Page 113 of Priest

“They didn’t—”

“No,” I said. “Not your cut.”

That was enough. He leaned back against the pillows, quiet for a moment, his thumb still resting against the leather like he needed to feel it there. “Appreciate it.”

I shrugged, because anything heavier would’ve made the room worse. “You’d have done the same.”

I pulled a chair closer and sat down beside the bed. “You scared the hell out of everybody.”

“Yeah?” He looked at me sideways. “Or just you?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

He huffed a weak laugh, then winced, one hand shifting carefully against his ribs. I gave him a second to breathe through it before either of us said anything else. We didn’t talk about the blood or the sirens. We left the worst of it where it belonged and circled safer ground instead. Club business. Ghost’s paranoia. Ink being too damn quiet lately.

After a while, Deacon’s gaze slid back to me, sharper than it had any right to be with him laid up in a hospital bed. “You going to her?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.”

I studied him, taking in the pale cast of his face and the stubborn set of his jaw. “You sure you’re good?”

He shifted slightly against the pillows. “I’m alive. That’s good enough for now. Go handle what matters.”

I stood and clapped his shoulder gently, careful of the lines and tubes. “Heal fast. I’m not babysitting your paperwork.”

“Liar,” he muttered.

I left him with his cut back where it belonged.

Blue’s apartment smelled like clean laundry and something faintly sweet—citrus and vanilla, maybe, or whatever candle she liked to light in the evenings. It felt warm in a quiet way, like she’d built a small pocket of peace inside the world.. She blinked at me once, surprise flickering before she smoothed it into something steadier.

Her eyes drop to the takeout bag in my hand, then lift back to my face. “You’re here again.”

“Brought dinner,” I said, holding up the bag. “Before you tell me I should’ve called.”

Her mouth curves. “You should’ve called.”

“I figured you’d say that.”

She steps aside anyway.

Her place felt smaller. Or maybe I was just more aware of everything in it now. The soft lamp glow. The throw blanket draped over the couch. The faint hum of the refrigerator in the background.

We ate at her small table, knees bumping occasionally. The conversation was easy in a way that felt new. Not forced. Not tiptoeing.

She told me about a patient who’d tried to flirt with Evan while bleeding from the forehead.

I told her Deacon asked if I’d grown up yet, I said. “Told me if I was smart, I’d stop pretending I don’t know what I want.”

Blue laughed softly. “And what did you say?”

“That he should focus on breathing and leave my life alone.”

She laughed, head tipping back, and something in my chest loosened.

The sound faded slower than it should have. When she looked back at me, her smile was still there, but it wasn’t as easy.