Chapter 7 Huntley
HUNTLEY
I’m torn between wanting to continue kissing him and letting ourselves get carried away again, and sitting in awe to speculate about everything he’s told me.
Van Doren! They’re like legends. Gods. My generation alone has seen headline after headline about how they’re conquering the globe in technology, trade, fashion, entrepreneurship, science, law, publishing, and entertainment, even medicine.
There’s even a Van Doren in the president’s cabinet!
Basically, if it exists, they now have their own version of it.
Except the police. That is, if I discount how they’re trying to intercept gang violence! Where were the police?!
“Nothing I’ve said bothers you?” Oxley asks.
“No. I might be a little wary of the gun you said you had, but… you wouldn’t be a threat to the hate gangs without one.”
“Guns don’t shoot themselves,” Oxley says. “The person holding it aims and pulls the trigger. It was his conscious decision to shoot you. He could have scared you just as much by shooting into the air, where no one would have gotten hurt.”
“It’s hard to believe the world has come to this,” I murmur. Nearly all ancient cultures show homosexuality as being a part of their society. The world might be more progressive as far as technological advancements go, but our humanity is devolving as our species gets older. It’s disgusting.
“I won’t pretend that other countries are necessarily a better solution, but I do think ours has taken several steps backward.
Not just in LGBTQ rights but women’s rights, too.
” Oxley shakes his head. “We don’t need to discuss this.
Just know that our family agrees, and that’s why we work so hard to make our reach so far.
When the ‘law’ fails, we try to find a way around it to still correct where they refuse to act or their hands are tied for lack of evidence or whatever the case may be. ”
“What if you get caught?” I ask.
“Van Doren Law is one of the biggest practices in the country,” he says, the corner of his lips quirking up.
I laugh.
We sit quietly for a while, his lips pressing softly to my jaw, and it occurs to me… “Do you know who I am, Ox?”
“Oxley,” he says, and I roll my eyes. “No.”
“Why haven’t you asked?” I’d expected him to say yes. Otherwise, I’ve been here for several days now, and I’m virtually nameless to him.
He leans up, his body pressed tightly to mine, while not putting any pressure on my leg. His eyes stare into mine so intently, I want to squirm. It takes conscious effort not to. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to know. Maybe you want to stay anonymous.”
It wouldn’t have occurred to me not to give him my name. “Do you want to know?”
“Very much.”
I press a hand to his face and love when he leans into it.
“My name is Huntley Fowler. I’ve only been living in that neighborhood for three months because I mistakenly thought that hate crimes happen to other people and I’d be safe.
I moved out of my parents’ very safe neighborhood because I had it in my mind that I was an adult and should be living on my own.
” With a laugh, I close my eyes. “Not that I could ever afford an apartment in Anaheim on my own. I have three roommates.”
Oxley’s phone ringing interrupts us. He looks toward the edge of the bed and sighs before pushing himself up and carefully crawling over me. I lose sight of him as he crouches down to find his phone in his discarded pants.
He stands as he pulls it to his ear. “Hello.” Pause. His eyes flicker to something on the nightstand and then to my leg. He climbs onto the bed and hands me the phone. “Talk to Mark while I unwrap your leg.”
“My name is Huntley,” I say into the phone when I bring it up because I’m guessing Mark doesn’t know my name either.
“I know,” he answers quietly.
“You do?”
“I make a point of learning who my patients are. I take it you just realized Oxley wasn’t going to ask you.”
I huff. “Yeah.”
Mark chuckles. “How do you feel?”
“I’m going to be getting restless soon, I think. I’ve never lain down this long before.” And fuck, I likely already lost my job, which means I’ll lose my apartment when I can’t make rent. I groan. “Which might be the least of my worries.”
Oxley’s gaze moves to my face, his hands stilling as he studies me.
“Let’s focus on your leg for a minute. We’ll come back to the rest of your worries. How’s your pain?” Mark says.
