“Don’t you worry about it,” Samuels said. “I have her on three HIPAA violations because of that mouth of hers.”
“Three? And you didn’t think to tell me?” John snapped at his colleague.
“Are you questioning my decision not to report her? Now?” Samuels snapped back. “Seriously?”
He hesitated and instantly shut his mouth. Samuels was helping them out, making sure their secret was safe—for now, at least. It was only a matter of time before the ED found out.
“They were minor ones. Teachable offenses. Except that she wasn’t quite learning to curb her tongue. So, I figured I had her,” Samuels said with an indifferent shrug. “Let’s just say I, myself, can be morally questionable, and I’m okay with that.”
“Who are you and what did you do with Samuels?” John asked, shaking his head in stunned wonderment. Samuels was a good man, and yet knowing he was willing to blackmail gave him pause, but not for too long. This time, he was doing it for a good cause.
Samuels smirked, “Your new best friend. And just so you know, I don’t have plans for Thanksgiving. I expect a text message for a time and place, John. Now, you kids make it quick. I can give you five before I send Steph in.”
“Thanks,” Wyatt murmured.
Samuels winked at him and left.
“Come here,” Wyatt rasped. “Please…”
He couldn’t say no to him, and once more, Wyatt dragged him back down, gripping firmly to the back of John’s neck and raking his fingers upward to his hair. He tipped his forehead into his, releasing an unexpected, strangled breath. “Fuck, I was so scared.”
The intimacy, the vulnerability, broke him.
He held Wyatt close, framing his face and closing his eyes, unwilling to see the knife back at his throat. All John wanted to do was sink into him and kiss him—touch him, feel his steady heartbeat against his. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t…
Wyatt almost died. And John could do nothing to stop it.
This was why he didn’t get close to people. This was why he gave everything to his job, not to anyone who could actually hurt him—or get close enough to do it.
“Then I saw you…” Wyatt breathed, kissing him softly on the lips. John melted into him. “And I knew I’d be okay. That if something happened to me…”
“Stop,” he hissed. “Fuck, stop.”
John’s throat tightened. He wanted to run, to escape the fear crushing his chest like an anvil. He thought he could do this. He thought that he could move past his fears, but he couldn’t…
“John…” Wyatt’s voice wavered.
“Do you realize what could’ve happened out there?” he growled through gritted teeth, feeling gutted and hollow. “How fast that could’ve all gone south? I can’t save everyone, Wyatt. Even if we’re standing in the middle of a god damned hospital.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Wyatt replied calmly, too calmly.
He jerked his gaze to him, and Wyatt was staring right through him and into his soul. “I knew that if that man cut my throat, I’d die in the arms of the man I loved.”
The world shifted and tilted him off its axis, and his heart was pierced with both elation and fear. He stumbled back, both hands covering his face and dragging his fingers over his eyes.
“I know you feel this, too,” Wyatt whispered.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t… just stay. Stay with me.”
He couldn’t. He had to run—flee—do anything else but stay and feel everything. It was too much. It all was just too fucking much.
John blindly walked to the door, ripping it open and walking past the police, the blood, the noise—he needed air. He needed space. He needed it to fucking stop for one minute.
I just need a minute.
One minute.
