11. Chapter Eleven Kieran
Chapter Eleven: Kieran
R uby was trying to walk like nothing hurt. Like her hand wasn’t bleeding through a half-assed wrap job. Like she didn’t need me.
It was bullshit.
Every step made her flinch, her jaw tight, her fingers curled awkwardly around the wad of gauze like she didn’t trust it—or herself—to hold together. She didn’t see me watching, but I felt every goddamn twitch like it was happening to me.
I still had her by the elbow—lightly, sure, like I might let go if she asked. She hadn’t. Not yet. I didn’t know if that meant anything.
“You sure you don’t want to lean in a little?” I asked, keeping my voice easy. “Or are you saving that honor for a stranger with a clipboard and bad bedside manner?”
She shot me a look sharp enough to draw blood. “I said I’ve got it.”
Right. That’s why her skin was too pale and her hand looked like it was one flex away from tearing open again.
“You’ve got it,” I echoed, dry. “And here I thought the trail of blood behind you was just for dramatic effect.”
She hissed in pain—soft, involuntary—when her fingers shifted, and I watched her bite it back like it owed her something.
“I don’t need a babysitter,” she snapped.
“No,” I said. “But you clearly need a grip on reality.”
She glared. I kept walking beside her, adjusting my hold just enough to steady her when she stumbled.
“Look, you don’t want my help? Fine. But you’re getting it anyway,” I muttered. “So suck it up and try not to bleed out on my shoes.”
Ruby opened her mouth to argue but stopped, a grimace twisting her features. Her dark hair fell out of its bun, sticking to her forehead. She looked stubborn and fragile all at once. Even if she was still pissed about it, I was glad I had my hand on her, certain I wouldn’t let her fall.
Inside, I let her go first to the desk. She gave her name through gritted teeth, one hand pressed awkwardly against her stomach like she could physically hold herself together.
The receptionist gave her a polite once-over—then blinked. “Wait. Is it your hand?”
Ruby nodded stiffly.
The woman’s face tightened. “I’m sorry, we can’t treat deep lacerations here. Not with that kind of bleeding, not near major arteries. You need the ER.”
“What?” Ruby’s voice was barely a whisper. “But I’m already here.”
“I know, and I’m sorry,” the receptionist said gently, but firm. “You need stitches. Maybe even a surgical consult. We don’t have that kind of setup here.”
For a moment, Ruby stood frozen—like her brain couldn’t catch up to her body. Then she swayed.
I caught her before she could drop. One arm around her waist, the other bracing her elbow. She didn’t resist. Couldn’t.
“We’re going,” I said, my voice harder than it should’ve been. It wasn’t for the receptionist. It was for her.
Outside, I opened the passenger door. Ruby stood there a second too long, like the act of climbing in was a defeat she couldn’t stomach.
“Get in,” I said, low.
She looked up at me, eyes flashing—pride flaring even now.
But she got in.
And I shut the door before she could change her mind.
In the driver’s seat, I didn’t wait. I started the car and pulled onto the road like I had a target. Because I did.
“You’ve lost a lot of blood,” I said, keeping my eyes on the road.
“I know.”
“Then stop pretending you didn’t almost hit the floor back there.”
“I didn’t pass out.”
“Yet.”
She exhaled sharply, turning her head toward the window. Deflect, deflect, deflect. It was classic Ruby. Pretend everything was fine until it wasn’t.
"You’re pushing yourself too hard."
She didn’t snap back. She didn’t even roll her eyes.
"I don’t have a choice," she murmured.
That wasn’t the Ruby I knew. Ruby always had a choice.
She forced choices into existence. And in that moment…
fuck, I just knew some asshole had done this to her—some asshole who wasn’t me.
I’d been a real fucking bastard to her, I was well aware of that, but I’d never made her feel like she was weak.
Still, I didn’t argue. I just drove.
“Wear a face mask when we get there,” she said. “I don’t want anyone to see me with you while I’m running for DA.”
“But I’m so pretty,” I shot back.
“You’re…alright, I guess,” she scoffed.
I looked over at her, finding the ghost of a smile on her face.
That was good. She was still sassy as hell.
“Rude,” I replied. “But fine.”
The ER was nothing like the waiting room at urgent care—it was packed, with people coughing and slumped on chairs, a couple of people bleeding from their faces.
I could hear sirens approaching outside.
I grabbed a blue face mask from the entrance and put it over my ears to cover my face, then handed one to her.
Masks in place, Ruby led me over to a cluster of chairs, leaning into me now even though I was sure she still didn’t want to.
Once we were seated, she exhaled shakily, like even that was an ordeal.
