Page 91 of Lone Star

She froze, staring at her fingers curled around the worn black leather, shocked by this small, but significant turn of events.

Albie closed his hands over hers, and she lifted her head, gaze seeking out his.

And his was soft, and concerned, and this was only leather she touched, only a symbol, and not a representation of him as a man, nor of his feelings about her.

“I haven’t had a chance to ask how you are,” he said, softly.

“Yeah, you have. You asked me on the road. And when we got here.” In those frantic moments of getting Jinx inside the ER, and onto a gurney, while other patients looked on goggle-eyed and whispering.

His mouth curved in a half-smile. “Not for real. Not when it’s just us.”

“Oh.” Wasn’t that devastating? “I’m okay.”

“You sure?”

“It’s not like that was my first car chase.”

“Still.” He touched her face again, and his eyes were very blue, and full of caring, and it was the most natural thing in the world to lean in and kiss him.

He let out a quiet little breath when their lips touched; she thought it sounded like relief and longing both.

She let go of his cut and smoothed her hands up the cool leather, feeling the solidness of muscle beneath. Looped her arms around his neck and stepped in closer, until they were flush, as her mouth opened to his, and she tasted his tongue: mint and chap-stick and coffee and, again, thatcaring. She hadn’t ever thought a man’s thoughtfulness and care could have a taste, but it did, and it was Albie Cross.

Someone cleared their throat – loudly.

Axelle pulled back and turned to find the guy in the corner glaring at them over his book.

“You want to mind your own business?” Albie said.

“You wanna stop making out in the break room?” the man shot back. “Are you even supposed to be in here?”

Albie sighed. “He does make a point,” he muttered.

Axelle unlooped her arms from around his neck, and took his hand, biting back a grin. “Come on. You can help me clean out my car.”

~*~

The doctor walked them down a long, bright hallway and through two sets of double doors to the trauma ward, and a small, thankfully empty family waiting room there, with soft, vinyl cushions in the chairs and a cooking show playing on the TV. “Your friend is going into surgery – I’m headed that way now. From what we can tell so far, there’s a bullet lodged somewhere in the lower leg, and one in his hip – the hip will be the tricky part of the operation.”

Michelle nodded, wincing in sympathy. No wonder he hadn’t been able to support his own weight.

“He’ll be okay?” Candy asked, worry heavy in his voice.

The doctor, for her youth, had already developed that physicians’ poker face: grave, but not alarming; conveying gravity, but not instilling fear. “He’s lost a lot of blood” – all over the backseat of Axelle’s pristine GTO, much to her horror – “and we won’t know the extent of the bone or any additional damage until we get inside. But he’s young and strong. Dr. Barnes is very optimistic.”

Candy nodded, his jaw set.

“You can wait here and we’ll come update you at intervals.”

“Thank you, doctor,” Michelle said, and was glad for the doctor’s quick departure.

Even if her stomach writhed with nerves.

Relief threatened, too, though. She’d known a conversation like this was coming, but she’d thought she would feel keyed-up, defensive, perhaps even fearful. Now, after today, she felt mostly determined – with only a faint edge of nausea.

Candy stood a long moment, rubbing at the back of his neck in an absent way, every line of his big body drawn taut with what she knew were a dozen different kinds of stress. She hated that she’d added to his anxiety, but she wouldn’t go back and choose to stay home today, no matter how unpleasant this all turned out to be.

“Babe,” she said, finally, when he showed no signs of turning.

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