Chapter 11 Huntley
HUNTLEY
I’m getting used to sleeping in. If anything convinces me to take Oxley up on not working, it’ll be the promise of not having to wake up to an alarm clock ever again. I’m going to be truly spoiled by the time I’m able to walk again.
Opening my eyes, I find I’m alone in bed. I assume he’s in the bathroom, but when I turn to look at the door, I find it ajar and dark inside. Okay, not in there.
My crutches are right beside the bed. Mark dropped them off a couple days ago, giving me the go-ahead to begin using them for short trips, like taking a piss. Needless to say, I haven’t used them yet. Oxley’s always right there.
But he’s not right now. Smirking, I sit up and stretch my back. I’ve never used crutches. Time to see if I can figure them out based on Mark’s demonstration.
I’m as quiet as I can possibly be as I slip from the bed to the floor, careful not to put any weight on my leg.
I need to. I know that. It’s time to start working on my muscles again.
The bullet tore through them. Mark mentioned reconstruction surgery.
To me, that sounds like it’s a really bad wound.
However, he took out the sutures, and it looks… okay, it looks awful. Gross. I hate looking at my leg. Not only because of the wound but because it’s a reminder that I could have died. I was shot just because I like guys.
How weak does someone have to be to find that a threat?
I’m such a threat to their fragile sexuality and feeble confidence that they have to commit acts of fucking violence against me.
It speaks far more about their pathetically frail intelligence that their only answer is to hurt those around them.
Those unarmed. Those simply walking down the street. How big and bad are you really to take a gun to a vulnerable person?
Anyway.
Now that I’m on my feet and trying to situate the crutch under me, I slowly hobble my way toward the bathroom, using the crutch instead of my hurt leg.
That’s probably the point of the crutch, right?
Someone designed this thing well. I can walk without hurting more than the throb from gravity pulling on my leg.
It feels good to have this little bit of independence back. I know I need to get back to work, and that’s motivation enough to begin PT, but being able to do this little thing on my own again is seriously the biggest incentive.
I love how Oxley takes care of me, but when such a little thing, like going to the bathroom on my own, feels like scaling a mountain and fills me with pride? Yeah, it’s time to get back on my feet.
However, right now, I take my time in the bathroom. Peeing. Washing. Brushing my teeth. Shaving. All the things I haven’t done on my own in a couple of weeks.
By the time I head back into the bedroom, I’m surprised Oxley isn’t back. He always seems to appear within minutes of my waking up. As if there’s an alarm in the room notifying him I’ve opened my eyes.
He’s not here, though.
Anxiety makes my heart stutter. Is he okay? Has he changed his mind and needs a break from me? Is he—
I hold my breath when I think I hear his voice. Shifting my body so I’m facing the door, as if looking at it will help me hear, I concentrate on what I thought I heard.
Nothing. Silence.
I move to the bed and grab the second crutch, so I’m using two now, and head for the door. Within a foot of the door, I begin to hear the voice again. Pausing, I listen because… that’s not Oxley. I know Oxley’s voice.
This one is deeper. Filled with a sneer. Angry.
Frowning, I move forward a little more. I’ve never left the bedroom. I realize this as soon as I look down the hall toward the voice.
“You’re always so fucking special. Always with special treatment. You wanted this fucking city, so do your damn job, Oxley. I’m so tired of you doing shit your own way instead of per protocol and not having any consequences. You’re such a spoiled shit.”
I slowly hobble my way out of the bedroom toward the nasty voice.
“You’re clearly fine. No injuries. Did you finally have a mental breakdown? Is that it? All your stupid eccentricities finally get to you, and you run away in the middle of a gunfight? Is that it?”
There’s no way they shouldn’t hear me coming, and yet, neither seems to notice me coming upon them. The man saying gross things to Oxley has his back to me, so he doesn’t see me approach. He’s so focused on being a dick that he doesn’t hear me either.
I can’t see Oxley clearly. The man is blocking my view. I’m able to get to them without either realizing I’m there.
Without thinking, I lean my weight on my uninjured leg and use my crutch like a weapon.
I haul it back and whack it against the man, hitting him in the shoulder.
He curses, grips his shoulder, and turns just as I bring it down again.
He dodges in time for my crutch to miss his head, but it doesn’t miss him entirely.
I hit his other shoulder hard enough that I hear the thwack.
“What the fuck?” he shouts and comes at me. I hit him again, making him shout a curse, but he catches my crutch and yanks it from my grip.
Oxley is between us in an instant. He shoves the man back violently, sending him stumbling backwards. He trips over a hassock and lands on the ground.
Oxley stands in front of me, his hands clenched. The man stares up at us with shock. It’s not difficult to figure out that whoever this guy is, he’s not used to Oxley standing up to him.
