Chapter 5
HUNTLEY
A couple of days go by in this way. Oxley carries me to the bathroom when I need to use the facilities or brush my teeth.
I spend a lot of time watching him as he works silently at the desk in the corner.
He opens the curtains for me to see outside.
He’s also brought me a handheld game to play and a reading device.
Sometimes we watch television together, lying in bed. We talk a little, though he still answers, ‘Who are you?’ with his name alone. It’s both amusing and frustrating since I’m fairly sure he thinks that actually answers the question.
Oxley might be an uncommon name, but it doesn’t ring any bells.
Should it? I’m not entirely sure, though I try to remember.
A quick search of ‘Who is Oxley?’ online doesn’t bring up anything except that I’ve spelled his name wrong.
I even went so far as to ask him how he spells it.
Though he looked at me perplexed, he spelled it out.
On what I presume is the third or fifth day I’ve been here, since my sleeps all seem to run together, my phone rings.
It startles me since I haven’t heard it in ages.
I shift in bed, trying to find it on the nightstand.
Oxley’s there in an instant, as he always is when I want to move, so he can help me.
I’m going to be spoiled by all this attention and attentiveness.
I answer just before the call ends.
“Where the hell are you?” Oren asks, his voice shrill.
My mouth opens to answer, but I don’t actually know where I am. “What’s wrong?” I ask.
“What’s wrong? Huntley, you fucking vanished after there was a shooting in your neighborhood! You haven’t answered your calls or texts or been online! We’ve been worried sick!”
“Oh,” I respond lamely. “Sorry.”
“The hospitals haven’t heard of you. Your parents are losing their minds. Shelton has put up missing posters. Where are you?!”
“I was shot,” I say, and, hearing the way he inhales, I quickly add, “It’s fine! I’m fine.” Am I fine? Jesus, I haven’t even asked. I look up at Oxley and am sure I’m looking a little wild, since my expression makes him distressed. “I’m safe somewhere and healing.”
“That’s stupidly vague. Where. Are. You?” Oren insists.
I look outside as if that tells me anything. I can see nothing but greenery and a building through the trees. “Where am I?” I ask Oxley.
“My apartment,” he answers, “in Oak Hills.”
“Oak Hills,” I tell Oren. “I promise I’m fine.
A doctor is monitoring my leg, and it’s starting to itch, so I think it’s healing.
” I wiggle my toes and sigh in relief. Fuck’s sake, the things I have neglected to care about are unreal!
“I swear I’m okay. I’m sorry I didn’t… answer. My phone hadn’t rung until just now.”
While that’s supposed to calm Oren down, it does nothing but make him ask more questions.
Not that I blame him. When I learned that there’d been not one but three car bombs right outside Adak’s house, where he was living at the time, I was losing my shit.
I called him every single day for the next two weeks.
I was so terrified for his safety and needed to hear his voice to convince myself he was alive and not hurt.
“I’m sorry,” I say again. “I swear, I didn’t even realize so much time had gone by.”
He exhales loudly. “Where are you?” he asks again, and I wonder if my asking Oxley who he is over and over until I get a satisfactory answer is as frustrating as hearing this question from Oren.
“I told you as much as I can,” I say, wincing at how spy novel that sounds. “I promise I’m okay. Please trust me.”
“Don’t you fucking turn your phone off again,” he demands. “And call Shelton tomorrow. And me. Promise!”
“Yes, I promise.”
There’s a pause before he says, “I’m glad you’re not dead.”
“Me too. I’m sorry.”
“I believe you. Call us tomorrow.”
I promise I will, and we hang up the phone. I stare at it for a minute, seeing all the missed notifications on my screen.
“I found it on the floor,” Oxley says. “It was dead, so I plugged it in to charge.”
“Am I going to walk again?” I ask.
“Yes,” he says. “Mark says you’re lucky that it didn’t hit anything but muscle. No major blood vessels, no bone. It’s even in a spot where reconstructive surgery is possible.” I wince, and Oxley hurries to continue. “There’s going to be a scar, but you’ll walk again. You’ll heal perfectly fine.”
