Chapter 5
five
The Saint
The sharp, tinny ring of a phone interrupts us. Angel, Walker and I glance around, probably wondering who has their ringer on.
Dante pulls out his phone and accepts the call.
“The Stone family is asking for you at the hospital,” says a female voice on the other end, loud enough that we can all hear it in the sudden silence.
My throat constricts.
“What for?” Dante asks, frowning.
“I’m not sure, Father,” she says. “But they asked for you specifically.”
“Okay,” he says. “I’ll be there.”
My limbs are suddenly cold and leaden, and my mouth is so dry I can’t speak. A family asking for a priest at the hospital is never a good sign.
“Where are you going?” Angel demands when Dante hangs up the phone, but the mood has changed. He sits back, slipping his gun back into the back of his jeans.
There’s a soberness in the room, a horrible heaviness.
Dante takes a coat from the rack. “I have to get to the hospital.”
I finally find my voice, manage to keep myself together even when I want to fall to my knees in anguish. “Does that mean… He’s not going to make it? Are you delivering his Last Rites?”
“I don’t know, son,” Father says, the sympathy in his eyes undoing me. “You can come along if you’d like. But we have to be prepared for the worst.”
“I’m coming,” I say, standing resolutely. I haven’t gotten to see Heath since they took him in, since they said only family was allowed, and they don’t recognize the kind of brothers we are. But surely they’ll let me see him if he’s—if a priest accompanies me.
Father Salvatore nods. “Angel?”
“I’ll come too,” Angel says, standing and backing away from Walker.
“Secure him,” Father Salvatore says.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Walker protests.
“No,” Father says, his voice cold. “You’re not.”
He ducks into the other room, then returns with a rough length of rope.
“Whoa, are you fucking kidding?” Walker asks, starting to stand.
Father pushes him back down. “Stay,” he barks, then quickly knots the rope around Walker’s wrists and ankles, securing them to the leg of the heavy sofa.
“Damn,” Angel says. “Daddy Dante’s kinky. Did you know he could do that?”
He looks to me, and I shake my head. I wish I could joke at a time like this, and I appreciate that he’s trying to lighten the mood, but I’m too sick to my stomach to muster even a smile.
“Nathaniel, can I trust you to keep an eye on him while we’re gone?” Father Salvatore asks, all business now.
“Nothing would give me greater pleasure,” Nate says, pushing his glasses up with a delighted grin.
“You can’t do this,” Walker protests. “He’ll… Feed me to the cat or something.”
“Somehow I don’t doubt that,” I mutter.
“You sure he won’t let him go?” Angel asks. “They’re cousins.”
“It’s a chance we’ll have to take,” Dante says, and he turns and hurries out.
A few minutes later, we pull up at Faulkner Regional.
Inside, the receptionist directs us to his room, not trying to stop any of us.
I rush down the hall, my footsteps echoing as I search the numbers beside the doors—203, 205, 207.
At last, we stop at 209. My heart lodges in my throat, but I can’t stop myself from turning the handle, even if what I see will destroy me.
The door swings open, and I blink a few times, unable to comprehend. Heath is sitting up in bed, his face ghost pale and hair mussed, but he’s sitting up. Awkwardly eating while trailing an IV from the back of his hand.
I sway on my feet, the relief so great I’m not sure how to move. If I take a step, I might break the spell, and I’ll see him lying still and corpselike under the blanket, motionless as death. This has to be a hallucination.
“Hey, losers,” he says, cracking a sloppy grin. “Bet I scared you, didn’t I?”
“You dumb motherfucker,” Angel curses, pushing past me to collar Heath with his arm.
“I can’t fuck your mother,” Heath says, shoving Angel away. “She’s my sister.”
“I’d kick your ass, but since you’re on your death bed, I’ll let it slide,” Angel says.
“Everyone seems to be of that mindset,” Heath says cheerfully. “It’s great. I’ve gotten so many sponge baths you’d think I was at a Turkish bathhouse.”
“You’re okay,” I say, still trying to blink away my worst fears.
“I’m more than okay,” Heath says. “But you might want to get your blood pressure checked. You should see your face.”
He cackles and spoons another bite of green Jell-O into his mouth.
“We’re happy to see you awake,” Father says, stepping past me and approaching the bed. “Do you remember what happened just before you lost consciousness?”
“Yeah,” Heath says. “Three guys caught me. I thought they were older Crossbones I didn’t know at first, but they were Disciples. And a guy from the Crosses who was working with them—a double-crosser, if you will.”
He smiles, but for the first time since we arrived, I see the cracks in his facade. He’s pretending everything is fine, being the cheerful heathen we know and love, but there’s a simmering rage beneath it.
“We know,” Angel says. “We took care of him.”
Heath nods and pushes his plate away, sinking back onto the pillows. He looks exhausted now, lines etched around his eyes. The others don’t seem to notice, and they chat with him a few more minutes before he looks at me.
