FIFTEEN
St. Mary’s is buzzing. We walk right past AE and take the C-Block elevators up to the nineteenth floor. The car stops on every floor on the way up, sucking in and spitting out visitors, patients, and staff alike. However, the last two floors of the hospital are like dead zones. No one calls for the car and no one joins us. I suspect that is exactly what Dax wants—probably pays for.
On nineteen, two men stand guard outside the elevator doors. Another two hover over to the left, either side of a pair of swing doors. Further down, yet another pair wait outside a room. Thomas’s, I presume. Not a single man even looks my way. Each of them flicks a glance at Dax and then stare off into nothingness. I wonder if they are alert at all. They certainly appear intimidating.
Both Dax and Aiden are silent; shoulders squared, chins up. I take my cues from them and hold myself upright, trying my best to ignore the sorry state I’m in and the thick embarrassment coming off me in waves of stink.
A small squat nurse bustles about in the guarded room. She stares at the flashing and beeping monitors and takes notes in a small black pad, then corroborates them the old-fashioned way; blowing up a blood-pressure cuff and pressing a stethoscope to his wrist. She jots these results down too and looks up to find us both waiting.
“Mr Nagano,” she greets with a sharp nod, then abruptly leaves the room.
Aiden hovers at the door, talking to a guard and giving us privacy.
Dax stands at the end of the bed, his fingers gripping the cream bar at the base. He speaks slowly, controlled, but there is something mechanical about it—something that doesn’t sound like the man who teases, shouts, and flirts with me.
“They say his vitals are getting stronger. We aren’t out of the danger zone yet, but he is looking good. The surgery was a success as far as they can see. There should be no reason he won’t…he’ll wake up. At some point, he will wake up.”
I try not to look at Dax. He might be in the room with me, talking to me, but I feel like I’m watching something private.
“His colour is better…” I mumble. Tom looks like he’s just taking a nap with his dark hair flicked away from his forehead and his long eyelashes splayed upon his skin. I can see more of their resemblance now, having grown accustomed to Dax’s features. Their noses have the same soft curve at the bridge and their cupid’s-bow pout matches too. Though Tom’s hair is darker and has some curl to it, and his skin is a shade or two paler than his brother’s.
Dax nods to the chair at Tom’s bedside and I take a seat, sagging into the padding. As soon as I’m comfortable, Dax leaves and closes the door.
I check out the room. It’s like no hospital room I’ve ever seen before. Decorated in warm walnut wood and dark blues, it’s more like a hotel than a hospital. Across from the bed is an L-shaped sofa and coffee table, and beside that is a small kitchenette/bar stocked with a coffee machine and a microwave. Between the two spaces are a pair of open doors, one leading to an enormous bathroom and the other—I tip my chair back to get a better look—yep, that’s a double bedroom back there. Is Dax sleeping here? The bed doesn’t look touched, but it’s obviously family accommodation.
I throw the information onto my reasons why Dax is out of my league list and move on.
Only, I don’t know what to do. I feel stupid sitting here staring at a sleeping man while machines beep and hiss. I close my eyes and lean my head back.
“Hey. I don’t suppose you’ll even recognise my voice or if you can hear me at all but…”
But what? I’m glad to see him? I hope he’s healing? Your brother hasn’t left me alone? I wish I’d never stopped to help you…
No. That’s not true. I wish a lot of things hadn’t happened the way they did, but I don’t regret sitting with Tom at what was probably the worst and loneliest moment of his life.
I take a breath.
“I’m the idiot that almost stuck a tampon in your gut. I’m not sure if that officially makes you my bestie or something. I mean, I think seeing your insides might make me a little special.” I hesitate. It feels silly talking to myself. “That you’re still breathing must mean my TV expertise was on point…and to think you scoffed at my abilities…”
Yep. I’m officially insane. I’m sitting here making jokes with an unconscious guy. I glance at the door. Dax and Aiden are still deep in discussion.
“Everything’s gone to shit,” I tell Tom. “Whatever secrets you were keeping have put my life at risk, or so I’m told. Not that anything’s come of it so far. Unless my dad counts. Does he count? I thought I’d grown used to the shit he pulls, but lately he’s been losing it more and more. I swear to God, I try to keep my head down, but how do you disappear when someone hunts you out over and over again? He’s figured out that the kids are my kryptonite too, which sucks. Your brother and Aiden got us out of there, though. I’m hoping it’s permanent, but I don’t know what I’m going to do, or how I’m going to survive. I have nothing. How does someone live on nothing?”
Movement outside catches my eye.
“Never mind. I’ll be okay. As long as I never have to step foot in my dad’s house again, I’ll manage. And if I can do the impossible, then you can get the hell up out of that bed and go back to your life in the Heights. Your brother’s worried. Your friends are worried. You’re lucky, you know that? Even in that bed and hooked up to machines, you might be one of the luckiest people I know…” My eyes scan the door. A guard hands over a letter to Dax and leaves. It makes me think of that stupid envelope. “And if you could hurry it up, for my sake, I’d be grateful. The sooner I get some normality back, the sooner I can start coping again.”
