Page 94 of Priest

Priest

Laughter isn’t something you expect to hear in this wing.

It slips out anyway, low and unguarded, cutting through the quiet like a reminder that every fight doesn’t end the same way. I pause outside the door longer than I mean to, listening to the sound of it on the other side. Real laughter. Rough-edged and familiar. The kind that sounds strange in a place built for pain, but damn if it doesn’t settle something in my chest.

When I step in, Nomad’s leaning back in the chair by the window, arms crossed, grin carved deep into his face. Ledger’s closer to the bed, one hand braced on the railing, shoulders shaking as Deacon mutters something under his breath that must’ve landed exactly right.

Whatever it was, it’s good to hear him like this. Awake. Mouthy. Alive.

“Careful,” Nomad says, glancing up when he catches sight of me. “You laugh too hard, doc’s gonna come yell at you.”

Deacon snorts, then immediately winces, hand shifting toward his ribs. “Worth it,” he mutters. “Been quiet too long.”

Ledger straightens when he sees me, his grin softening into something steadier. “Look who finally showed.”

“Had somewhere I needed to be,” I say, my voice rougher than I expect.

Nomad’s grin turns sharp enough to cut. “Yeah, we heard. Doctors, relationships, emotional growth. Big day for the president.”

Ledger huffs a laugh, and even Deacon’s mouth twitches.

I point at Nomad. “Keep talkin’.”

“What?” he says, all lazy innocence. “I’m proud of you. Terrified, but proud.”

The corner of my mouth moves before I can stop it. That’s the thing about my brothers. They can bleed with you, bury bodies with you, then turn around and drag you back from the edge with the kind of humor that only works because it’s built on love none of us are comfortable naming.

Nomad pushes to his feet, already moving. “We’ll give you two some time.”

Ledger nods, squeezing Deacon’s shoulder once before following him out. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

Deacon smirks. “In a hospital bed? No promises.”

The door shuts behind them, and the room settles into a quieter rhythm. Machines hum. Deacon’s chest rises and falls slow beneath the sheet. He watches me for a moment, eyes sharper than they should be for a man who’s barely been awake a day.

“So,” he says finally. “You gonna tell me what the hell happened, or am I piecing this together from gossip and painkillers?”

I drag a chair closer and sit, elbows braced on my knees. “We were ambushed. Bullets were flying. You and me both went down hard.” I swallow against the memory, the sound of metal screaming, the sight of him bleeding out where he should’ve been cussing me. “They rushed us here. Flashing lights, trauma team in the ER, the whole thing. You were out cold before we rolled in. I thought we were gonna lose you.”

His brow furrows. “And you?”

“Stubborn as ever,” I say. “Couple stitches. A lotta blood. Nothing permanent. Bullets missed me. My bike was hit by one, took me down. The bullets hit you, not your bike.” My hands curl together between my knees. “I crawled to you, dragged you behind the van. We lost the two prospects, Danny and Jonesy. Guys covered me until I could get to you.”

Deacon exhales slowly, eyes flicking toward the window. “I remember the shots. Then nothin’.”

“There’s more,” I say, because there is, and it’s been pressing against my chest since the second I walked in.

He looks back at me. “Yeah?”

“This town,” I say, shaking my head like I still can’t believe it myself. “This hospital. This is where she’s been.”

His gaze sharpens. “She?”

“Blue,” I say, the name sitting heavy and right on my tongue. “She’s a fuckin’ doctor, man. ER. She was there when they brought you in.”

Deacon goes still.

“And Lila, your Lila,” I add, quieter now. “She was on shift too. ER nurse.”