Chapter 35 #2
“We don’t know his condition,” said the man. “The hospital staff will give you an update once we get there.”
August made a sound like a beaten dog, and Quinn tightened his hold on him.
“Eren will be fine,” August said softly. “He can’t die when the last words he heard were a jab at Esme. The world isn’t that cruel.”
Something inside Quinn pulled tight and snapped, shattering in his chest until every breath felt like he was inhaling glass.
He wished he could think optimistically like August—but sometimes cruel things happened for no reason.
The universe didn’t always offer lessons or silver linings.
Sometimes it just took, with no thought of the wreckage it left behind.
And if Eren died, Quinn didn’t know if he had it in him to gather the shattered pieces of himself and try to rebuild for a third time.
August needed stitches and was put on IR for a week, pending a final exam before he was cleared to play.
The blade had cut deep, but it didn’t damage any nerves, tendons or muscles.
The vein had been nicked, which explained the blood at the time of the injury, but just as he had suspected, it wasn’t all from August.
When the doctor told Quinn that Eren had been hit in the head with a puck, a nurse had to jump in and stop him from falling to the floor. The extra blood was from the cut on Eren’s head, and head wounds bled a lot, even for minor injuries.
But Eren’s injury wasn’t minor. The doctors and surgeons who came to speak with him didn’t say as much, but the fact that Eren was still in critical condition was a good enough answer.
How fast did pucks go? Could they hit someone hard enough to kill them?
Quinn had never heard of anyone dying from a head injury during a hockey game. Skate blades to the neck, he knew about, but getting hit in the head?
The nurse brought him back to August’s private room so he could be there for the procedure to stitch his arm. Quinn knew things weren’t going well when he walked in and found August lying on the bed, still half in his gear with a pillow over his face, breathing through a panic attack.
The plastic surgeon and the nurse looked bewildered by August’s reaction, and it was clear they had been fighting to hold the man still so they could work.
Quinn felt numb as he walked over and took August’s other hand, holding it tight so that he knew he was there.
“August, let them help you, okay?”
August continued to take deep gasps of air, not fighting when his injured arm was pulled away from his body and set on a flat wedge so the surgeon could reach.
They began prepping and sterilizing while shooting nervous glances at the pillow, like they were scared August might suddenly flip out and attack them.
“I didn’t realize he was scared of needles,” said the surgeon, a handsome man in his thirties with a stern expression. “We tried to sit him up, but he became reactive when we touched him. And he wasn’t interested in sedation, so we were contemplating our next move when you walked in.”
One day, Quinn would think back on this day and laugh at how much of a handful August was, but not for a long time.
“He’s not scared. I think he’s in shock,” said Quinn. And that was all he was willing to offer.
The nurse made a sound of agreement, and the surgeon followed her lead and returned to his task before August became antsy again.
As long as Quinn was touching August, he was calm. He made it through the stitches like a champ, only hissing occasionally when he was injected with more numbing medication or when something was pulled too hard.
The surgeon confirmed again that the internal damage was minimal and that August would be left with a very thin scar due to how sharp the blade had been.
Before the nurse left the room, she told Quinn that the charge nurse in the ICU would contact him if Eren’s condition changed and confirmed his phone number in case they needed to reach him.
Quinn could have moved them to a waiting area closer to Eren, but they had been given the room for the night because August was expected to rest, and it came with a comfortable cot to sleep on, a bathroom, and even a small kitchen so he could make food if he was hungry.
Quinn wasn’t hungry. He wanted to throw up.
Without knowing how bad things with Eren were, he didn’t know what he should do. He didn’t want to take time away from the doctors to ask a million questions, but relaxing in a comfortable room while his brother-in-law suffered didn’t feel right either.
August said something, but Quinn almost missed it because his voice was muffled by the pillow. He stood and pulled it off, and his breath stuttered when he saw the tears in August’s eyes.
“It’s too much,” said August. “Too much, Quinn—I can’t do this.”
Quinn stroked his cheek and wiped away his tears with his bloodstained fingers, painting August’s skin pink. “I know, baby. I’m sorry you’re going through this, and Eren…”
Eren could die before morning.
Quinn had already signed the papers that confirmed Eren’s boundaries when it came to medical intervention. It was a conversation they’d had several times after Esme passed, because cancer made people think of life and death scenarios, no matter how morbid it seemed.
Eren didn’t want to leave his babies; Quinn knew that. But he made Quinn promise that if machines were needed to keep him on this Earth, then he wanted to be let go.
Talking about it in theory was one thing, but signing the medical directives had made everything feel more real than he was prepared for. But Eren knew his daughters would be safe with Quinn, so even though he was conflicted, Quinn had given his signature.
All they had to do now was wait. Surgery was still on the table, something about drilling holes to deal with brain swelling, but Quinn wouldn’t panic until the doctor confirmed the plan.