The door opens. A nurse and a guard carrying a large bag enter first, Dax and Aiden hover behind them.
“Juliet,” Dax addresses me, and my back stiffens. He’s not called me that before. Am I in trouble? I search his face for an answer. His lips pinch but it tells me nothing. “This is Nurse Harris. She’s here to look at those hands. The bag has a change of clothes for you. Feel free to use the bathroom.”
Dax maintains the formality, even to the point of staying as far from me as possible. I pick up on it and play along.
“I’d like to shower and change first, if I may?” I ask politely. Aiden’s eyebrow flicks up at the careful and polite voice I use. Sure, I’m putting it on. I can speak nicely when I need to. One of the first lessons I learned as a kid was that people get treated differently depending on what rung of the social ladder they stand on. Vale people are bottom feeders, Upper and Lower Harrison are respected and Heights folk are revered. One of the fastest ways to tell where someone comes from is to assess their accent and speech mannerisms. Someone who speaks in a Heights accent while in the Vale is likely to get marked for robbery, kidnapping, or worse. Conversely, someone who speaks Vale in Harrison Central would be shown the door—as they skid through it on their arse.
I taught myself all the dialects. I learned to blend. If only because, one day, I want out of this shitty district and that means being able to leave everything about it behind me.
“Nurse Harris, do you have any objections?” Dax asks.
“You say these are bleach burns?” she queries, gesturing toward my hands. I nod, expecting her to ask how I got them. “Then you shouldn’t use anything too astringent to wash with. I’d be happier if we could bandage them first.”
“Wouldn’t I have to keep the bandages dry?”
“Yes, but we can glove you after. You’ll be able to shower, though perhaps a little awkwardly. You’ll probably struggle with washing your hair.”
“I’ll ponytail it. It can wait.” She looks right at the spot where Dad threw the fruit and I flush with embarrassment. Do I have food in my hair? After everything we’ve done today, nobody mentioned it? I shoot Dax an Aiden a fiery glare.
“There are bruises on her scalp. It’ll probably be best to wait a while,” Aiden agrees, clueing me in on the nurse’s staring.
I’d forgot about potential bruising. I agree to the nurse’s suggestion if only to get the ball rolling. I really want that shower.
“Okay, thank you.” I hold out my hands and let the nurse bathe them in a blue solution with swabs. She works quickly and efficiently, turning them this way and that way and humming her diagnosis in little bursts of disapproving huffs.
“You rinsed well, I see. The burns are not as bad as they look. You mostly have surface damage. Luckily, you got to them before the chemicals reached the lower layers of the epidermis and caused nerve damage. They don’t seem to give you much discomfort.”
I clearly have her fooled. The problem with catching regular beatings is that you’re always hurting. Most people get hurt and rest; hand their responsibilities to someone else for a while. People in situations like mine, well, they don’t get to stop. There are always things to be done. So you get up, smile through the pain, and fake being well.
People like me fake normality so well, you’d never know the sheer agony of our lives.
I do it for the kids, for my mum who I never want to worry, for my classes lest they send me home, for Charlie and Carlo lest they interfere, and for my dad…so I don’t provoke his guilt or spite or whatever makes him want to hit me again.
I’m hurting, in so many ways, but it’s part of my self-preservation not to show it.
Despite the tirade in my head. I keep my mouth shut.
“I’ll recommend a good antibacterial cream. Wrap them for a couple of days but keep the dressings clean. And try to avoid using any chemicals that might irritate. Be careful of extreme temperatures too. If you experience headaches or nausea, come straight back in. You’ve been incredibly lucky, Juliet, you probably won’t even scar.”
“Thank you so much for your help,” I say with a smile and watch her seal the ends of the dressings with surgical tape. Next, she produces a pair of loose plastic gloves and helps put them on before taping those at the wrists.
“There you go. All ready for your shower.” She pats my leg gently and I thank her again.
“Will you be okay in there on your own?” Dax asks.
I want to tease him and ask if he’s suggesting he joins me, but he’s still keeping his distance, so I mutter, “I’ll be fine,” instead.
Aiden strides across the room and lifts the bag of clothing, taking it into the bathroom. He puts it on the counter and rolls up his sleeve. Just as I’m about to ask what he thinks he’s doing; he reaches into the shower and turns the control for me. Testing the temperature and setting the dials, he shakes off his arm and smiles.
“Don’t think I didn’t see that naughty idea run through your mind, Jules,” he whispers as me passes me. “We’re both truly sorry we can’t help you in your time of need,” he teases in his low, throaty voice.
“You are both horrible teases. I see your games. I’m not sure I want to play.”
“And yet you slipped into role so easily this evening. Should we add the word chameleon to your list of talents?”
“Natural born survivor,” I remind him. “Dax acted formal, I just followed along. Problem?”
His smile is genuine if a little calculating. “Not at all. I’m incredibly impressed.” He takes a long moment to stare at my face before firming his lips into a neutral expression and becoming all business again. “There’s a new phone in the bag. We’ve arranged it so the old phone will connect straight to your new one, in case the kids call. Shower, Tiger. We’ll fill you in on all the rest as soon as we ditch this place.” He exits and I flip the lock behind him, forcing myself to take a couple of deep breaths.
