Page 90 of Burn Bright

“Hale,” Ben corrects with a small smile. “He’s married to my cousin Maximoff.” There’s a sweet reverence in the way Ben mentions his oldest cousin, and seeing as how he brought up Maximoff in the escape room, I’m sensing a lot of love there.

It’s cool knowing his issues with Xander haven’t tarnished his relationship with the other Hales. If Ben somehow hated Farrow, I would feel like shit for beingthislaser-focused on him. I don’t even tell Ben that I only know of Farrow because of his highly-publicized relationship with Maximoff. Otherwise, I doubt their family’s concierge doctor would be all over the internet.

Farrow crouches down and rolls up Charlie’s pant leg slowly, then faster (but carefully) once he sees shards of glass still lodged in his kneecap.

I bet he’ll need stitches. His cuts seem deeper than mine—like he anchored his weight on the glass. I’d feel guilty, but I didn’t ask him to drop to his knees. He could’ve just told me to stand up.

Red rivers of blood track down Charlie’s legs.

Tom sucks in a wince.

Eliot grimaces. “Oof. Don’t pass out, Tom.” He clutches his brother’s shoulder when Tom begins gagging. The bloodied wounds are fully displayed.

“That’s worse than what you described, Charlie,” Beckett says quietly to his brother.

“It’s barely even bleeding,” Charlie tells him.

“Eh, try again, Cobalt.” Farrow inspects the depth and size of the visible gashes. “This is not barely.” He asks him a fewquestions about how he feels. Like, “Dizzy? Nauseous?” After Charlie answers, Farrow cleans the wounds, then gathers a needle and vial of…lidocaine? I squint but can’t read the label from here. He explains to Charlie, “I’m going to give you local anesthesia?—”

“Skip it,” Charlie interjects. Is he nuts? I would’ve gladly numbed my cuts before bandaging them.

Farrow frowns. “It’s just lidocaine.” I was right about that,fuck yes.

“I don’t need it.”

“Man, you have aboutfivepieces of glass I’m going to extract. Then I’m going to suture at least two cuts. One might needfourstitches. You’ll want the lido.”

“Charlie,” Beckett murmurs.

“Fine,” Charlie says. “Just hurry, I’m sure Tom is panicking about never being able to sing Bohemian Rhapsody again.”

“Not funny,” Tom croaks.

Farrow side-eyes him. “Don’t talk until after I check you out.”

Banter escalates between Ben’s brothers, but my attention has been usurped as Farrow administers a lidocaine shot in each knee. He asks Charlie if he can feel anything when he presses near the wound. When it’s numb, he moves on.

I watch him use forceps to pluck glass from Charlie’s skin. He’s in a squatting position, but he’s so still. Quick. Meticulous. His hands never tremble.

When he brings out a suture kit, I stop myself from moving closer.Don’t be that fucking nosy, Harriet.I’m lucky to have permission to watch this at all.

Once Charlie’s wounds are stitched, cleaned, and bandaged, Farrow removes his dirtied gloves and puts on a fresh pair. Then asks Tom’s brothers, “How’d he strain his voice?”

“Stupidity,” Charlie answers.

Tom flips him off with two hands.

“He was yelling over a siren,” Ben tells Farrow.

“A siren?” His pierced brows rise while he chews gum.

“An escape game gone poorly,” Beckett clarifies.

Farrow spins around to Tom. He has a couple inches on him, so maybe he’ll do this examination standing. I’d need to make my patient sit down. “I’m going to touch your neck and check out your throat. You okay with that?”

Tom is a little red in the face. He’s also jittery, shifting his weight around and nodding. “Do it,” he rasps in a whisper.

Farrow presses his fingers around Tom’s neck. “Everyone be quiet for a second except for Tom.” He’s asking him to speak, and I wonder if he’s listening for rattling. Then Farrow has a little handheld light. “Stick your tongue out and sayahh.”