Chapter 4 #2
His fingers brush against mine before he pulls away, a fleeting contact that somehow feels more intimate than anything we’ve shared before.
The door closes behind him with a soft click, leaving me alone with the lingering warmth of his touch and the strange certainty that something fundamental has shifted between us.
I press my hand to my cheek where his palm had rested, still feeling the phantom pressure.
Outside this room waits a barrage of questions from police, statements to administration, patients who need reassurance.
But for a moment, I allow myself to simply breathe, to process the fact that the man who just gently washed blood from my face is the same one who unhesitatingly fired a weapon to protect me.
Two different worlds colliding in a single person. And somehow, impossibly, I find myself drawn to both sides of him. The protector and the predator, the gentle caretaker and the lethal enforcer.
I push away from the lockers, straightening my clean scrubs.
My reflection in the small mirror shows no trace of blood now, just tired eyes and a small cut above my eyebrow.
But I know I’ve been marked in ways that aren’t visible.
Changed by bullets and blood and the fierce protection of a man I’m only beginning to truly understand.
* * *
Zach
I pace outside the conference room where Xavier’s being interviewed, every muscle in my body tense with the need to protect, to guard.
The hallway’s been cleared of debris, but evidence of the shooting remains: bullet holes in the walls, and the sharp scent of gunpowder lingering beneath the hospital antiseptic.
My brothers are scattered throughout the building, some giving statements, others maintaining a watchful presence. Grey’s handling the police liaison, using his particular brand of diplomatic intimidation to ensure our side of the story sticks. The story where we were heroes, not vigilantes.
I check my watch again. Xavier’s been in there for forty-five minutes. Too long. My patience is wearing thin when the elevator at the end of the corridor dings. The doors slide open, and a man strides out with purposeful steps, his face tight with worry.
I recognize him immediately from the photos in Xavier’s apartment. Police Chief Ethan Blane. Xavier’s father.
He spots me before I can decide whether to approach or retreat. His steps falter for just a moment, eyes narrowing as they take in my cut, the visible tattoos on my arms, the stance that broadcasts exactly what I am. Then his gaze sharpens with recognition.
“You’re Zach,” he says. Not a question.
I straighten, meeting his eyes directly. “Yes, sir.” The ‘sir’ comes out automatically, respect for both his position and for being Xavier’s father.
He closes the distance between us, and I brace myself for the confrontation I’ve been expecting since Xavier first mentioned my name to his parents. Instead, he extends his hand.
“Ethan Blane,” he says, his grip firm when I take his hand. “I understand you helped protect my son today.”
The statement surprises me. “Word travels fast.”
“It’s my job to know what happens in my town.” His eyes never leave mine, assessing, weighing. “Especially when it involves my son.”
I nod, respecting his directness. “The Reapers targeted the hospital. Xavier was helping a wounded nurse when they came back through.”
His jaw tightens at this information. “And you happened to be there.”
“I was,” I confirm, offering no further explanation.
Something shifts in his expression—understanding, perhaps. “You’ve been watching out for him for a while, haven’t you?”
The question isn’t accusatory, just knowing. I consider deflecting but decide on honesty instead. “Yes.”
Chief Blane nods slowly. “Shaylin mentioned you might be. Said you’ve had your eye on Xavier since high school.”
My mother. Of course. “Our mothers talk,” I say, the realization settling oddly in my chest.
“More than you’d think.” A ghost of a smile touches his lips.
Before I can process this revelation, the conference room door opens. Xavier emerges, looking exhausted but composed in his clean scrubs. He stops short when he sees us, eyes widening slightly.
“Dad?”
Chief Blane moves immediately to his son, pulling him into a tight embrace that Xavier returns without hesitation. I step back, giving them space, suddenly feeling like an intruder on something private.
“You okay?” Chief Blane asks, holding Xavier at arm’s length to examine him.
“I’m fine,” Xavier assures his father, though the slight tremor in his voice betrays him. “Just tired. How did you—”
“I was at the station when the call came in. Came as soon as I could.” Chief Blane’s eyes flicker to the small cut above Xavier’s eyebrow, his expression darkening. “The bastards who did this—”
“Have been dealt with,” I interject quietly.
