Ember
WHY - brISTON MARONEY
Surviving a ride to London’s largest hospital with Axel sulking and Blaine behind the wheel, ignoring every last traffic law known to man, should be classified as an extreme sport. I’d be surprised if he actually has a legal license given his tumultuous childhood.
Honestly, it’s a welcome relief to escape inside the warm building and navigate towards the outpatient clinic where Axel’s booked for his checkup. With Christmas rapidly approaching, the weather is temperamental and bitterly cold.
“I’m alright.” He walks slowly, struggling to breathe. “Just give me a sec to catch up.”
“Sure you don’t need a wheelchair?” Blaine eyes him critically.
“Shut the fuck up. I can walk perfectly fine.”
“Guys.” I check the time on my phone. “Stop flirting, we’re going to be late for the appointment.”
As Blaine strolls past me towards the department, he drops his voice to a sultry purr. “He wishes.”
Balancing the sheer amount of testosterone bouncing around our team is going to be the death of me. If it isn’t Blaine stirring shit up, it’s one of the others responding in kind. Some days it almost feels like camaraderie.
Weirdly, it gives me hope.
Maybe we can make this work after all.
“I’d take you over him any day.” Axel winks at me despite his pink cheeks.
“Thanks, Ax. But in all seriousness, I can get a chair if it’ll help.”
“Nah, I’m good. Just stiff. It’s not even that painful.”
“Here, give me an arm.”
“Fine, but don’t tell anyone. It’ll hurt my manhood.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I mutter in exasperation. “Your ego’s safe with me.”
Taking some of his weight, we navigate the busy hospital corridors together. It’s as packed as you would expect in peak flu season. If Warner and Hyland weren’t busy at HQ, I have no doubt they’d be here, complaining about the human traffic too.
I don’t have the best memories of ending up in this place, and bringing Axel back with a stitched hole in him is hardly an improvement. With any luck, they’ll tell us he’s on the mend. He’s certainly more mobile.
Once checked in by the grumpy receptionist, we linger in the waiting area until Axel’s name is called. As I stand to help him up, I meet Blaine’s dark eyes.
“I’ll stay here,” he says quietly. “Keep watch.”
“Thank you.”
“Any issues, shout, and I’ll come running. Promise me.”
“Promise.” I offer him a small smile.
He nods back, softening a little. “Good.”
“Worried about me, Phantom?” Axel huffs, leaning on my elbow.
“Hardly, Slaughter. Go get patched up so we can get out of here.”
“Aw. I think he likes me, Em.”
“Come on, let’s get this done.” I roll my eyes. “Don’t get into any trouble while we’re gone.”
Blaine’s cocky smile makes no promises.
In the examination room around the corner, an elderly doctor awaits, greeting Axel by name. Sabre must’ve sent all of his medical notes over with the strictest instructions for patient confidentiality.
I position myself in the corner of the white-washed clinical room while Axel is laid down on the bed by Doctor Holiwell, the resident trauma expert. He has warm eyes beneath a bush of wispy white hair that resembles cotton candy.
“How are you doing, Mr Slaughter?”
“Just peachy, doc. Having a great time.”
“Hm, I’m not inclined to believe you with that tone. Raise your shirt, please. I’m going to change these bandages out and examine your wound.”
Axel follows his instructions without talking back for once. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him so obedient. His wound is still red and enflamed beneath thick adhesive bandages, but the stitches seem to be healing well.
“I think a few more weeks and these will come out nicely.” The doctor closely examines his wound. “You’re healing well. I’m not concerned about an infection at this time.”
“When can I return to work?” Axel demands.
“Hold your horses, lad.”
“Give me a timeline. Something. Anything.”
“This is a serious injury; your body requires recovery time. I’d advise light exercise once your stitches are removed, but no heavy lifting for at least another month. You may need physical therapy to regain core strength.”
“Shit!” Axel’s head hits the flat pillow.
“Now, now, don’t be disheartened. You’ll make a full recovery in time.”
“That’s not good enough. We don’t have time.”
“Ax,” I scold. “You’ll heal when you’re ready. It can’t be rushed.”
Ignoring me, he stares up at the popcorn ceiling while the doc redresses his wound. “I have to be able to do my job.”
“And you will. Until then, let us look after you.”
Doctor Holiwell’s head swivels between us, wearing an empathising smile underneath his thick silver moustache. He disposes of his latex gloves then moves to depart the room.
“I’ll step outside to order Axel’s prescription and book his follow-up appointment. Please wait here.”
“Thanks, doc.” I attempt to source a thin smile.
“Of course. Be patient with yourself, Mr Slaughter. You’re doing well.”
“Thanks,” Axel grits out.