I wanted to say something, to reassure her that I wouldn’t leave, but I couldn’t find the words.
Instead, I reached for the clipboard, ready to fill it out if she couldn’t.
She grabbed it before I could, hunching over it like a dog guarding raw meat.
Her pen moved across the page slowly, each answer looking like a struggle.
Her injured hand just happened to be her dominant hand, and she was trying to act like she wasn’t writing like a drunk toddler with a broken crayon.
"You sure you don’t want me to handle that?" I offered, my voice low enough for only her to hear. “You’re making it look like a ransom note.”
“I’ve got it.”
“No, you don’t,” I said. “You’re right-handed and bleeding all over the page. Let me fill this out.”
“You want me to tell you my address and my insurance details?”
I shrugged. “Let’s be real. I already know your address. And what can I do with your insurance details—file a claim for emotional distress?”
She let out a frustrated sigh but didn't hand the clipboard over. "Fine. Ask, but no unnecessary questions. This isn’t twenty questions, Kieran."
I smirked. "I make no promises." I grabbed the pen from her and scanned the top of the form. "Full name?"
"Really?" She arched a brow. "You don’t know my full name?"
"Maybe I like hearing you say it," I shot back.
Her eye roll could have killed me on the spot. "Rubiela Elena Marquez," she muttered.
I jotted it down, pretending not to notice the way her gaze softened slightly at the sound of her own name. "Date of birth?"
"June second."
I raised a brow. "You’re a Gemini? That actually explains a lot."
“Hey, fuck you,” she said. “What are you? A Virgo?”
“Ouch. No. Worse.”
Her brow furrowed. “Worse?”
“Scorpio.”
She exhaled through her nose, like she was physically restraining herself from committing a crime. “Of course you are.”
“Scorpio slander. Typical Gemini shit. Okay. Address—though, like I said, I already know that one," I continued, and jotted it down.
She leaned her head back against the wall, her skin paling.
"Emergency contact?"
Her expression hardened. "Julian Garcia."
The name dropped like a stone between us.
For a split second, I thought about how easy it would be to get rid of him. A slip in the shower. A staged overdose. A rope tied just tight enough. It’d been a long time since I handled things personally, but for that asshole, I’d make an exception.
Instead, I just wrote his name down and moved on. I could save my murder fantasies for next time I got bored waching Ruby’s house.
"Okay. Now for the fun part," I said, flipping to the medical history section. "Allergies?"
"Shellfish," she answered. "And I’m sensitive to certain antibiotics."
I scribbled it down, noting how her posture stiffened slightly. I could tell she hated this—hated giving me access to details she kept locked up tight. Still, she didn’t stop me.
"Any surgeries I should know about?"
Her jaw tightened. "I had surgery when Rosie was born. C-section," she said quietly, as if daring me to say something.
I blinked, my pen freezing mid-stroke. I hadn’t expected her to share that. Something about the way she said it made me feel like I was trespassing on something deeply personal. "Noted," I murmured, writing it down without further comment. “Medications?”
She hesitated for a moment, her eyes narrowing slightly. "None right now."
I wrote that down too, glancing at her. Her face was blank, but there was tension in her voice—like this conversation was hitting too close to home. I moved on to the next question carefully. "Family medical history?"
She tensed even more, and I could feel her resistance rising. "Why don’t you skip that one?"
“Can’t. It’s on the form," I said, tapping the paper lightly. "Come on, Ruby, work with me here."
Ruby shook her head, muttering something under her breath. "Fine. Mom died of breast cancer when I was twenty-eight.”
“Fuck. I didn’t know. I’m so sorry.”
“Thanks,” she said. “Let’s keep going.”
“Dad?”
“Never met him. Can’t answer that. Keep going.”
"Okay, calm down. I know you’re excited about the form, but I can only write so fast,” I teased, hoping to break the tension. She didn’t smile, just closed her eyes briefly like she was trying to center herself.
The door opened and the nurse stepped in, all business. “Rubiela Marquez?”
She stood up, swaying slightly. I followed, steadying her before she could refuse the help. “Please call me Ruby.”
The nurse smiled politely. “You can come on back. Your husband can join you if you’d like.”
I didn’t wait for Ruby to correct her. I was already on my feet. “That’s me. Coming.”
Ruby shot me a murderous look. “He’s not—”
“No problem,” the nurse said, stepping aside to let us through.
Ruby turned to me, lowering her voice to a harsh whisper. “What the fuck are you doing? You’re not my husband.”
“You heard her,” I said with a smirk. “It’s policy. Husbands get to come back.”
“Kieran—”
“Relax. I’ll be on my best behavior.”