Page 125 of Cohesion

“This is unnecessary,” Sebastian said, scowling at them from where he was sitting on the hospital bed in the private room—courtesy of Xavier fucking Alicent—that they’d all been directed to. The person who had put them in the room had hesitated, looking at the sheer number of them. If they didn’t look as terrifying as they did—wild eyes, bloody, at the end of their goddamn fucking wits—they would have been told that they couldn’t all be there.

It might have been the badge that Quinn had shown her too. Or Xavier’s instructions. Jericho wasn’t giving any credit to him. The less he was in Hunter and Olivia’s lives, the better.

“Just shut up and wait for the nurse to arrive,” Quinn replied.

“I didn’t agree to this,” Sebastian argued. “Doesn’t there need to be some kind of patient permission here?”

“No,” Peyton said shortly.

Will closed the door, giving them some privacy while they waited.

“How do you feel?” Jericho asked, studying Sebastian. He looked nothing like the put-together lawyer that terrified prosecutors and cops alike.

Six had given him gauze to press to his split lip to stem the bleeding. It was swelling and still needed a clean. The bags under his eyes said he needed about twenty years of sleep.

After everything they’d been through in the last two days, they all needed twenty years of sleep. Preferably in the same bed with Sebastian right in the middle of them so that no one could take him from them. So he was in reach and all of them could touch some part of him.

The bleeding had at least stopped from the angry vertical cut on Sebastian’s shoulder, his shirt ripped clean through. It wouldn’t require stitches, but it needed to be looked at. And cleaned. All of him needed to be soaked in a vat of disinfectant. Maybe a tetanus shot.

He was squinting, but it could have been equal parts a headache and the fact that they’d found his broken glasses on the ground in one of the rooms. If he had a spare pair, they weren’t on him or within easy reach.

Jericho hated that the asshole that had done the damage was still alive. Mulhall would rot in prison for the rest of his fucking life, and there was nothing he could do but take the punishment he would be given. Getting out of prison would mean a fate worse than death. Satisfying, at least, even if Jericho would have preferred just shooting him in the head.

The door opened and a male nurse wearing scrubs—who had way too much bounce in his step considering the time of day—beamed at them.

“Sebastian Devlin?”

“If I say it’s not me, do I get to leave?” Sebastian asked.

“Nope,” the man said merrily. “You’re too cute to let get away so easily.” He studied Sebastian. “Under all that bruising. Way too pretty to be used as a pin cushion, honey.”

“Excuse me?” Jericho said, with a snarl in his voice. He removed his hands from his pockets and stood straighter.

The nurse’s grin turned lopsided. “Oops, sorry. Didn’t mean to offend your boyfriend.”

“Then I suggest you keep this professional,” Jericho answered. “And don’t touch him.” They weren’t there to let anyone sweet-talk their boyfriend; they wanted his injuries looked at. They should have gone to Six. He shouldn’t have listened to Quinn when he insisted on a nearby hospital instead.

“Easy,” Quinn said gently, putting a hand on Jericho’s arm and squeezing. “Try not to get us kicked out.”

The nurse’s eyebrows went up at the contact, and he looked between them all and then their proximity to Sebastian. He fanned himself, unperturbed. “Well, it suddenly got a lot hotter in here. Don’t worry, big guy, I just need to ask him some questions.” He paused and tapped a finger on his mouth. “Well, I need to take his blood pressure too. If you’d like to help, be my guest. Ilovea good helper.”

Peyton snorted, and Will bit his lip. Jericho’s scowl deepened. This wasn’t amusing.

Despite being laughed at—by all of them—Jericho still stepped up to help wrap the cuff around Sebastian’s upper arm.

“Forgot to introduce myself.” The nurse pointed to his chest where a nametag and picture of himself was clipped to the front pocket of his scrubs. “I’m Toby, and I’ll be your nurse this evening. Looks like you had a bit of a scuffle.” He pulled out a torch from the same pocket. “Tell me, do you feel any dizziness or light-headedness?”

“No.”

“Loss of vision?”

“Only because I don’t have my glasses.”

Toby glanced at them again, and Jericho’s scowl deepened. The fuck did he keep looking at them for? Didhewant a black eye too? Jericho was too on edge still to be pushed like this.

“Would you mind stepping out for a moment, gentlemen?”

“Why?” Jericho asked. No fucking way.

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