In the doctor’s wake, we lapse into silence, broken by the off-key hum of distant medical machines and conversing voices. I lean my head on the wall, sighing at the despondent look on Axel’s face.
“Are you sulking?”
“Yes.” He’s literally pouting.
“Come on, this is good news. You’re making progress.”
“Not quick enough. This is all my fucking brother’s fault!”
“No arguments there, but playing the blame game isn’t going to speed this process up.”
He grabs a handful of crisp hospital sheets then tugs, rumpling the white material. “I should be in that detention cell doing my job. That’s what our team relies on me for. Not sat at home twiddling my thumbs.”
“Well… maybe you can.”
“Huh?”
“Do some light work, I mean.” I push off the wall to approach the bed. “Nothing physical or strenuous, but watching interrogation feeds or coordinating interviews from the other side of the glass can’t hurt.”
“You think the others would go for that?” He meets my eyes fretfully.
“With some convincing, perhaps. I’m pretty good at getting them to do what I want, you know.”
His bee-stung lips quirk in a slight grin. “That you are.”
“If you agree to rest when needed and give yourself real time to heal up, then I’ll speak to Warner. But the minute we think you’re pushing too hard, that’s it. We’ll pull the plug.”
“I won’t, I swear.” He accepts my hand to help him sit upright.
“There’s a good chance that Gunnar will be given a deal soon. If that happens, I want you to stay away from him. Until you’re better, at least. You don’t need any more stress.”
“Em.” Axel exhales loudly, gripping the skin between his eyes.
“I know you want to hash it out, but that can wait. He isn’t going anywhere.”
“So what? I’m supposed to work with the psycho?”
“I don’t know, Ax. I’m not sure any of us know what we’re doing. But if he’s given clemency, there’s a very good chance we could all end up working together to eliminate Madden and his associates.”
It’s not exactly a comfortable thought to me either. But it is our reality.
“Ugh, fine.” Axel tugs his T-shirt back down to cover his re-bandaged torso. “But he better stay out of my way.”
“I’m sure that can be arranged.”
“Thanks, Em. I’m going crazy sitting around waiting for my body to stitch itself back together.”
“Hey, I’ve been there.” I shrug it off. “I know what it’s like to be held back by your health. At least with my condition stabilising, I can take a pill and function relatively normally now.”
He smooths out his shirt, revealing another classic pun—I’m a little chilli in big letters with a drawing of a shivering red pepper in the centre. Honestly, I’ve missed my goofball and his dumb clothing.
When the door reopens, I shift back to allow Doctor Holiwell to approach Axel and deliver the appointment confirmation. Only his hair is no longer a silvery pouf, and a blue surgical mask covers where that kind smile should be.
I glance between the new doctor and the door. “Who are you?”
“Doctor Holiwell is indisposed,” the stranger rumbles. “I’m here to take care of you now.”
It takes a split-second for my entire body to freeze over, like I’ve been submerged in an arctic lake and left to accept a hypothermic fate. Then I’m reaching for the weapon discreetly tucked underneath my leather jacket.
When he sets down a blank clipboard and turns to face us, I spy a tattoo at the juncture between his thumb and index finger. The small, almost geometric symbol seems oddly familiar, though I’m not sure why.
“We’re waiting for a prescription.” Axel’s brows tug together.
“It’ll be a little while longer, I’m afraid.”
Pinpricks race over the back of my neck, delivering a heavy dose of alarm. “You don’t work here, do you?”
“Excuse me, miss?” His pale-green eyes narrow.
“Your right hand—the tattoo. I’ve seen it before.”
For a moment, I fear I’m mistaken. Then he peels the surgical mask free to unveil a toothy leer.
“I thought you’d make this easy, 768. But I can do this the hard way too.”
“Ax! Get down!”
In the time it takes me to pull the semi-automatic from my waist holster, the intruder has unsheathed a long, deadly-looking switchblade from the pocket of his medical coat and flicked it open.
Distant screams echo at the blast of my gun firing, planting a bullet in the wall behind where the asshole ducks. I follow it up with another hurried shot towards his crouched form, but it merely sails over his shoulder without making impact.
Limbs blur as he rushes at me across the linoleum. Before I can pop off another shot, my legs are swept from underneath me, and I go down hard. The pistol flies from my grasp when my body crashes into the floor, jolting my spine.
“Ember!”
“Stay down, Axel!”
Wiry arms coil around me then constrict with impressive strength, using the opportunity to body slam me into the floor. When the breath flies from my lungs with a spluttered heave, I almost throw up from the violence of it.
“Blaine! Help!” Axel shouts penetrate the cavernous buzz reverberating through my skull. “In here!”