Both Dax and Aiden are silent; shoulders squared, chins up. I take my cues from them and hold myself upright, trying my best to ignore the sorry state I’m in and the thick embarrassment coming off me in waves of stink.
A small squat nurse bustles about in the guarded room. She stares at the flashing and beeping monitors and takes notes in asmall black pad, then corroborates them the old-fashioned way; blowing up a blood-pressure cuff and pressing a stethoscope to his wrist. She jots these results down too and looks up to find us both waiting.
“Mr Nagano,” she greets with a sharp nod, then abruptly leaves the room.
Aiden hovers at the door, talking to a guard and giving us privacy.
Dax stands at the end of the bed, his fingers gripping the cream bar at the base. He speaks slowly, controlled, but there is something mechanical about it—something that doesn’t sound like the man who teases, shouts, and flirts with me.
“They say his vitals are getting stronger. We aren’t out of the danger zone yet, but he is looking good. The surgery was a success as far as they can see. There should be no reason he won’t…he’ll wake up. At some point, hewillwake up.”
I try not to look at Dax. He might be in the room with me, talking to me, but I feel like I’m watching something private.
“His colour is better…” I mumble. Tom looks like he’s just taking a nap with his dark hair flicked away from his forehead and his long eyelashes splayed upon his skin. I can see more of their resemblance now, having grown accustomed to Dax’s features. Their noses have the same soft curve at the bridge and their cupid’s-bow pout matches too. Though Tom’s hair is darker and has some curl to it, and his skin is a shade or two paler than his brother’s.
Dax nods to the chair at Tom’s bedside and I take a seat, sagging into the padding. As soon as I’m comfortable, Dax leaves and closes the door.
I check out the room. It’s like no hospital room I’ve ever seen before. Decorated in warm walnut wood and dark blues, it’s more like a hotel than a hospital. Across from the bed is an L-shaped sofa and coffee table, and beside that is a small kitchenette/bar stocked with a coffee machine and a microwave. Between the two spaces are a pair of open doors, one leading to an enormous bathroom andthe other—I tip my chair back to get a better look—yep, that’s a double bedroom back there. Is Dax sleeping here? The bed doesn’t look touched, but it’s obviously family accommodation.
I throw the information onto myreasons why Dax is out of my leaguelist and move on.
Only, I don’t know what to do. I feel stupid sitting here staring at a sleeping man while machines beep and hiss. I close my eyes and lean my head back.
“Hey. I don’t suppose you’ll even recognise my voice or if you can hear me at all but…”
But what? I’m glad to see him? I hope he’s healing? Your brother hasn’t left me alone? I wish I’d never stopped to help you…
No. That’s not true. I wish a lot of things hadn’t happened the way they did, but I don’t regret sitting with Tom at what was probably the worst and loneliest moment of his life.
I take a breath.
“I’m the idiot that almost stuck a tampon in your gut. I’m not sure if that officially makes you my bestie or something. I mean, I think seeing your insides might make me a little special.” I hesitate. It feels silly talking to myself. “That you’re still breathing must mean my TV expertise was on point…and to think you scoffed at my abilities…”
Yep. I’m officially insane. I’m sitting here making jokes with an unconscious guy. I glance at the door. Dax and Aiden are still deep in discussion.
“Everything’s gone to shit,” I tell Tom. “Whatever secrets you were keeping have put my life at risk, or so I’m told. Not that anything’s come of it so far. Unless my dad counts. Does he count? I thought I’d grown used to the shit he pulls, but lately he’s been losing it more and more. I swear to God, I try to keep my head down, but how do you disappear when someone hunts you out over and over again? He’s figured out that the kids are my kryptonite too, which sucks. Your brother and Aiden got us out of there, though. I’m hoping it’s permanent, but I don’t know what I’m going to do,or how I’m going to survive. I have nothing. How does someone live on nothing?”
Movement outside catches my eye.
“Never mind. I’ll be okay. As long as I never have to step foot in my dad’s house again, I’ll manage. And if I can do the impossible, then you can get the hell up out of that bed and go back to your life in the Heights. Your brother’s worried. Your friends are worried. You’re lucky, you know that? Even in that bed and hooked up to machines, you might be one of the luckiest people I know…” My eyes scan the door. A guard hands over a letter to Dax and leaves. It makes me think of that stupid envelope. “And if you could hurry it up, for my sake, I’d be grateful. The sooner I get some normality back, the sooner I can start coping again.”
The door opens. A nurse and a guard carrying a large bag enter first, Dax and Aiden hover behind them.
“Juliet,” Dax addresses me, and my back stiffens. He’s not called me that before. Am I in trouble? I search his face for an answer. His lips pinch but it tells me nothing. “This is Nurse Harris. She’s here to look at those hands. The bag has a change of clothes for you. Feel free to use the bathroom.”
Dax maintains the formality, even to the point of staying as far from me as possible. I pick up on it and play along.
“I’d like to shower and change first, if I may?” I ask politely. Aiden’s eyebrow flicks up at the careful and polite voice I use. Sure, I’m putting it on. I can speak nicely when I need to. One of the first lessons I learned as a kid was that people get treated differently depending on what rung of the social ladder they stand on. Vale people are bottom feeders, Upper and Lower Harrison are respected and Heights folk are revered. One of the fastest ways to tell where someone comes from is to assess their accent and speech mannerisms. Someone who speaks in a Heights accent while in the Vale is likely to get marked for robbery, kidnapping, or worse. Conversely, someone who speaks Vale in Harrison Central would be shown the door—as they skid through it on their arse.
I taught myself all the dialects. I learned to blend. If only because, one day, I want out of this shitty district and that means being able to leave everything about it behind me.
“Nurse Harris, do you have any objections?” Dax asks.
“You say these are bleach burns?” she queries, gesturing toward my hands. I nod, expecting her to ask how I got them. “Then you shouldn’t use anything too astringent to wash with. I’d be happier if we could bandage them first.”
“Wouldn’t I have to keep the bandages dry?”
“Yes, but we can glove you after. You’ll be able to shower, though perhaps a little awkwardly. You’ll probably struggle with washing your hair.”
