bad outfit over the years, and this one is right there near the top.”

I was covered in blood, but this one was near the top? “I’m sorry, what have I worn that’s worse than this?”

He considered his answer, thinking a moment. “Remember that horrible turtleneck that made you look like a giant piece of caramel corn?”

I recalled it vividly. “I beg your pardon?”

He started laughing, and God, it was a good sound.

“I don’t think you’re remembering that right.”

“It was so awful,” Owen continued, cackling.

“I’ll have you know that was cashmere,” I said defensively.

He lost it then, and I knew it was half from the memory and half relief that I was still able to be indignant. My breathing was exciting to him at this point.

When Owen stopped howling, recovering enough for me to shake my head at him in chagrin, I told him I needed to get up.

“Why?”

“Gotta pee.”

“I can bring the bucket over here, and you can get to your knees,” he offered.

“Fuck no,” I grumbled. “Help me up.”

“Like you peeing in front of me will take away your gilded status in my eyes.”