Page 80 of Healed Hearts

“Beck,” I say, trying to get his attention.

“I can’t believe this shit. I knew it was bad, right? But I don’t think I realized how bad until today.” Well, that makes two of us. The nasty shit that asshole was slinging? It’s no wonder Holden has so many hang-ups about sex. The true miracle is that he’s okay with it at all.

“Beck,” I try again.

He pauses. “What?”

“Let’s go sit down. Let me look at your hand.”

He waves his hand around in the air. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”

“Okay, well, I’m not fine. I need a second to decompress while Roman is taking care of Holden. So come sit down with me and let me do something useful, like look at your hand.”

“Fuck,” he says softly. “Okay, yeah.”

I think he probably needs a minute too. Even if he won’t admit it. Especially since it seems like Roman was pretty mad at him. And I think beating the shit out of someone when your entire career is based on helping others is likely a little disorienting.

I follow him to the living room and sit down beside him on the couch. He holds his hand out to me, and I unwrap the gauze. His knuckles are definitely busted—there’s some dried blood and some bruising, but it doesn’t look broken. Not that I would really know. Hell, he’s a physician assistant and Holden is a nurse. I’m the least qualified person in this house to even be looking at it. But I needed a moment, and so did Beck. “Does it feel broken?”

“Nah, it’s fine. I should probably ice it, though.” He’s quiet for a second while I look at his hand, and when I release it, he grabs my arm, his big blue eyes boring into mine. “I’d do it again,” he says softly, almost begging me to understand. To understand why he did it.

I nod. “Yeah, I’m a little jealous you got a swing in, and I didn’t.”

Beck laughs, relaxing a little. “Holden needed you more than you needed to hit him. Don’t worry, I got a couple of good ones in for both of us.”

“Yeah, I see that, Rocky. You and Roman okay?”

He looks at me in confusion before understanding lights up his face. “Yeah, we’re alright. He was just stressed about Hold, and I made it worse since then he had to also be stressed about me. We’ve survived way worse than me beating the shit out of someone,” he says with a shrug, then chuckles, but then he sobers. “I hit Roman’s dad too, when I was eighteen. This is becoming a pattern.”

“I don’t know you all that well, but I don’t imagine it’s a pattern. Protective instinct, maybe.” If I knew him better, I’d probably tease him about thinking he’s invincible over who his dad is, but I figure as it stands, I better not.

He sighs. “Yeah, maybe. I shouldn’t have lost my cool, though. I don’t think I made things better.”

“Maybe not. But no one can fault you for standing up for him. Do you all care if Wren and I stay here for a couple of days?”

He shakes his head. “No, of course not. You guys are always welcome here.”

My insides are itching to get back to Holden. I don’t like being away from him. I’m about to tell Beck I’m gonna go back when I hear Holden’s voice. “Beck, let me look at your hand.”

I turn, watching as he walks into the living room, his face blank, eyes clear. The only evidence that he’s struggling with what just happened is the death grip he has on Roman’s hand and the splotchy red covering his face from his crying.

“I’m alright, Hold,” Beck quietly assures him.

Holden glares at him. “Don’t argue with me. Let me look at your hand.” The mask he’s donning slips and pain flashes across his features. He lowers his voice, a bit of pleading in his tone. “Please, Beck? I need to do something that makes me feel likeme.”

I turn to Beck, about to plead Holden’s case to him because my God, how can anyone say no to him when he looks so fucking defeated? But I don’t have to because Beck is looking at him with soft understanding. “Alright, Hold. Let’s go to the kitchen.”

Beck and I stand, following Holden and Roman into the kitchen. Beck sits down on a stool at the island, and Holden pulls a first-aid kit from under the sink. I lean against the counter, close to Hold, but not so close he can’t do what he needs to do.

When Holden stands, he looks locked-in—full professional mode. After washing his hands, he comes around the counter,sitting on the stool next to Beck’s. “Okay, let me see,” he murmurs.

Beck dutifully puts his hand on the counter.

We all watch on in silence as Holden spends the next twenty minutes carefully cleaning and checking over Beck’s hand. I see Beck flinch a couple of times, but mostly, he’s still as Holden does his thing. The longer he works, the more his shoulders relax, tension leaching from his body. For the moment, he’s in his element, doing what he knows, what he feels he’s good at. He applies an antibiotic ointment and wraps it. Slowly. Methodically. When he’s done, he sits back. “Ice it for twenty minutes. It doesn’t appear to be fractured, but I can’t say for sure without imaging. Ibuprofen for pain and swelling. If it gets worse, or there are signs of infection, go to the hospital.”

The entire time he was going through the spiel, Beck was smiling at him. If I’m not mistaken, Beck has more medical training than Holden, but I do love that he’s humoring him and letting him have this. I think all three of us can see how much doing this helped him relax.

“Thanks, Hold,” Beck says, pulling him into a hug. He holds him for a long while, then clears his throat. “Do you want me to call my dad? I wasn’t joking about there being no statute of limitations.”

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