“I need to be here for you right now,” said August, startling Quinn from his thoughts. “I know what I’m about to ask for is weird, but could you like, hold me or something? Crush me if you can. It helps me think straight.”
Quinn had been wondering, since August told him about his memories, why he was okay with being restrained.
His father had forcefully taken his control, so it would have made more sense if the shibari intimidated him, but submitting to Quinn had switched him into subspace—a place where Subs felt the most secure.
Now he knew why the pressure of the ropes and the release of control weren’t scary to August. It was something he needed to remind him that he wasn’t falling apart, and Quinn cursed himself for not thinking of that sooner.
“Don’t move that arm,” Quinn ordered. He didn’t want to lock the door in case someone came looking for him, so if they got caught hugging, he would deal with the embarrassment later.
August was so big that Quinn could wrap his arms and legs around his torso, so he sat on his lap, folded himself around August’s muscular body, and squeezed.
He was mindful of the injured arm, but Quinn knew August wasn’t feeling any discomfort when he heard the sigh he let out. Quinn strained his muscles until his limbs shook, all while pressing gentle kisses to August’s sweaty neck to help lull him into the safe zone he needed.
He knew he had succeeded when the tension in August’s shoulders melted away, leaving him limp in Quinn’s arms.
Struck by an idea, Quinn loosened his hold and leaned back so that he could see August’s half-lidded gaze and goofy smile. “Are your skates somewhere close?”
August slowly turned to the bathroom and nodded. “They stink, so I put them in there until equipment management shows up for them. I’m sure I’ll have lots of visitors once the game ends, too. I know the guys will be freaking out about Eren, so they’ll probably stop by to show their support.”
Eren. Not Callahan or Cap.
August was talking about Eren as if he were a person, and not just a title that demanded respect. For some reason, it made his heart ache.
“Okay, I want to try something,” said Quinn. “I’m stealing your laces.”
August’s expression pinched, but Quinn didn’t care if messing with his skates was a superstition thing or not. August could buy himself a new pair if he felt like dismantling them would curse them.
Quinn didn’t think he would ever get used to the smell of wet hockey gear, but he put on a brave face as he entered the bathroom and began yanking the laces free on one of the skates.
He might not be able to fix Eren—he might not be able to control life or death—but soothing August was something he could do. And like how August felt safer when he gave up control, Quinn felt safer when he seized it.
Quinn washed the laces in the sink so they didn’t smell as bad and dried them off, but August would be getting into the shower after this, so he wasn’t worried about them being wet.
He returned to the room and got into the bed, retaking his spot on August’s lap while he motioned for his uninjured arm.
“I’m going to knot the laces around part of your arm, your wrist, and between your fingers,” he said, draping the black strings across August’s arm to show him.
“They’ll be tight enough that you’ll feel them, so when things become too much, pull on them until the pressure anchors you back into your body. ”
August’s eyes were practically shimmering with relief—and there—that was the face Quinn needed to see right now.
“Quinn…I love you.”
Quinn’s pulse kicked, jumping in his throat so fast that he had to swallow it back down before he couldn’t breathe.
“I love you, too.” Quinn leaned in to share a kiss with the smelly hockey player who had stolen his sanity—and his heart.
“The two times I’ve told you have been during shitty situations, and I don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow, or even an hour from now, but remember that when you start to doubt yourself. ”
August was glowing with happiness, even with the shadows of terror and uncertainty closing in on them. He drew Quinn closer for one more lingering kiss and then flashed him a cheeky smirk.
“Alright. String me up, puppet master. I have things to do, and you need to be there for Eren. I can take care of myself for at least a few hours.”
Quinn didn’t think so. He was sure that if he left August tied up in a padded room, he would still find a way to cause trouble.
“Palm up,” said Quinn. “And for the record, Eren needs you, too, because I need you. Don’t forget that.”
August had no reply, but he was beaming while Quinn began tying knots quickly and efficiently. Knowing that August wouldn’t need him to stay by his side once he had him secured, helped shift Quinn’s focus to Eren, putting an end to the mental tug of war he had been fighting through.
It was another checkmark on the invisible list Quinn kept in the back of his mind while he measured August against some distant, half-serious vision of future husband material.
He’d worried, more than he would like to admit, that August might learn to see him as a crutch rather than a partner.
But his insistence on taking care of himself made it clear that his fears were unfounded.
“Have I ever told you how strong you are?” Quinn whispered as he pulled the laces between August’s fingers. “We’re both on the verge of complete meltdowns, but here you are, surprising me again.”
August’s smile softened, like he could feel the praise all the way to his toes. “Strong for you,” he said. “Only for you.”
Quinn chuckled to hide the pain twisting deep in his gut. “And someday, I’ll convince you that it’s possible to be strong for yourself.”
August’s eyes went watery, and he hid his wobbling lip by biting into it. “Not today, though.”
Quinn shook his head.
“No. Not today.”