There’s a dull throb, but that might have been from standing in the shower for too long. Or maybe the way I was bent and have been kind of ignoring while Oxley and I… talked. Yeah, talked.
“It aches. Like, in my bones. Please tell me it won’t always do that.”
“I’d love to tell you that, but I assume you’d like the truth.”
My heart catches in my throat as my stomach churns. “Yes.”
“There’s a chance that it’ll linger for a while—weeks, months, maybe even years after you’ve fully healed.
Some injuries never truly leave, and this one was very traumatic for your body.
You could ache for eight years and then one day, the ache goes away, and you never feel it again.
There’s also an excellent chance that the ache you feel will dissipate as you heal.
It depends on your body and how you heal. ”
I sigh. I suppose that’s not the worst.
Oxley reaches for the phone, and I hand it back. He touches the screen before he speaks, not bringing it to his ear. “Do you want a video?” he asks.
“Please,” Mark responds, and I realize he’s put the phone on speaker.
Oxley pulls it up, and I quickly cover my cock. “Wait!” He startles and looks at me with alarm. I wave at my dick and then his. The way he looks between the two of us, it’s clear to see that he very obviously forgot that we were naked.
“Hold on,” Oxley says to Mark, and sets the phone on my stomach. He climbs over me and disappears while I just shake my head.
“What happened?” Mark asks.
“Nothing,” I say, my cheeks heating as if he can see me.
Oxley returns with slacks on and a shirt that’s not quite buttoned to the top. “Don’t you have lounge clothes?” I ask.
He holds up a pair of shorts. “Yes.” Together, we wiggle my supine ass into them while trying not to rub the fabric against my injury. I try not to look, but when I do, my stomach churns uncomfortably.
It’s darkly bruised and covered in dried blood. And… It’s big. Like the size of a softball. Tears sting my eyes because I can’t imagine that it won’t ever not hurt.
“It looks good,” Mark says, and I sigh because I really need to hear that. I watch as Oxley moves the phone around.
“Will I walk again?” I ask.
“Yes. You likely won’t run marathons anytime soon, but you’ll be able to walk easily. Anything after that is up to you and your determination to regain your strength and retrain your muscles.”
“There’s still muscle there?” It looks like a divot in my leg.
“There is, but it’s damaged from the bullet. It’ll take some time, patience, and perseverance, but it will heal.”
That’s good news. I have to keep telling myself that. Good news. It is all good news!
“How do you feel about cleaning it, Oxley?” Mark asks.
I watch Oxley blanch. “He’s green, Mark. I’m not sure he’s comfortable with that.”
Mark chuckles. “I’ll be there in forty-five minutes. Keep it uncovered so it can breathe for a bit.”
“Okay,” I say.
We end the call, and Oxley drops the phone onto the bed. He looks at my leg for a minute longer before meeting my eyes. “Sutures scare me,” he says. “I’m afraid of tearing them and causing more damage.”
I reach for his hand and tug him toward me. He lies at my side.
“Huntley,” he murmurs, his lips close to mine. “Such a perfect name.”
“Ha!” I snort. “It’s not even a real name. Like, why not Hunter?! That’s normal and common.”
“My family prefers unusual names,” Oxley says.
“I don’t think Jalon is all that uncommon,” I say.
“It’s not. There’s at least a semi-common name within the bunch.” I grin. “His kids are Myro, Voss, then the triplets Imry, Avory, and Ellory, and lastly, Loren. All boys.”
“Oh. I really like Voss. It’s like boss.”
Oxley grins. “Yes. He thinks he’s the boss most days. Especially when we were kids.”
“Are you close to them?”
He nods. “We grew up together. My youngest brother is only three years older than Jalon’s oldest son. So we kind of grew up like siblings. I’m barely closer to Jalon in age than I am to his youngest son.”
