Page 63 of Running Feral

Tristan smiles as he looks me up and down. It’s a sad smile, but more empathetic than pity-filled, so I’ll take it.

“You scared us, kid. We’ve been looking for you. I’m glad you found your way back.”

I nod, because I’m suddenly feeling choked up and words are beyond me. The idea that it was more than just Gunnar trying to find me isn’t something I can swallow right now, even if it’s true.

Tristan crouches down in front of me, the softness in his body language a complete one-eighty from how he was with the cops. Behind him, Cade is fishing medical equipment out of a giant bag, but also has a softer expression than before. He’s not looking at me like he wants me dead, at least.

“Where are you hurt?” Tristan asks.

“I’m fine.”

They’re the only words I manage to squeeze out, and I swear the entire room collectively rolls their eyes.

“He doesn’t want to go to the hospital,” Gunnar says, as if I’m not there.

The sudden surge of anger that hits me stands in total contradiction to how much I was mentally whining about wanting him to take care of everything a few minutes ago. Before I even realize it, I feel like I’m about to crash out, and my mouth is spitting venom.

“I can speak for myself,” I snap.

Gunnar tenses, then relaxes slowly underneath me.

“I know,” he whispers directly in my ear, before placing a kiss against my temple. I realize suddenly that I probably smell disgusting, and I have to fight not to crawl off him all over again. “I’m sorry.”

Tristan and Cade are both watching us with careful, calculating expressions. After a few seconds, Tristan drags over a stool and pats the seat.

“Okay, are you able to hop up here for me?” he asks, before taking a big step back out of my space to let me do it.

I feel stiff and slow, but I gradually unfold myself from the booth and do as he says, leaning on Gunnar a little for support.

Once I’m up, Tristan sits on a similar stool, so he’s looking at me from almost the same height instead of leaning over me.

“Okay, kid. Do you want to avoid going to the hospital if you can?”

I bite my lip and look at the ground, the sudden wave of boldness from before abandoning me. I feel naked without Gunnar behind me.

“Gotcha. How about we check you out and do what we can for you here to begin with. I’m probably going to officially recommend going to the hospital after, because you look like you’ve been through the wars. But you’re always within your right to refuse unless something really fucking serious is happening. Deal? I won’t do anything without your permission, and I’m not going to force you or trick you into doing something you don’t want.”

I let out a long breath. I kind of knew all this already, and I trust Tristan. As much as I trust anyone, really. But knowing it and hearing him say it straight up are two different things.

“Okay.”

“Perfect.” He nods. “Do you want Gunnar to stay, or wait upstairs?”

My eyes flick up, and panic grips my chest.

“Stay,” I say, already looking around for him, even though he’s right here.

“No problem.” Tristan puts his hands out to placate me, while Gunnar perches on the table so he’s more in my eyeline. “Cade’s going to take your vitals, and I’ll ask you some questions. Remember, you don’t have to answer, but it’ll help me if you do. And all of this stays between us. If you change your mind and want Gunnar to step out for a second, we can do that too. You’re in charge here, and we’re not in a rush.”

I’m nodding, but this is rapidly turning into too much information to absorb. I just want it to be over, and if it can’t be over, I want them to tell me what to do. Anything that doesn’t involve going to the hospital or taking my clothes off.

Cade approaches me, warning me he’s going to put a blood pressure cuff on me and letting me nod before he starts. He gets to work once he has permission, taking my blood pressure and putting a clip on my finger to measure something, then listening to my chest with a stethoscope.

He asks me each time before he touches me, and moves around me carefully, but without that hangdog pity look I was expecting. And without bringing up any of the anger I know he still has for me. He just works through it one thing at a time, giving me soft smiles and speaking in a quiet voice. It’s almost soothing, except I’m so nervous that I’m the one who finally flips and says something.

“I’m sorry,” I blurt out at random.

He frowns, pulling the stethoscope out of his ears.

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