“Stay?” he asks, and I swear I see hope there in his eyes.
I look away, swallowing hard. “Yeah,” I say gruffly. “Course I’ll stay.”
The others take the hint then, and after a few goodbyes, they head out. I sink down in a square armchair next to the window. A couple old magazines sit on the table beside it, along with a pair of reading glasses and a stray toothpick.
“Your parents?” I ask, nodding to the stuff.
“Yeah,” he says. “They were here when I woke up.”
“That’s good.”
I don’t know how to close the distance, end this stilted, formal line of conversation.
“Where’s M?” he asks. “Avoiding me again?”
My stomach jolts, and I curse myself for sending the others away. I’m being a pussy, but I don’t know how he’ll take it, how upset he’ll be. I don’t want to be the one to tell him, but I’m the one he asked to stay with him, so I suck it up and shake my head.
“They got her,” I say quietly.
“Fuck,” he says under his breath, closing his eyes. “Fuck fuck fuck. Just like E.”
“No,” I say firmly, standing and going to the bed.
I take his hand, holding it tight in mine, careful to avoid the IV port in the back.
“We’re not kids anymore. We’re not helpless.
We’re going to find her. Eternity too. We already know who took her, and we have someone who’s going to lead us after them. ”
“I’m coming too.”
“No fucking way,” I say. “You need to stay here.”
Heath’s eyes open, teal-blue and filled with sorrow. “I have to,” he says, his fingers tightening around mine. “She’s mine too. I love her, Saint. And… It’s my fault.”
He looks away, his throat working to swallow.
I grip his chin and turn his face toward me again, pinning his gaze to mine. “No,” I say firmly. “It’s the Disciples’ fault. Don’t even start that shit.”
He swallows at last, his nostrils flaring, his lips pinched together. Then he nods.
“Good,” I say, squeezing his hand. I realize how long I’ve been holding onto it, how I should have let go.
My thumb ghosts over the veins in the back of his hand, his knuckles, the tape holding the IV in place.
His gaze follows the motion, and then slowly, his long, dark lashes flutter as he lifts his eyes to meet mine.
My pulse skips, and a funny feeling hollows out behind my ribcage, empty and overflowing at the same time.
“Hey,” he says. “I’m sorry about… About what I did at the movie on the lawn.”
I swallow hard, wanting to speak but unable.
I’m suddenly aware of the heat of his palm against mine, how it felt that night, his fingers tight around my cock, stroking up and down under the blanket.
How hard I was—and how scared. All those people were around us, and even though it was dark, I couldn’t help but hear Dad’s words in my head, and the cries of that boy.
Sexual deviant.
Please, Father. Not again.
I thought of what all those people on that lawn would say if they knew. How many of them would call me those same names, would think I should go to that priest for treatment, for his special cure. I’m ashamed that I cared what they thought, that I even considered it at all. But I did.
I thought I’d never get a chance to make it right, to tell Heath. Even Angel called me on it. But now the moment is here, and I have the chance. I clear my throat, grinding at the painful block lodged there.
“It’s fine,” I say, my voice coming out gruff. “Listen, about that…”
Heath waits, not jumping ahead to make a joke and turn the moment away from the awkwardness, not relieving me of the burden of my confession.
He waits, his eyes tired but resigned. My heart starts to hammer in my chest. Maybe it’s not what he wants to hear at all.
Maybe he dreads what I’ll say next. And is this really the right time to say it, to put this burden on him?
He needs to heal, not think of ways to let me down easy.
Because once it’s out there, it’s out there. I can’t take it back. You can’t undo the damage that words like that will do.
As if he senses my anguish, his fingers tighten, tugging, like he’s trying to bring me closer.
I want to lie on the bed with him, wedge myself in between him and the railing, but the bed is too narrow.
If he turns on one side, he’ll pull his IV out, and the other…
The other is bandaged, the thick layers over the stitches that trail from his wrist to elbow, the grisly cut he made that almost killed him.
I swallow hard, searching Heath’s eyes, misery swirling through me. Is it fair to tell him at all? Especially now, when he’s vulnerable?
“Heath,” I say, my voice raspy. I clear my throat and open my mouth to go on, but just then, the door swings open. I quickly draw my hand from Heath’s.
“Shift change,” says the nurse. “Just checking in on my favorite patient. Oh! You have a guest.” She frowns at me. “I’m sorry, honey. Visiting hours were over hours ago.”
“I was just leaving,” I say, not looking at Heath.
I can’t bear to see the look in his eyes, to know what he thinks of me.
He’s braver than me, brave enough to tell me things if I let him, but I never do.
And when it was my turn, I choked. Besides, I already know he loves Mercy.
He said so tonight. If he can have her, why would he want a coward who drops his hand the minute someone might see?