Chapter 2 Present #2
I attempt to hum thoughtfully, but I’m pretty sure it comes out in a deflated wheeze instead. “Maybe that’s my power.”
Jack scowls. “What, sounding like an asthmatic frog?”
“Being part frog,” I explain. “With froggy powers or whatever. Like Spider-Man, but sexier.”
“Frog-Man. Yes, incredible,” he proclaims drolly. “The villains will run in terror from such a name.”
I push the tip of my tongue out and bite it between my teeth, choosing not to respond to his lack of faith in my future career as Frog-Man, the tongue-slinging wonder.
Unbidden, the memories of what went down in my kitchen become less fuzzed out as the drugs my brain has been doused with wear off a little more.
Amongst all the blood, fear, and angst-fuelled stupidity, the image of Jack taking three bullets to the chest sticks out like a scream ripping through silence.
I snatch my fingers out of Jack’s hair and give the back of his head a harsh slap. When he frowns at me for my act of wonton violence, I slap him again, exclaiming, “You got shot!”
His brows furrow, nonplussed. “Why does that equal you hitting me?”
“You let yourself get shot!” I correct myself, glaring at him accusingly.
Jack has the actual audacity to roll his eyes at me. “They were tranq-bullets,” he says as if that’s supposed to negate the fact he allowed himself to be shot three times, point-blank in the chest. It’s not like he knew they were going to be tranq-bullets in the moment.
At the revelation that Dan’s gun was filled with nonlethal ammunition, I take a moment to recalibrate my understanding of Dan’s motives for what he did. “So, your brother never meant to hurt me.”
“Are you for real?” Jack demands, incredulous, getting himself all worked up for some reason. “That’s what you’re taking away from what happened?”
Ignoring Jack’s unnecessary hysterics, I push for more about Dan. “Where is he? Is he alright?”
“Is he alright—?” Jack cuts himself off, forcing himself to calm down before starting over. “Yeah, he’s fine. FISA’s got him ‘in custody.’”
“Have you spoken to him?” I prod earnestly.
Jack’s answer is a cold and flat, “No.” His eyes skitter away from me, like he doesn’t want me to see how much that fact affects him.
“Why?” I ask, indignant on his behalf. “Is Anabelle not letting you—”
“He’s refusing to speak to me,” Jack interrupts, his voice holding a brittle edge, like the rusted blade of a knife. “To anyone, actually.” His jaw clenches into a hard line.
Some might read his response as hostile, but I can see the hurt in the crumpled screw of his mouth, in how his hands tighten on my chest and arm, searching for security and purchase.
It’s just like when we first found out that Dan was alive, and Jack was the one led in medical after being beaten half to death by his brother.
He needs a tether to keep him steady, something solid to hold onto, which means he’s feeling scared and unbalanced.
“Oh,” I murmur because what else is there to say? No platitude could make this any less difficult for Jack to deal with. Instead of offering empty words, I move my hand to the back of his neck and give it a reassuring squeeze, just letting him know I’m here, that he’s not on his own in all this.
“Yeah.” Jack hangs his head, eyes closing briefly before he blows out a harsh breath and looks back up at me again. “He says he’ll only talk to you.”
I blink at him, confused. “To me? What the hell?”
“Fuck knows.” Jack laughs bitterly. “After he said that, he shut down and refused to speak again.”
“Okay,” I say, drawing the word out slowly, giving myself a second to wrap my head around the idea before pushing on. “Well, how long have I been out? When will they let me go see him?”
Jack stares at me, like he thinks I might have genuine brain damage. “Leo, you nightmare, they’re not going to let you within twenty feet of him.”
“What, why not?” I push myself up onto my elbows and almost immediately regret all my life choices. Pain radiates through my body in a wash of maniacal fury.
“Why?” Jack’s scowl digs harshly into his face. “He shot you—"
“I mean, technically, you’re the one who shot me,” I point out, much to the chagrin of my partner, who sends me a venomous look of censure.
“He shot you up with Liquid Onyx—”
“Arguably,” I interrupt again, sensing a rant coming on, “he’s the one who saved my life after you shot me. That’s why I’m here, right? Because he injected me with LO.”
Jack doesn’t respond at first, his expression closing off, like it does when he’s feeling too many emotions at once and doesn’t want anyone to know how conflicted he is. I let him sort through them without comment, waiting patiently for his next targeted attack.
Jack must come to some kind of decision because he stares at me hard, expression impenetrable, his mouth bullied into an obstinate line. “You can’t seriously want to be alone with him after what he did.”
