Page 84 of New Orleans Rush

Axel and Fox stayed with him while doctors attached Beatrice to a cardiac monitor and tested for EpiPen after-effects. They waited while she was pumped with an anti-allergy cocktail, followed by six hours of observation, ensuring her symptoms didn’t return.

Huxley and his brothers agreed to cancel that evening’s show, a first for the Marvelous Marlow Boys. All the while, his brothers didn’t leave his side. Not when Huxley’s adrenaline crashed and he punched the waiting-room wall. Not when he ignored their offers of coffee and cafeteria Jell-O, or when he yelled at the nurse for limiting visitation because Beatrice needed rest. He ranted while Axel and Fox placated the staff.

He wasn’t sure when his brothers had started taking care of him.

Determined to distract him while they waited, they dragged him to the pediatric ward, and Axel thrust a deck of cards at Huxley. Next thing he knew, he was performing tricks for children. Kids with tubes in their arms and noses. Kids with broken limbs.

Some seemed interested in his burned eyebrow and scar, asking what had happened, if it had hurt, like they wanted proof you could live with disfigurement. All of them clapped and laughed as he performed. Their jaws dropped when he guessed which cards they’d picked. An adorable girl, who had lost all her hair, smiled so wide she reminded him of Beatrice.

“Again,” she cried.

He entertained her for an hour, his anger and frustration ebbing with the games. Nearby, Axel taught a boy with a casted leg how to false shuffle. Fox entertained a crew with disappearing coins. His brothers wore dopey grins, stopping occasionally to dab the corners of their eyes or press their hands to their mouths. He wasn’t sure if he looked as moved as them, but he sure as hell felt it.

This was one of the things he’d missed since Axel’s stripping had changed their audience. Performing on stage was in his blood. He loved the rush of wowing a crowd, working the room. But kids were innocent, their awe genuine, and seeing a sick kid smile was inspiring. Even after the day he’d had, it flooded him with pleasure.

“We’ll meet you at your apartment,” Fox said afterward. “Get a head start on cleaning that mess.”

The fake crime scene from hell. He shook his head. “You guys have done enough.”

“Our services aren’t free,” Axel said. “You’ll owe us dinner.”

“I’ll take a bathroom detailing,” Fox added. “You can scrub the hard-to-reach places.”

“You guys are a pain in my ass.” Huxley dragged them in for a hug.

Beatrice was released shortly after. He wheeled her to his car and helped her into the passenger side. She rested her head on the window as they drove, likely drowsy from the medication and overwhelmed by the day. She didn’t talk, and he didn’t push. He did, however, insist on carrying her into their apartment.

He wasn’t willing to call it his. Not yet. Not until she flat out told him they were done. Until then, she was his. The apartment was theirs. His heart was hers.

Until he heard her say those words, he had a reason to hope.

Unfortunately, she glared at him when he lifted her into his arms. She could glower all she wanted. He needed to touch her, hold her. Feel her heartbeat against his own. She gave up and cuddled against his chest, or maybe she was just tired.

Once inside, she spoke her first words in hours. “I’m not a damsel in distress. You can put me down.” Her arms were still locked around his neck.

He held her firm. “Maybe I’m the one in distress.”

She bit her lip.

Axel and Fox were still in the apartment, on their knees, scrubbing the last of the ketchup stains. First flying penises, now fake blood. No one could call their lives dull.

Axel dragged his forearm down his face. “Tell me again how you convinced a gun-wielding criminal to stage your murder.”

“I asked him nicely.”

Fox lifted his upper body and squatted on his heels. “That makes you a bona fide Marlow.”

“You’re surly, sneaky, and cocky,” she said. “Not nice.”

“We’re illusionists, and you performed a perfect illusion.”

Of course she did. This woman who saw the best in everyone had seen Big Eddie for the heartsick man he was, unable to harm his ex’s daughter. Before the EMTs had arrived, the thug kept apologizing about the broken window screen and bee sting. Beatrice had seen through Big Eddie easily then, and she saw through Huxley now.

“I won’t stop breathing if you put me down,” she said.

She could probably smell his fear. “You might.”

“I won’t. But I might choke you if you keep holding me. I need a shower.”