Xavier’s eyes find mine over his father’s shoulder, something warm and complex passing between us. “Zach was here. He… helped.”
Chief Blane turns back to me, his assessment more thorough now, taking in details he missed before. The barely concealed weapon beneath my cut, the fresh scrapes on my knuckles.
“I see,” he says finally. Then, surprising me, “Thank you.”
The simple acknowledgment carries weight. I incline my head slightly, accepting it.
Xavier steps away from his father, moving closer to me. Not touching, but near enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his body. “Zach’s taking me home,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Chief Blane looks between us, something knowing in his gaze. “Your mother’s been calling. She’ll want to see you.”
“Tomorrow,” Xavier promises. “I just need…” He glances at me, then back to his father. “Tonight, I need some space.”
Understanding passes across Chief Blane’s features. He nods once, decisive. “All right.” Then to me, his voice dropping slightly, “Take care of him.”
It’s both his permission and a warning, wrapped in four simple words.
“I will,” I promise, meaning it more than he could possibly understand.
Chief Blane squeezes Xavier’s shoulder once more, then steps back. “Call your mother in the morning. She won’t relax until she hears your voice.”
“I will,” Xavier agrees.
As Chief Blane walks away, he pauses beside me, voice pitched low for my ears only. “We should talk sometime. About club business and… other things.”
I meet his gaze steadily. “Whenever you want, Chief.”
He nods, satisfied, and continues toward the elevator. I watch him go, processing this unexpected encounter. Xavier’s father, a police chief, just tacitly acknowledged his son’s relationship with a Devil Soul. The implications are staggering.
Xavier moves closer, his shoulder brushing mine. “That went better than I expected.”
“Your father knew who I was,” I observe, still watching the elevator doors close.
“I told my parents about you,” Xavier admits, a slight flush coloring his cheeks. “Apparently, they weren’t surprised.”
I turn to face him fully, taking in the exhaustion etched around his eyes, the way he holds himself carefully as if everything hurts. “Ready to go?”
He nods, relief evident in the slight slump of his shoulders. “More than ready.”
As we walk toward the exit, I place my hand at the small of his back, a gesture both protective and possessive. The warmth of him beneath my palm centers me, reminds me what matters. What I’m fighting for.
Outside, the afternoon sun is setting, casting long shadows across the parking lot. My brothers have formed a loose perimeter, their presence both a comfort and a statement. Xavier falters slightly at the sight.
“They’re just making sure we get out safely,” I explain quietly.
He nods, but I feel the tension in his body. “Will there be retaliation? For what happened today?”
I consider lying, softening the reality, but he deserves the truth. “Possibly. But not against you.” I guide him toward my bike, parked in a spot near the entrance. “The Reapers know better than to target civilians directly. Especially now.”
“Because of what you did to protect the hospital?”
“Because they know the consequences.” My voice hardens slightly. “Grey’s called in reinforcements. The message has been sent.”
Xavier stops beside my bike, turning to face me. The fading sunlight catches in his eyes, turning them almost amber. “I should be more disturbed by this than I am,” he says softly. “By all of it. The violence, the retaliation, the… territory wars.”
I wait, letting him process, watching emotions play across his face.
“But all I feel is relief,” he continues, meeting my gaze directly. “Relief that you were there. That you knew what to do when I couldn’t protect my patients alone.”
Something tight in my chest loosens at his words. I step closer, one hand coming up to cup his face, thumb brushing the cut above his eyebrow. “That’s my job, X. Protecting what matters.”
His eyes search mine, looking for something. Whatever he finds makes him lean into my touch, the last of his professional reserve crumbling.
“Take me home,” he whispers.
I help him onto the bike, feeling him settle against my back, arms wrapping securely around my waist. His cheek presses between my shoulder blades, and I feel the moment he surrenders his weight to me, trusting me completely.
As I kick the engine to life, my brothers fall into formation around us as a protective escort that will see us safely to Xavier’s apartment. The rumble vibrates through both our bodies, a steady pulse that drowns out the events of the day.
Tonight, we’ll talk. About worlds colliding, about violence and protection, about what it means to be with someone like me. But for now, I focus on the road ahead and the man holding on to me like I’m his anchor in a storm.
Because that’s exactly what I intend to be.