“Why not?” I push back, equally unwilling to relent. “We know he was never going to shoot me dead, and he stopped me from bleeding out. Those are two big pluses.”
Jack’s responding huff of air is very nearly a laugh. “You’re actually insane, you know that?”
I shrug, ignoring the wince at how the muscles in my back protest the rough movement. “Hey, I told you I wanted to help him. Did you think I only meant if it would be easy?”
There was never a moment when I thought helping Dan Roth would be anything other than painfully difficult, when I thought it wouldn’t be a long and rigorous battle to save him. I understand why Jack is upset, but there’s not a chance in hell I’d give up on anyone, let alone Dan, after one bad day.
Jack takes his hand off my chest and leans back in his chair, crossing his arms defensively as he struggles to absorb what I’m saying. “How can you be like this? He fucking ruined you, just like OI did to us when we were kids.”
It’s a testament to just how fucked up Jack must be feeling that he would let something that honest and heart-wrenching fall out of his mouth without any barbed commentary to bracket it.
I push myself up into a seated position, gritting my teeth through the discomfort it causes, and settle back against the bed frame to give my partner a mildly chastening look.
“He didn’t ruin me. None of us are ruined.
Don’t get me wrong, he and I will be having a very serious discussion about consent at some point; I mean, it’s like I told you when we met, you can’t just go around stabbing people with things, but—”
“Leo, please.” Jack sighs tiredly, running a hand over his face, rubbing at his sleep-deprived eyes. “Please don’t pretend this is okay. You’re not okay.”
“No, I’m not,” I allow. “But neither is your brother. He needs people to be on his side right now. No one else is going to fight for him except us.”
Anabelle might try to use him, just like she did Jack, but I won’t let that happen again. Jack shouldn’t have been put in a position where his only options were to serve a country that did him no favours or spend the rest of his life locked up in a cage.
Jack snorts, giving me a dubious look. “Don’t go thinking you’re some gritty action hero now just because of that squid ink slugging around your system.”
“I’m not a hero, Jack.” My mouth kicks up on both sides, spreading into a jaunty smile. “I’m a Nova, and if there’s one thing we’ve got in spades, it’s nerve.”
Jack barks out a genuine laugh this time. “Holy fuck, is that, like, a catchphrase or something? Does the Nova family have it patented? Are there T-shirts? Ceramic merch? Because, for real, I want a mug I can throw at a wall right now.”
Before I can respond, the door to my medical room bangs open, and my cousin Rex strides in with a clipboard and far too much ego.
He must have heard what Jack said as he came in because he points his blue clicky pen at my partner and orders, “No more throwing shit, mutant. We’ve talked about this.
You upset my nurses again, and I’ll shoot you up with drugs even I can’t pronounce the names of. ”
Jack opens his mouth to argue or possibly defend himself, but Rex doesn’t give him the chance, averting his eyes and dismissing him entirely. He sweeps further into the room and takes up the empty spot on the other side of my bed.
Rex’s pale-blue eyes rake over me in the muted concern of a medical professional.
When his gaze lands back on my face, he squints at me judgmentally.
“Well,” he muses, “you don’t look like you’re about to burst into a homicidal mutant rage and kill us all with whatever creepy superpower Liquid Onyx gave you. How do you feel?”
“Uh …”—my brows pull together—“not homicidal?” I offer, slightly bewildered over how to respond.
“Excellent!” Rex exclaims, turning to check my vitals on the machine and humming approvingly at what he sees.
There are wires attached to my arm nearest him, and he prods at them thoughtfully. “We can take these off now that you’re coherent enough to tell us if you’re probably dying.” He doesn’t wait for me to comment on this before going about detaching the wires.
Jack shifts forward in his seat, looking up at Rex hopefully as he tries to throw me under the medical bus. “He should stay in here, though, right? No strenuous activity or whatever.”
Rex shrugs, his hands gentle as he touches me, in juxtaposition to the acerbic brusqueness of his general manner.
“Nah, if he were going to die horribly, like most of the other test subjects of LO did, then he would have done it already. No point in letting him laze around now that he’s awake and talking. ”
I shoot my cousin a playful glare. “Hey, I’m not lazing around, you prick. I’ve been through a traumatic event. I almost died. People get to rest when that happens. It’s the law. Probably.”
Rex gives me a droll look in return. “Oh, the drama. You just got a little bit turned into a mutant. No need to make a whole thing out of it.”
“You’re a terrible doctor,” I tell him.
Rex shrugs. “You’re a rubbish secret agent. Got all turned into a mutant in your own kitchen. Tsk, tsk. James Bond wouldn’t have let that happen.”
