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I take a seat in an uncomfortable looking chair next to her bed. “You don’t have to say anything, Ray.”
“I know. It’s just…” She stares at my hip, wincing.
“It’s okay.”
“It’s a painful procedure, Fal.”
It is. I researched it. But none of that scares me. Hell, nothing scares me anymore. I’ve been…
Well, let’s just say I’ve been to hell and back many times over.
“That doesn’t matter. I don’t care. You’re worth more to me than a little bit of pain.”
“We’re not talking about a little bit of pain,” Raven says.
It’s only a bit of pain compared to what I’ve been through, but my sweet sister doesn’t need to hear about that.
“My answer doesn’t change. I don’t care.”
A nurse enters and checks Raven’s vitals. “How are you feeling today?”
“Better now.” She gestures weakly to me. “This is my brother Falcon.”
The nurse turns to me, widens her green eyes.
She’s pretty, with slightly tan skin, long dark hair that’s pulled up in a ponytail. Even with her green scrubs, I can see she’s got a great rack. I don’t react, though, not like I reacted last night with Vannah.
Damn.
I wish I’d gotten her number. But I’ve got other stuff to worry about, my sister being number one. I had no business kissing a stranger, certainly no business saying what I did to her. And I’ve got no business fantasizing about her now when my sister is lying here ill and needing me.
I’m getting used to the eye widening. Everyone freaks when they meet an ex-con for the first time. I’m no longer Falcon Bellamy, oldest child of Austin and Starling Bellamy of Bellamy Ranch.
I’m Falcon Bellamy, ex-convict, who pleaded guilty to involuntary manslaughter, a crime I never committed.
“I’m unarmed,” I say dryly.
“Oh, I didn’t mean—”
“Sure you did, but it’s okay.” I hold my hands up in mock surrender. “I’m innocent. I was always innocent. So you’ve nothing to fear from me.”
“I’m not…” She clears her throat. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Bellamy.”
“Falcon,” I say. “Mr. Bellamy makes me sound about a hundred. I understand you need more of my blood?”
She nods. “Yeah. I’ll get that paperwork for you.” She clears her throat again. “And may I just say… It’s wonderful what you’re doing.”
“She’s my sister. You’d do the same for your sister.”
“I don’t have a sister, but of course. Anyone would.”
I stare her down. “Then it’s not so wonderful if anyone would do it.”
“What I meant was—”
“I know what you meant. But I’m no hero”—I glance at her name tag—“Rosemary. I just want Raven to get well.”
“She’s got a good chance now that you’re here.” Rosemary types some notes into the computer.
“She’s got more than a chance,” I say. “I’ll make it happen.”
“We can’t guarantee—”
I gesture Rosemary to be quiet. “I can. I will personally guarantee that my bone marrow will cure my sister. Damn it, I’ll will it if I have to.”
Another woman—wearing blue scrubs this time—enters. “Mr. Bellamy?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m Tracey. I’m here to draw your blood. If you’ll come with me, please.”
I rise. “Take good care of her,” I say to Rosemary.
“I will.”
I follow Tracey out of Raven’s room to a small cubicle and take a seat, offering my left arm. She ties a rubber band around my upper arm, glancing at my falcon.
“That’s some nice work.”
“Thanks.”
“Did you get that…”
“In prison? No.”
Her cheeks turn red. “I didn’t mean—”
“I’m sorry.” Words I should have said to Rosemary.
You get hardened in prison. You learn to watch your back, and you learn to assume everyone would just as soon stab you as look at you.
Time for me to give that up…if I can.
But part of me will always be Savage. That’s my life now.
“It’s okay. It is beautiful work.”
“I got it in Summer Creek the year I turned sixteen. My father took me.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. It’s what I wanted for my birthday.”
“For your sixteenth birthday? Most kids want a car.”
“I already had a car.”
“Right.” She chuckles. “I forgot who I was talking to for a minute.” She taps my vein and then inserts the needle.
I feel nothing.
You learn to feel nothing on the inside.
You suppress everything to survive.
I watch as my dark red blood fills the glass tube. Tracey removes it and places another on the needle, and I watch the liquid fill this one as well.
She removes it when it’s full, tapes a cotton ball to the small wound, and rises. Then she hands me the tube.
“Can you verify that your name and date of birth are correct?”
I take a look. “It’s all good.”
“Thank you. That’s all I need. You can go.”
“How long for the results?”
“Not long. These are just to make sure you’re in good enough health to make the donation.”
“I’m in fine health.”
“I know. But we have to check your blood counts. If they’re even slightly off, you can’t—”
“Listen,” I say, “I’m making this donation. I’m the only one out of three brothers and a sister—a twin sister—who was a match. I’m doing this.”
