Page 31 of Phantom Faceoff
There’s blood on the bottom of my skate.
“It isn’t that bad,” Julian says on a choked up laugh, but as someone who has had a handful of skate injuries over the years, even the minor ones sting like a motherfucker.
My instincts finally kick back in, and I yank my t-shirt over my head. Twisting it, I place it over Julian’s hand, covering the wound, and gently have him pull away as I tie the shirt around his arm.
“Put pressure there,” I say, and when Malachi finally reaches us, I pull Julian’s good arm around my shoulder. “Grab around his middle, and we’ll walk him to the boards.”
For once, Malachi has no retort, though I can feel his glare the entire way off the ice.
Once we make it to the benches, I start by taking my own skates off, followed by Julian’s. His expression is tight and pinched, and when I peak beneath the t-shirt, it’s not a pretty sight.
But it’s not as bad as it could be.
“Gonna need stitches for sure,” I say, and his face pales. “I’m sorry.”
Julian shakes his head. “Nope. It’s fine. Accidents and all.”
“Don’t do that,” Malachi’s voice booms so loud even I jump. “You have to go to the hospital, Jules.”
“I’m okay.” The wobble in his voice isn’t convincing.
I snatch my keys from the duffle bag on the floor. “Repeat that after you see the needles involved.”
His eyes shoot wide, and I place a quick kiss to his temple. “Sorry. Poor joke.”
I pretend not to notice the daggers Malachi shoots my way the whole drive.
Several hours—and sutures—later, the three of us are in my pickup truck, driving back to the dorms.
It’s late. The sky is dark, and the air is a comfortable warmth as it comes through the rolled down window. Julian is in the center seat, bandaged arm held protectively to his chest. Beside him, Malachi stares out the window.
The man is quiet, almost eerily silent as the only times he’s spoken have been in whispers with Julian in the waiting room.
It’s mildly unnerving, but I’ve avoided running into Malachi’s Big Bad Wolf for a while, so I’m not going to push it.
“How are you feeling?” I ask, giving Julian’s thigh a gentle squeeze.
“A little icky from the pain meds,” he says with a pained smile.
Guilt gnaws an uneasy trail through my nerves. My fingers tap insistently on the steering wheel.
I should have been paying attention.
I know how dangerous the rink can be.
But I just had to show off. Because Malachi was watching me. Some part of me wanted him to have irrefutable proof that I’mgoodat something.
Which was a total fucking bust.
Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Julian leaning on Malachi’s shoulder, see him holding their joined hands in his lap.
I should spend the rest of the drive in silence, drop them off, and hide out in my room for the rest of the weekend.
But should is such an ugly word that my brain rejects it immediately.
“Do you want to come over?” I ask, meeting Julian’s tired, green eyes as we come to a stop sign. “We could binge those Digimon movies you’ve been talking about. Add in a bowl of ice cream?”
I barely catch his emerging smile before I have to return my attention to the campus road.