“James Bond is fictional.”
“And yet”—Rex splays his hands and pulls a mockingly forlorn expression—“still a better secret agent than you.”
I blow out an annoyed breath. “Have you been treating me this whole time?”
“Yeah, I was here when you got dragged in screaming your bloody head off, and this one,”—he jabs his pen at Jack—“was useless.”
“I was knocked out!” Jack huffs indignantly.
“Because you let yourself get shot.”
“Oh, piss off!”
I lean over to Rex, triumphant. “That’s what I said.”
Upon closer inspection, it’s impossible to miss how exhausted my cousin looks, and a stab of concern pierces my abdomen. “You shouldn’t have stayed here for three days, you loon. One of the nurses could probably have checked that I was still alive every half hour.”
Rex throws a pointed glare in Jack’s direction. “None of the nurses will come in here.”
Oh, blimey.
I turn raised eyebrows on my partner, amused and worried in equal measure. “Kitty, what have you been doing to the poor nurses?”
Jack has never looked more like a moody teenager being forced to attend a family wedding. He makes a production out of huffing in irritation, slumping down in his chair, shoulders hunching defensively. Then he delivers the killer line of, “They started it.”
I’m already halfway to cracking up with laughter before I get to hear anything else.
“He kicked off as soon as he woke up,” Rex says, wrinkling his nose in mild disdain. “Started shrieking and throwing things, like a toddler having a mental breakdown in a supermarket.”
“Shriek? What the fuck? I didn’t shriek.”
“Had a proper tantrum, he did,” Rex goes on, still glowering at Jack. “A mutant tantrum. It was awful. You’re awful. Scared the shit out of Nina.”
“Nina has cold hands and no soul,” Jack scoffs. “That woman ain’t scared of shit.”
“You made Dylan cry.”
“Dylan needs to grow the hell up. I barely touched him.”
“You bit him!” Rex exclaims, incensed.
Jack seems to feel zero guilt over that because he’s awful and insane.
“Bitch invaded my personal fucking bubble, and I was tired.”
“On the calf,” Rex says scathingly. “You bit Dylan on the calf. Who bites people on the calf? Are you secretly part goat? Is that what Obsidian Inc. is into these days? Genetic goat fuckery?”
“He touched my hair.”
“You made Lola quit.”
“Good. She was a wimp with no respect for physical or emotional boundaries. No, Lola, you cannot just cry on people; keep your pathetic expulsion of body fluids to. Your. Self.”
Rex throws his hands up, officially done with this shit. “You’re a nightmare!”
Jack glares at him. “You’re a mean little doctor with a cruel, shrivelled little heart.”
I clap my hands to get their attention, eager to put an end to this before it escalates.
“Okay, okay, could we please return to adulthood at some point before someone gets their hair pulled?”
“I’m not touching his hair,” Rex sneers, serving Jack with another scornful look. “You heard him; he bites people for that shit.”
“Oh, no, is Damon North a jealous man?” Jack asks sardonically. “Will he beat me up for biting his boyfriend?”
“Yeah, he will,” Rex says, a violent gleam in his eyes that worries me. “Right after I’m done stabbing you with a scalpel.”
I hold up a hand and wave it around in a halting motion. “No, no, we’ve been over this, no stabbing people with things, please. Stabbing is bad.”
Jack screws up his face like he doesn’t agree. “Is it, though?”
“Yes, Jack, yes, it fucking is,” I say emphatically.
“Speaking of stabbing,” Rex interjects, jerking his thumb at Jack, “has this one told you about the situation with Dan?”
“Oh, but you’re okay using his real name!” Jack complains sourly. “He’s the reason Leo got shot!”
Rex gives him another one of those judgmental appraisals. “You’re the one who shot him.”
Jack all but growls at him, “Because of—"
“About him wanting to talk to me?” I interrupt before they can start sniping at each other again. “Yeah. I’ll go see him as soon as I get out of here.”
Jack bolts up in his chair. “You bloody well won’t—"
Rex talks right over him. “Say ‘hi’ to the prisoner for me. He didn’t bite anyone when we did his medical workup.”
“Yeah, that’s my brother, a real classy fucker,” Jack says dryly. “Always keeps his teeth to himself in social situations.”
I just resist the urge to turn over and bury my face in the pillows in a bid to escape yet another brewing bicker fest, mostly because it wouldn’t help. Rex and Jack have no sense of decorum or common decency and would probably claw each other to shreds right on top of me.
It doesn’t really matter though. Whatever Jack tries to argue, I’m going to visit with his brother and figure out what the hell is up with him if only so I can get out of this bloody room.