Page 106 of Prodigal Son

She’d planted. New, tender roots pushed through the dark soil around her heart, and she didn’t care how ridiculous she looked, as she fetched a cup of water from the en suite and set it down on the bedside table.

Flash, who she’d realized was something of the club medic, sat on the side of the bed, probing at the bandages wrapped tight around Albie’s ribs. She couldn’t see much skin like this, only a sliver of toned, London-pale belly below the bandages, and a bit of his chest above; his nipples stood peaked in the cold, and the sight of them warmed her cheeks. She hoped she wasn’t blushing.

Albie flinched a little – he tried to check the motion, but it must have tweaked his ribs and he hissed a breath in through his teeth.

“Oh yeah, they’re gonna hurt,” Flash said, tugging Albie’s shirt back into place and looking at his face instead. “Feel better if you’d let me give you some of the hard stuff.”

“Just Tylenol,” Albie said tightly, jaw clenched from the pain.

“Do you have the hard stuff?” Axelle asked.

Flash shot her a look. “What do you think?”

“Right. Stupid question. Albie…” she tried.

His face was set in such stubborn lines she would have laughed at another time. “I have to stay clear-headed.”

“You have torest.”

Flash took his chin gently in hand and turned his head side-to-side, watching the way his eye tracked. “You should listen to your girlfriend.”

Albie swatted him away; a clumsy gesture that Flash easily dodged by getting to his feet.

Axelle’s cheeks got a little warmer.

“Alright, stay hydrated,” Flash said as he moved toward the door. “Get some rest, but don’t let him sleep too much,” he said, turning to Axelle. “Make sure he’s responsive, and that his eyes – well, the one that isn’t swollen – keeps tracking and that the pupil is responsive. No trips to the loo alone in case you get dizzy and fall.”

“Christ, I’m not going to fall,” Albie muttered.

Flash gave Axelle a little facial shrug, brows jumping. “Good luck,” he said, and saw himself out.

Then it was just the two of them.

The room was the little cramped one that had been Albie’s place to spend nights as a boy, with its slanted roof and small window that looked out on the street: smeared like an oil painting now that rain had rolled in over the city. Nowhere to sit but the edge of the bed, like Flash, or the crudely fashioned chair that Albie had made himself.

Axelle dragged the chair a little closer and sat in it.

Albie looked…well, he looked terrible. The bruises deepened by the minute, going dark purple and blue. His open eye still had a glassiness to it, as he continued to fight off the effects of the morphine – and his pain, his concussion, the shock of injury. She was thankful that he was no longer about to be arrested – a slick trick the guys had pulled back at the hospital – but she wanted, for her own peace of mind, for him to take a couple of pills, pass out, and sleep everything off.

“I got you some water,” she said, gesturing to the cup.

“Thanks.” He didn’t reach for it.

Her next words came out quiet – quieter than she’d intended. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

He turned his head then, finally, and looked at her. Unnerving with one eye shut, the lid grossly swollen and red. He looked like he’d just stepped out of a boxing ring somewhere, while the other guy had his gloved hand lifted up in victory. He looked defeated. But also determined. And cagey in a way that set her own nerves humming.

“Why?” he asked.

“Why what?”

“Why are you glad I’m okay?”

She searched his face, incredulous, trying to find a glimpse of the man who’d leaned down to kiss her, surprisingly soft and sweet. “How hard did you hit your head?”

The corner of his mouth curled down. “Look, that was – whatever. You don’t have to play nursemaid. I’m fine, and you don’t have to – you don’t we me anything, alright?”

“Owe you…?” Something a lot like fear prickled down her arms, leaving goosebumps in its wake. She suppressed a shiver.

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