At that, I sit straight up. “Wait, what? What happened?”
“Yeah, she’s okay,” Heath says to Leo. “She’s right here.” There’s another brief pause; I try to eavesdrop, but it’s hard to make anything out. “Can you get to Medical? We’ll meet you there in five unless you need help.”
Medical—that doesn’t sound good, not at all. On the upside, at least he doesn’t obviously need to be rolled there on our gurney. Or worse.
“Okay, see you there—yeah, I’ll tell her. Be there in a few.”
I’m on my feet and peppering him with questions before he’s even fully off the call. “What happened? Did someone—did someone try—”
To murder him. Those are the words that won’t come out.
We walk briskly together toward Medical. “No, not that,” Heath says. “I don’t think so, at least. A fight broke out near him, he said, and when he tried to stop it someone sliced at him with a razor blade.”
Again with the razor blades. “Cameron and Mikko, like before?”
Perhaps I’ve been too quick to rule out the possibility that our murderer could be someone outside our six. I don’t knowhowthey would’ve secured top-secret intel from our private meeting last night, but is it outside the realm of possibility that someonecouldhave? I have to admit it isn’t.
Heath nods. “Yeah, both of them. Leo’s got the razor now, at least—managed to confiscate it after he got cut,” he says. “Well,technically, he saidAkelloconfiscated it when he helped Leo break up the fight.”
Bless Akello and his large, intimidating frame. Not that Leo’s small, by any means—he can handle himself. But when it comes to blade versus body, quick blood versus slow-blooming bruises, it’s not a fair fight.
Heath and I arrive at Medical before Leo does. The room is spotless, just like I left it, all sparkle and shine. I pull out an array of surgical tools and my favorite silver tray, spread everything out in perfect order. The tray holds everything I could possibly need, from simple antibiotic cream to my stitches kit, with extra cloth on hand in case he won’t stop bleeding.
Two minutes pass—then three—then six, and ten. Leo still hasn’t arrived.
“He’ll be here,” Heath says behind me, closer than I realized. “He’s on his way, Linds.”
He puts both hands on my shoulders, stilling my nerves. Gently, he turns me around to face him.
“We should try buzzing him,” I say. “Have you tried—”
“Linds. He’llbehere.” His eyes say it all: he did try buzzing him, yet here we are. He lets out a long exhale, pulls me in close. “I’ll try again if he’s not here in five, okay?”
Five minutes. It’s nothing, compared to the millions of minutes that make up an entire lifetime—yet entire lifetimes can end in less time than that. One blink, one breath. One step too far.
I rest my head on Heath’s chest, let him hold me together. For how close we were in the alcove, this is a different sort of closeness: the alcove was spark and flame and fire, but this? This is water. Cool and still, as close to peace as I can hope for on a day like today.
“Thank you,” I say, so quietly my words get lost in the fabric of his shirt. My eyes flutter shut as he runs his hand over my hair, the rhythm soft and slow. “This... today... I needed it.”
He breathes deeply, his chest rising underneath me. I hear his heartbeat pick up, feel him press a kiss lightly to the top of my head. “You’re not the only one,” he says. “I’ve missed you, Linds.” He waits a beat, then adds, “It’s been hard watching you push everyone away.”
I press my lips shut. I can’t possibly tell him the real reason I’ve been keeping him—everyone—at arm’s length. He doesn’t seem to hold it against me that I explicitly, knowingly, purposefully defied that threat and, therefore, put our core six at risk... but even if he’s forgiven me that, would he ever be able to forget the depths of my suspicion?I pushed you away because I didn’t know if I could trust you—because you could’ve been the killer. It’s a betrayal of a different kind to believe someone capable of the horrendous things that have happened between our walls. It’s the sort of betrayal that cracks the foundation of a relationship forever.
He can never know. He might understand—hewouldunderstand, I think, because he assumes the best in me even thoughI’ve been terrible at returning those feelings. But still. Understanding doesn’t make a person immune to pain.
The doors slide open, and we break apart. Not quickly enough, I can tell—Leo saw enough to raise eyebrows—but he doesn’t comment. He holds up his left forearm, the back of which is covered in a sickening amount of partially dried blood. “You can fix this, yeah?”
I take a hard swallow, nod. “Yes,” I say, then clear my throat. “Sit on the table, okay? Okay.”
Heath helps me clean Leo’s arm, and passes me everything I ask for. It’s a long slice, about five inches stretching from near his elbow most of the way down to his wrist. Fortunately, only the top inch or so is deep; the rest should close up quickly. Still, it’s going to be painful while it heals, not to mention debilitating—Leo’s left-handed.
My work is quick: a few stitches to close the deepest part, antibiotic cream on the rest, white surgical tape wrapped protectively around most of his arm, making his light bronze skin look even darker in contrast.
“There,” I say as Leo examines my work, twisting his arm to see it from all angles. It’s neat, precise. I’m proud to have managed such clean work on a day like today. “You’ll feel it for a couple of days, but it should heal pretty quickly.”
He meets my eyes, finally, for the first time since walking in on us here, Heath and me, so close together. Leo’s eyes are deep brown, half-moons turned down at their corners, at oncebeautiful and hopeful and sad: it’s the same look he had when he came to my place to deliver the news about Jaako and Kerr—when he discovered Heath and me, together, our lips still pink from that first real kiss.
I’m sorry, I want to say. But for what? Am I sorry for being so close with Heath—or am I only sorry Leo had to see it happen?
