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Robinson nodded in hesitant understanding. “I’m sorry, Frost. I can’t tell you how she got that scar. I can tell you it was the most evil act of violence I’ve ever treated.”
He could feel his stomach devouring itself, burning inside of him. “Doctor Robinson,” he said urgently. “I am begging you. I have to help her. I can’t watch her walk around with that living inside her every day. I need to know.”
Robinson put his hand gently on Frost’s shoulder, his eyes very serious and very tired. “The way to help that girl is not to chase her nightmares. It’s to help her learn to move past them. Not forget. She’ll never forget or forgive. But she must move on.”
Frost bit his tongue and nodded after a long moment. Robinson retracted his hand and nodded back. “Good luck, Frost,” he said. “Goodnight.”
As exhaustion began to win out, one phrase kept repeating over and over in his head, torturing him as sleep overcame him.
The most evil act of violence I’ve ever treated. Most evil act of violence I’ve ever treated. Most evil act of violence….
----
The next morning, Frost and I woke early so that we could visit Justin before Frost had to be at the precinct. I found that I disliked the motorcycle much less when Frost was driving it at a reasonable rate of speed. It still felt the way I would imagine riding a rollercoaster feels, though. My stomach dropped out of me and the world whizzed by at obscene rates of speed, the ice-cold wind slicing across the bare skin at my neck below the helmet and my wrists. Frost had given me a pair of gloves that morning, a gesture that I was still awed by. I had not owned a pair of gloves since I was four feet tall.
When we got to the hospital, it struck me immediately as surreal to be parking in a normal space and walking into the lobby, to be simply visiting and not the one in danger. The wind slowed as we crossed the parking lot, as if gathering its reserves and biding its time until the next storm. The thin whip-like trees scattered in the parking lot quivered in fear, the last of their leaves stripped away, leaving them exposed.
Justin was awake and awaiting our arrival when we reached his room. When we came into view of him, Frost grinned and said jokingly, “Damn, he’s still alive.”
“Sorry. Gonna have to work harder to knock me off,” Justin returned, his crooked grin spreading across his face. He was in a hospital gown beneath sheets and had a large lump on his left shoulder from the bandages, his left arm in a sling to ease the strain on his shoulder. He nodded to me in acknowledgment, which was all I really needed, but his eyes were shadowed, as if he was thinking of something dark when he looked at me. Frost pulled over two chairs and sat down in one, admiring Justin’s bulging bandages as he did. “Jeez, did they throw enough gauze on there? How long do they think you’ll be here?”
“Another day or two, depending on how things go,” Justin said. “The sling is for two weeks, but I probably won’t obey that. The doctor was telling about a victim of a stabbing that he released after less than twenty-four hours, so who knows.”
I bit the inside of my cheek and refused to react, wondering if he knew about my latest injury or even that that victim had been me. Justin was impossible to read, not half as trusting as Frost. Not for the first time, I wondered what had happened to him in the service to harden him.
Frost and Justin bantered back and forth while I watched and listened in amusement. Most of Frost’s teasings were about Liz, whom Justin seemed to be quietly lusting after. Part of me wondered what they’d be talking about without me there. Would Justin tease Frost about me? Would they talk about the shooting?
When eight o’clock rolled around, Frost declared that he had to get to the precinct and that since Justin’s right hand was uninhibited, he should really be doing his share of paperwork. As Frost stood to go, I looked up at him and said, “I’ll catch a cab or walk, Frost. You go ahead. You’ll be late otherwise.”
Frost visibly hesitated, then nodded, frowning slightly in confusion. “Okay. If you’re sure. You working tonight?”
“No.”
“I’ll pick you up at the library at four. I’ll call you if something changes.”
I bit my lip, wishing that this situation was different, less awkward. “Okay.”
Frost saluted Justin and touched my shoulder briefly as he turned and wandered back through the hospital the way we’d come. When he had gone, Justin looked to me seriously. “Why did you stay?”
“Because you have something you’ve been meaning to say to me,” I intoned, leaning back in my chair easily. It was amazing how comfortable a plastic chair could be when you were so short on sleep.
Justin studied me for a moment longer, then looked down at his free hand, splayed on his leg. “You’re going to get Frost killed.”
I looked down to my own hands, clenching them together so the knuckles stood out bright white. “I know. There’s nothing I regret more in my life than meeting him.”
“There’s nothing that you can do?”
“We’ve talked about this. Even if I push him away, we’re still very important to each other.” I blinked hard to chase off tears. “He is the best thing in my life right now.”
Justin seemed to struggle to produce his words. “You only met…what? Two weeks ago? You don’t think that will fade?”
I thought about it for a long time, searching for some indication, any shred of hope inside of me, that would let me think whatever Frost and I had could fade. On the verge of tears, I met Justin’s hard dark eyes. “I wish. But I’ve never had something this good before, Justin. I’ve never known someone so good. And I’ve tried to push him away many times. He won’t let go and it only hurts him for me to try.”
He nodded, as if what I had said only reaffirmed what he already knew. “I know he won’t and I understand, even if it’s a weird…whatever the hell you two have.”
I snorted. “I have no idea what it is. What has Frost said about me? Maybe that’ll clear it up.”
Justin grinned crookedly, but it was shadowed by cynicism. “I’ve asked about you plenty because you scare the hell out of me, but he hasn’t given much away. Frost doesn’t share his thoughts lightly. You must mean a lot to him, though. He rarely talks about you and when he does, he’s defending you against my warnings.”