I’m grateful. More than I can show, but I’m confused too.
What are they both playing at? I’m like a ball batted between the two of them. I can’t figure out if their interest is genuine or if it’s a special kind of cruelty. A bet perhaps? Who can win me over first? I wasn’t lying when I said I didn’t want to play. I need assurances, not games. I’ve lived too long on my nerves already.
The shower is perfect. I stay under the spray for too long. My muscles relax and my bones revert to jelly. My eyes close before I’ve even turned off the spray. I know I need to dress and go back outside, but I also need to sleep. I’m not sure how much longer I can stay on my feet.
I dress in the cargo pants and white-long-sleeved t-shirt Dax’s men provide and marvel that they got my sizes right. Well, they’d normally be spot on, but I’ve lost some weight over the last few days because I have to yank on the drawstring waist and tie a little tighter than normal to secure them. I can feel their expense in the way the fabric caresses my skin. Only the best cottons feel like silk. My new underwear is the same, soft, and comforting like fingertips dancing across my skin.
I tuck my dirty clothes into the empty bag and slide my new phone into one of the leg pockets on my trousers after switching it to vibrate only. I check my hair and lay my hand on the door lock.
Am I sucking in the energy around me or am I just gathering up what’s left inside me? Whichever it is, it takes all of my breath and focus before I finally feel ready to face the world again.
When I exit, Dax and Aiden are outside the suite. They have three more guards gathered around them all with their heads bowed and listening intently to whatever Dax is telling them. I don’t feel like interrupting, so I slip into the bedroom and lay across the mattress. I liquefy; melting into the memory foam and becoming one with the fabric.
I pretend not to hear the two men enter the room or the conversation they have over my supposedly sleeping form.
“I wondered how long it would take,” Dax whispers.
There’s a grunt of agreement and Aiden’s quiet response. “She’s exhausted.”
“From what I’ve gathered, she runs on exhaustion.”
“Much like you,” Aiden retorts, but there’s a teasing quality to it. Indulgent.
“Yeah, yeah.” Dax snorts. “But when there’s shit to get done, you’ve got to do it.”
“Only because you don’t trust anyone else to do it.”
“I trust you, don’t I?” Dax fires back.
“True.”
“But not with her,” Dax tacks on.
Aiden huffs. “I figured. Are we doing this now?”
“Doing what?”
“Discussing intentions. Lines. Expectations.”
“With her?” Dax’s voice pitches slightly on the her. I’m almost offended, but what Aiden says next halts that emotion in its tracks.
“Yes, with her. Don’t think I haven’t been picking up on your interest. Flirting, teasing. The phone thing— ‘call me anytime,’ and then what happened in the car tonight. What exactly did you whisper that made her blush so beautifully?”
“None of your business. And you’re deflecting, Driscoll. I’ve caught all the looks you’ve given her. That lingering moment in the bathroom…the fact that she now looks to you more than me because you knocked Eric out.” Holy shit, is Dax jealous?
“It’s not like she knows I fucked his face up.” He fucked my dad up? I’m not sure if I’m scared or excited to hear that confirmed.
“It’s not like she doesn’t know either,” Dax grunts.
Aiden sighs. “This is a complication neither of us need. We’re fixating. She needs stability and we’re mid-mission. We can’t bring her into this.”
“Tom brought her into this. Until she’s safe, we’re keeping her close.”
“How close?” Aiden asks. I strain against sleep to hear the answer.
“Fuck if I know.”
The following silence lasts a long beat. Then Dax asks, “Is it wrong that I want her?”
“Yes,” Aiden grumbles. “But that means I’m wrong too. I don’t know if her vulnerability is drawing me to her or holding me back? We’ll be taking advantage if we try anything with her. We have power over her life and choices right now. I don’t want her making decisions that she feels she has to make to keep us happy or helping.”
“Us?” Dax sounds incredulous.
“Do you plan on giving up?”
“No.”
Aiden reply is immediate. “Neither do I. She’s…a survivor. She’d fit well with us. Look at how she shifted into another woman tonight. I jokingly called her a chameleon earlier, but it’s a good description of her. Bilingual, astute, intelligent, intuitive, defiant, passionate, she’s withstood torture, physical, mental, and emotional…”
“I know what you’re thinking. I’m not fucking recruiting her into this madness.”
“She’d be an asset,” Aiden pushes. What madness? Recruitment? Asset?
“I don’t doubt it. I see her skills. I’ve considered it too, but she’ll still be vulnerable. I won’t do that to her. I can’t, not after…”
Aiden’s reply is soft, almost morose. “I get it. I do. Let’s just put a pin in this conversation. We’ll circle back to it when we get the trace off her back.”
“It’s confirmed then? They have her name?” Dax asks.
“Yes. They think she’s seen the list. Or at least they’re willing to risk finding out.”
Dax makes a low growling sound in the back of his throat. “They’ll make her vanish. She’s low risk.” This sounds serious. I knew it was serious but hearing these two talking about me vanishing like it’s nothing…normal even…that cements it for me.
“I know. We’ll keep her close, and when they come for her, we’ll take them down.”