“Wow.” Oxley smiles, and I can tell it’s fond. “I don’t have any siblings. Or cousins. Both of my parents were only children, so any cousins I have are far removed. I’ve always wondered what it would be like to have a big family.”
“It has its ups and downs, but I’d say the positives far outweigh anything that might be challenging.”
“I always said that when I have a family, I definitely need to have more than one kid,” I say. Oxley is quiet, but I can feel him looking at me. When I meet his eyes, I can’t interpret the expression on his face.
“Three kids,” he says. “I want three kids.”
His statement feels… personal, and I find my breaths have become a bit shallow. We stare at each other, this charge growing between us.
The moment is once again interrupted when his doorbell rings. Oxley sighs and gets up, leaving me in the room to catch my breath and determinedly not imagining our three children.
He returns with whom I can only presume is Mark. I’m both surprised and not that he’s young. His voice always sounded young, but he appears younger than I would think possible for a doctor. Maybe he’s just aged really well.
“How’re you feeling?” he asks, pulling Oxley’s desk chair over and sitting at the edge of the bed to take a look at my leg.
I nod. “Think I can eat food with flavor yet?” I ask.
Mark laughs. “You can eat whatever sits well in your stomach. If your pain is tolerable, we can start weaning you off the stronger pain meds. I brought something less potent and a lot less harsh on your stomach for you to try when you feel comfortable.”
I watch as he gets to work on my leg, gently cleaning around the sutures and talking me through how it looks and when he’ll be back to take them out.
I feel much better about my leg when it’s clean.
There’s a lot of bruising, and that gave the illusion that the dried blood was drastically more than what was actually there.
The bruises are even greening around the edges as they begin to fade.
“I’d like you to spend some time with your wound exposed. As much as it needs a safe, moist place to heal, it also needs to air out and dry a bit so bacteria don’t set in. Sleep with it covered for now, but spend some of the day with it open.”
“So not under blankets?” I ask.
Mark’s gaze drops to the bedding, and I’m suddenly very aware that I’ve come almost right where he’s looking. My cheeks burn like a fucking bonfire.
He’s kind enough to pretend not to notice. “Oxley is meticulously clean, so while I’d like your leg to remain in the open, if you get cold, you can use a sheet. Loose articles can agitate and irritate your sutures, so let’s avoid that until they can come out.”
I nod.
Mark gives more instructions to both of us. I’m still slightly flustered as I try to listen and spot where I spilled my load so I can discreetly cover it. I’m sure Oxley’s memorized all the instructions anyway.
Eventually, Mark leaves, and I let out a breath. Oxley stands at the edge of the bed, watching me. “Why are you in distress?”
“He could see where I came on this bed!”
His smile is nearly blinding. “You’re lying on that spot, so no, he couldn’t. It’s cute that you think he doesn’t know.” He gently taps my chest, and I look down to see streaks of dried cum. My cheeks heat all over again. Yep, there’s no way he didn’t know. I want to crawl under the bed.
“I’m sorry,” Oxley says. “I should have cleaned you. It was irresponsible and inconsiderate of me not to.”
I sigh. “It’s fine. He’s nice enough to pretend not to notice.”
Oxley’s smile hasn’t faded. “Mark’s a good guy.”
“He says the same about you.”
Oxley tilts his head to the side, his smile softening. “That’s nice to know. Let’s get you cleaned up.”
I expect him to bring me into the bathroom, but he retreats on his own and returns with a warm cloth.
He cleans the now-dried cum off my torso, and then his hand slips into my shorts as he washes my dick.
Which, by the way, is ready for him to keep touching.
His eyes meet mine, and I can see the heat there.
When he’s done with my front, he leans back and considers me. “So… is this a good time to bring up that I didn’t wear a condom?”
My stomach flutters. I knew that. I could tell, especially after, when I felt his load dripping out of me. “Why didn’t you?” I ask, knowing I should be furious and afraid. Somehow, I’m just… not.