Chapter 26 – ELLIE #2
His laugh turns into a wince, and Tank makes a low sound that might be disapproval at his antics. Or maybe just concern. Hard to tell with the bandana and the way his dark eyes are locked on Kade's wound like he can will it closed through sheer force of wanting.
It occurs to me this is the closest I've been to him since all this started, even if it's clearly against his will.
"I'm not dying, Princess." Kade lets Tank guide him to the couch, and I trail behind them. "Takes more than a graze to put me down."
"That's more than a graze," I argue, watching red seep through the makeshift bandage. "That's a shit ton of blood. You need a hospital. Stitches. Actual medical attention."
"No hospitals." The words are firm, final. "Not unless I'm unconscious and can't argue about it."
"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard."
"Good thing I don't give a fuck what you think." There's no bite in his words. He's too focused on not passing out, his jaw clenched tight enough to crack teeth.
Jinx is already moving, disappearing down the hallway only to return moments later with what looks like a full medical kit.
The kind with actual supplies, not just bandages and Neosporin.
He sets it on the coffee table and immediately starts gathering supplies, and I realize this isn't new for them.
Except now, they're not patching up scraped knees after run-ins with the trailer park bullies. It's bullet holes and stab wounds.
"Shirt off," Jinx orders, pulling on latex gloves.
Kade shrugs out of his jacket, the movement making him hiss through his teeth.
The shirt underneath is ruined, blood-soaked and torn.
He peels it off carefully, revealing lean muscle covered in tattoos and—fuck—more scars than I remember.
Not just the one on his arm. Some old, some newer, all telling stories I probably don't want to know.
The bullet wound is on his left bicep, angry and still bleeding sluggishly. It's not as bad as I feared. The bullet definitely went through, leaving entry and exit wounds that Jinx examines with surprising detachment for the boy who once passed out because he saw blood.
"You're lucky," Jinx says, reaching for gauze and antiseptic. "Missed the bone, didn't hit anything major. You'll live."
"Told you." Kade's eyes find mine, dark and defiant. "Takes more than this to kill me, Princess."
"She's right," Jinx says pointedly, taking out a bottle of antiseptic. "It doesn't count as a graze if it goes in one end and comes out the other, idiot."
Kade barks every profane word in the book as Jinx douses both wounds without warning, ending on, "Motherfucker!"
I watch Jinx work with less satisfaction than I should probably feel right now, his hands steady as he cleans the wound. Kade doesn't flinch after the antiseptic, just stares at me with those pissed off gray eyes while his best friend literally threads a needle through his skin.
"This is normal for you?" The question comes out hoarser than I intend. "Getting shot? Stitching each other up like it's nothing?"
Kade, Jinx, and Cyrus exchange looks. Then, in perfect unison, they shrug.
The casual response to nearly dying makes me nauseous. This is their life. Bullets and blood and brothers stitching each other up in living rooms because hospitals ask too many questions.
This is what they chose.
What I chose, at least for the year.
Tank hovers at the edge of the room, and I finally let myself look at him properly. The bandana is still in place, but it's slightly askew, and he keeps adjusting it. There's even more blood on the black t-shirt that stretches across his massive chest. He doesn't seem to notice or care.
His eyes meet mine, but they're blank and glazed over above his mask. He won't sign, won't communicate, just stands there like a gargoyle.
I have no fucking idea what he's thinking.
I want to go to him. Want to ask if he's okay, if we're okay, if there's any chance in hell he doesn't completely hate me. But the distance between us feels insurmountable, an ocean of hurt and four years of silence that I don't know how to cross.
We used to be the closest, him and I.
Jinx was my confidant, someone I could talk to about boys and cry with on the sofa.
But Tank…
What we had was different.
Special.
And now it's all gone. Just like the creek they dug out a couple of years ago and filled in to make room for a new parking lot.
"All done." Jinx ties off the last stitch and starts bandaging the wound like a pro. "Try not to get shot again for at least a week. I'm running low on supplies."
"No promises." Kade flexes his arm experimentally, testing the stitches. "Southside's gonna retaliate for Carson. Got a whole resistance brewing, apparently, so we can't trust anyone on his old crew. They'll probably try something stupid."
"Then we'll handle it," Cyrus says, finally setting his phone down. "Same way we always do."
"You should rest," Jinx tells Kade, peeling off the latex gloves. "That arm's going to hurt like a bitch once the adrenaline wears off and I know you won't take the drugs."
I guess that's one vice my twisted knights haven't succumbed to. Even if they're apparently more than fine dealing the shit.
"I'm fine." But Kade's eyes are already starting to droop, exhaustion and blood loss catching up with him. "Just need to—"
He tries to stand and immediately sways. Tank moves faster than should be possible for someone his size, catching Kade by the arm before he can face-plant into the coffee table.
"Okay, maybe I need to sit down," Kade admits, lowering himself back onto the couch.
"You think?" Jinx shakes his head, already pulling out bottles from the medical kit. "Are you going to be reasonable and try painkillers, too? Since you're having a rare moment of clarity?"
"Painkillers make me stupid."
"You're already stupid," Jinx counters without missing a beat. "That's how you got shot."
Kade flips him off with his good arm, and the gesture is so familiar, so them, it almost makes me feel like we're back in the RV.
Tank's still holding Kade steady, his massive hands gentle despite their size. The care in the gesture is obvious, the way he's positioned himself to take Kade's weight without making it look like Kade needs the help. Brothers in every way that matters, even if they don't share blood.
I wonder if Tank's hurt too. If there's blood under those clothes that he's hiding because Kade's injury takes priority. If he's in pain but won't show it because that's what he does. He suffers in silence while making sure everyone else is okay.
The thought makes it harder to breathe.
"You should go upstairs," Cyrus says, and I realize he's talking to me. "Get some rest. It's been a long day."
"I'm fine." I echo Kade's words from earlier, and his eyes flick to mine with something that might be amusement.
"That makes one of us," he mutters.
Jinx hands him water and two pills, which Kade takes without argument. The fact that he's not fighting tells me more about his condition than anything else. Kade doesn't accept help easily, doesn't show weakness, doesn't let anyone see him as anything less than completely in control.
He leaves with Tank, and then it's just the three of us again. I stand there for a few seconds, fighting the urge to follow them.
"I'm going to check the perimeter," Cyrus announces, already heading for the door. "Make sure they weren't followed."
"Perimeter my ass," Jinx mutters as soon as he's gone. "Thinks he's in a fucking spy movie."
I snort at the attempted levity, but I'm still shaken from…
All of it.
From running. From what I did with Cyrus and Jinx. From the emotional whiplash of hating Kade's guts one minute and fearing for his life the next.
"Cy's right. You should get some sleep," Jinx says, his hand resting on my shoulder.
The touch sinks me back into my body and I nod, suddenly feeling the weight of the exhaustion settle over me.
I make it back to my room on autopilot and sink back against the door, all the breath rushing from my lungs like a deflating balloon.
Kade got shot.
Tank hates me, as evidenced by the fact that he won't even look in my direction.
I expected as much, but suspecting and knowing are two different things.
And deep down, if I'm being honest with myself, if I thought any of them would find a way to forgive me, it was him. My scarred, gentle giant. My knight in leather and faded denim armor.
But I guess I'm not the girl he fought for.
Not anymore.