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Gabe squeezes Xander’s shoulder. “I’ll go and get Seven.”
He leaves and Agatha levels Xander with a glare.
“I’ve made it perfectly clear you’re not to die before me, got it?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“If you do, who will I leave my fortunes to? You’re my favorite, you know?”
Xander manages a small smile that he exchanges with Christian, hand still pressed to his chest. “Thanks, Aggy.”
She hobbles out of the room and her bellow follows her down the hall. “Seven, you get your ass up and that boy to the hospital now. So help me god if he dies, you’ll be out of the will!”
“I take it she likes that threat?” I say to Christian. “Also, your middle name is McCaully?”
“No, my middle name is David. Apparently that wasn’t Irish enough for her.”
Xander whines. “Maybe itisjust indigestion.”
“Does your left arm hurt?” I ask.
“Don’t answer that,” Christian says to Xander before turning to me. “Seven will take him to the pharmacy. The people there know us and will run through some basic health checks, which is the only thing that will settle him. Symptoms listing only makes him worse.”
“My left fingersdofeel a bit numb.”
“And that’s my cue.” An enormous guy with deep red hair and about a million tattoos joins us and wraps his arm possessively around Xander. “Come on, little dude, I ain’t carrying you this time.”
They leave and we’re finally, finally alone again. I flop back onto the pillows. “Well, that was one way to wake up. Are you sure we shouldn’t be worried about him?”
“Nope. Xander is perfectly healthy, physically. But once he gets it into his head, there’s no deterring him until he’s seen someone.” Christian’s stunning face hovers over me, the remnants of his earlier blush still sitting high on his cheeks. “Sorry about all that. Like I said, boundaries kinda don’t exist for us.”
“You’re certainly surrounded by a lot of energy.” I can’t help but compare it to the stifling silence and low murmurs that make up ninety percent of my life. It reminds me of the busy streetsin Amsterdam, the cheerful conversations, the flood of color that everything was washed in. “I don’t want to leave,” I say. I’m not even joking.
“Hiding from that photo we posted?”
Well, hell, I’d completely forgotten. I suppose that explains how Agatha found out, but given she’s not exactly within my target follower demographic, I suspect the announcement has traveled farther than my social media.
Christian reaches for my phone and his eyes almost bulge out when it turns back on. “Oh, fuck.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I just … I guess I didn’t realize that it would be a big deal.” He watches as more and more notifications fill the screen. “This is … wow.” His inhale is shaky. “Okay. Umm … I’m spinning out a little …”
“Ignore it.”
“But …” He passes me my phone and grabs his own. The breath he was holding rushes from him. “Nothing.”
“Well, you don’t have social media, do you?”
“I do. Under Chris Patrick.”
“Thankfully it doesn’t look as though anyone has linked that name to you, which is surprising.” I skim some of the posts I’ve been tagged in. “They’ve figured out your real name. Do you have any photos on the Chris Patrick account that would show up in an image search?”
He thinks for a moment. “Only ones in full costume, but it’s mostly the sets and backstage and whatever that I post about.”
“Well, you’ve gotten lucky. Let’s hope it stays that way.”
Christian groans and face plants into his pillow. “Now I think maybe I’m the one having the heart attack,” comes his muffled voice.