Silence settles around the apartment as the man on the floor stares at us. I’m not sure if it’s just seconds or minutes, but it’s a while before this man gets to his feet. He takes several steps toward us, anger flashing in his eyes again.
“I have another crutch,” I warn, adjusting my weight so I can use it as a weapon.
The man meets my eye. I’m slightly surprised when he stops coming toward me. I hold his stare, daring him to come toward us. His eyes leave mine and settle on Oxley’s as he shoves his hands into his pockets.
“You’re babysitting an invalid?” the man muses.
I look around. Look for anything at all to throw at this guy.
Oxley doesn’t answer.
“This is seriously what has you shirking your duties? You argued for this city, bitch. Do your job. I’m so fucking tired of you always being babied. I’m so—”
Snarling, I slip around Oxley and use my second crutch on the nasty man. This time, I hit him upside the head. I’m not sure how he doesn’t see me coming. I’m not sure how Oxley doesn’t see me move past him.
It’s not until the man is spewing loudly with threats that Oxley pulls me back, gripping me to him in a bear hug.
“Stay out of this,” Oxley says quietly.
“No,” I insist. “I don’t know who this dick is, but I’m not letting him talk to you like that. The only one having a mental breakdown is him since his brain has short-circuited, and he only has the ability to insult and name-call like a third grader.”
This makes the man’s eyes flash. He’s bleeding. I hit him good that time.
Angrily, he comes at me again, but this time, I don’t get a chance to act. Oxley suddenly has a knife in his hand and catches the man with it under his chin. His eyes widen, and he freezes. The room holds its breath.
“You think you can kill your own brother and get away with it?” the man hisses. “You think you’re so special that Jalon will look the other way?”
“I’ll bury your body. It’ll be ages before someone figures out you’re actually missing, Kairo.
You’re not smart enough to tell someone where you’ve gone or why.
I’m sure your team doesn’t even know you left Chicago.
Jalon will be looking for you in the wrong city for ages.
It’ll probably be months before they even think to look.
Everyone will just assume you’re having another tantrum and have gone off grid,” Oxley says, his voice even. Uninterested. Unfeeling.
I swallow, looking between the two of them.
This is the asshole brother. Kairo Van Doren. He doesn’t speak. I don’t know Oxley well enough to know whether that’s the truth. I don’t even know if he’s being serious.
Clearly, Kairo doesn’t know either. Not with as still as he’s standing, the serrated knife at his neck.
I think I see a hint of blood. He stares at Oxley, very obviously debating the truth of his words as well.
I’m surprised and maybe a little scared when Kairo decides that his assertion is entirely possible.
Oxley drops his arm, but the blade is still in his hand. “Leave my city and don’t come back,” he says. “Stay away from me. Stay away from my boyfriend. I don’t care where you go, but get out of Anaheim.”
No one moves for several heartbeats. Kairo’s eyes meet mine for just a second, and then he turns for the door. Oxley shifts us where we’re standing, never letting Kairo out of our sight. The door opens, and Kairo leaves.
Once we’re alone in the apartment, Oxley sets the knife on the shelf over the coat hooks where it virtually disappears, and then turns to look at me. His eyebrows are knit together as he looks me over.
“Why are you out of bed?”
“Why don’t you stand up for yourself?” I counter.
He frowns. Oxley rubs his face several times before dropping his hands to his side.
“I don’t know. Maybe because he goes away after he says all the shit he wants to say.
He has never raised his hand to me, so I suppose I never considered him a threat before.
He’s a hothead. A miserable man. Always has been.
And to be honest, I don’t care what anyone thinks about me. Not even my brother.”
“I care,” I say and take an awkward step toward him without my crutches, which makes me wince. Fuck, that hurts.
Oxley is in front of me before I can take a second breath. He has me in his arms, taking the weight off my injured leg. “I can’t believe you hit him,” he says, amused. “I’m not sure which of us was more surprised.”
“It was made pretty clear that he’s never had someone stand up to him,” I say, grinning.
“No. There are very few people he backs down to. Unsurprisingly, every person on that list is either my brother or my nephew.”
“Yeah?”
Oxley nods. “When you have the weight of the Van Doren name following you around, it’s easy to find yourself untouchable.
In people like Kairo, that gives them a false sense of superiority.
I admit that not reacting when he decides he wants to yell at me has undoubtedly given him the false impression that I’m scared of him. In reality, he’s not worth my time.”
“You should make that more clear.”
“I just did,” he answers and kisses me. “More than me pulling a knife on him, he won’t soon forget that someone on crutches with a busted leg doesn’t find him nearly as scary as he thinks he is. You’re going to haunt his dreams for a very long time.”
His grin makes me smile. There are worse first impressions, I suppose.