“Okay,” I say quietly. “The people who shot me? Were they caught?”
Oxley hesitates, and my heart leaps into my throat, which my heart monitor announces. “I don’t know. I can check on the status, though.”
I nod. “I’d like to know. Thank you.”
“I’ll ask.”
“Do you know if I was a target? Me specifically?”
Oxley shakes his head. “There’s rarely ever a specific target associated with the hate crimes these gangs are executing.
They choose neighborhoods where the LGBTQ community is strong, whether that’s residential or commercial.
The victims can be members of the community, allies, or just people in the wrong place at the wrong time.
They’re indiscriminate. Guilty by location seems to be their motto. ”
My stomach twists. “My best friend left Anaheim because of this rise in violence against our community,” I whisper.
“But I love Anaheim. I don’t want to leave.
Though I completely understand why he did, and I’m glad.
He’d been through hell his entire life, and I’m so happy that he can find peace.
But I guess until now, I never really understood the drive to leave the city.
Now there’s a scared voice in my head that’s telling me to leave.
” I look at Oxley. “But if we all leave, they win. Don’t they? ”
Oxley takes my phone from me and plugs it in. “Yes. But that’s not going to happen.”
I want to bring up the corruption in the police force. It was years ago, but still not long enough that members of the police department forced Oren to go back home with his abusive father. Oren was a fully grown adult!
I hear that all of Jessup’s friends have been expelled from their duties because of various instances coming to light since Oren’s ordeal, but who knows if they got them all?
There have been announcements and articles about it all over the internet and on the news.
I think the police department is going for transparency in an attempt to gain trust again.
Truth is, I’m not convinced that the police can clean this problem up.
They haven’t made headway in the year since Oren moved to the other side of the country.
If anything, the problem is getting worse.
There’s a big push for gun laws to be changed, but if those idiots would take a minute to think, they’d see the major flaw in their plan.
The only people who would turn in their guns are those who are law-abiding. The very label of ‘criminal’ loudly screams that they’re not going to follow the law. Which means there are a whole bunch of people with weapons and even more who now can’t defend themselves.
Brilliant.
Instead of carrying on this conversation, I decide that it’s time to get out of bed. My ass is going numb. And I feel itchy and gross. My hair is all oily and disgusting. “I need a shower,” I announce, throwing the blankets off.
It’s clear that the change in subject startles Oxley. And when his eyes widen behind his glasses as I swing my legs carefully over the side of the bed, I know I’m in for another fight.
“No,” he says. “You can’t get your sutures wet.”
“I’m gross and I smell funny. I need a shower.”
“I’ll get a cloth and—”
“That’s never going to happen, Ox,” I insist. “I’m taking a shower!”
He does exactly what I expect he will… pulls his phone out and calls Mark. “He wants to take a shower,” Oxley says with rattled exasperation. “He refuses to let me wash him with a cloth!”
I watch his face as Mark obviously talks him down. I can see the tension leaving and how clearly he’s paying attention. “But I—” A long pause. “No.” An even longer pause. “Yes.” Then he hands me the phone.
“I’m taking a shower,” I tell Mark when I put the phone to my ear. “Even though I can’t get this wet, I’m seriously gross. I think I’m growing mushrooms. And I desperately need a shave!”
He chuckles quietly. “Yes, you can take a shower, but let him wrap your leg first. Remember what I said about pain, so please let him help you move around. When you’re done, he’s going to take the bandages off and send me a video so I can assess your healing progress. We’ll talk again then.”
I sigh. “Thanks.”
“Be patient with him. Oxley means well, but he’s in completely uncharted waters and doesn’t really know what he’s doing.
” My eyes raise to Oxley’s. He’s watching me intently.
I have a feeling Mark isn’t just referring to medically.
For some reason, it makes my breath catch. “He’s trying,” Mark says.
“I know.”
“Go take a shower. I expect a call in an hour.”
I hand the phone back to Oxley and wait. He listens to Mark again, and I can see him obsessively committing the doctor’s words to memory. When he hangs up, he says he’ll be right back.
Not going to lie, I’m really fucking curious to know what Mark said to him and where he’s gone. My wait isn’t long before Oxley is back with a strange combination of items. He sets them on the edge of the bed next to me and disappears into the bathroom for a minute. Then he’s back.
Moving his desk chair in front of me, I watch as Oxley carefully, and so fucking gently, wraps my bandages in plastic wrap. His hands on my leg make me blush. I didn’t think my wound was close to my dick, but the way his hands move over me, it’s a lot closer than I initially thought.
He secures the plastic wrap to my skin with medical tape. Then he wraps the whole thing with a hand towel and once more with a plastic trash bag, which he holds in place with duct tape and then to my skin with two-inch thick medical tape.
Oxley’s frowning at it, but finally looks at me. “One more second.”
I nod as he leaves the bedroom again. This time, it’s longer before he returns, and this time has a bagged chair in his hands. The kind that you take camping or to a sports game. He heads into the bathroom with it, and a moment later, I hear the shower turn on.
Finally, Oxley returns and holds his hands out to me. I’m a little shy as I place mine in his. Probably because I still feel his fingers softly moving over my skin. When I’m on my feet, my entire weight on one leg, he picks me up, ever mindful of everything about me.
I’ve been disconnected from the liquid drip for a day now, so we don’t have to wheel that in.
This means the monitor is gone too, which I don’t think Oxley likes since he can’t watch my heart rate and oxygen levels.
He’s constantly frowning at it—turned off and still sitting next to the bed—as if it’s failing to do its job.
He brings me into the bathroom, and I find the bag chair in the shower.
Not quite under the water and positioned in a way where I can sit and let my leg stretch without it being directly under the spray.
I thought he’d brought it there for him, so I’m touched to see that he did it for me.
I’m not even going to examine why I feel choked up over it.
Oxley sets me on my feet. I steel myself for some uncomfortable moments, both physically and emotionally, because I’m not going to ask him to leave.
Being very cognizant of what Mark told me about my pain and knowing that this is going to be a challenge, especially on my own, I may need him close.
Which means I’m going to be completely exposed to this man.
Taking a deep breath, I pull the shirt that’s not mine over my head and drop it on the floor. Which leaves me in my underwear. I don’t cringe at all, knowing I’ve been wearing them for a horribly long time now. These are not going back on my body.
Getting into the shower proves a little challenging, as I try not to put too much weight on my leg.
His hands are gentle on my skin but firm as he helps to bear my weight while I step into the shower.
My cheeks burn. Hell, I think the rest of me burns, too.
I’m not even going to say what my dick thinks of this.
The water feels good. For a minute, I do nothing but stand under it and can almost feel the grime peeling from my body. When Oxley shuffles behind me, I know his anxiety over my leg getting wet is increasing, so I grudgingly move to washing my hair. Twice. Then my body.
This was not nearly long enough, but I finally turn off the water and grip the side of the shower. How the hell am I going to turn around without slipping and cracking my head open?
Looking over my shoulder, I find Oxley right where I left him, hovering at the opening of the shower. “Please help me?” I ask quietly.
He steps in, a hand under my elbow. He’s all business for a minute as he guides me to the opening in the shower.
Now that I’m facing the right direction to get out, I feel much better about this.
That is, until I find that Oxley’s staring at me.
His face flushed, and heat in his eyes. I suck in a breath, my dick definitely liking this attention.
His hands move down my arms, raising gooseflesh in their wake, and land on my hips. Before my eyes, he drops to his knees and presses his face into my stomach. My hands tangle in his hair. “Ox,” I whisper.
Anything else I might have said is choked off when his mouth closes over my cock, and I groan, my head falling forward. God, yes. Why does he have to be so good at this already? My eyes flutter closed as I hold him in place.