Page 73 of Don't Puck Up

“A cuddle,” he responded, holding his arm out wide.

I laugh-sobbed and pressed a kiss to his forehead before I half stood, half laid across his bed and rested my head on his shoulder, barely touching him.

“You don’t ever need to apologize for what those monsters did to you,” I whispered. “I’m going to make them pay, hon.”

“I just want to go home,” he mumbled. “Back to San Diego. I never want to see them again.”

“We’re going to be here for another few days. They’re keeping you for observation in case there are complications with the fractures. But then we’re leaving, and we’re never coming back.”

“I wanted to talk to V.”

“You will. Rest, hon.”

He closed his eyes, and turned his face away, pressing it back onto what I realized was an ice pack. His breathing slowed and deepened as I watched Chris quickly fall asleep.

My cell phone buzzed in my bag, and I tiptoed over to answer it. When I saw it was Dad, I almost rejected the call, but something inside me made me take the call.

“This had better not be you talking me out of staying with Chris,” I warned in a whisper as I walked outside the room.

“No, Kam, I’d never do that. I just wanted to check on the two of you. How is he?”

“Beaten and bruised. A few cracked bones, some cuts and bruises that needed tending to.” I rubbed my forehead, my headache accompanied by a serving of starburst lights in my line of vision.

“My God,” he murmured. “And you? Are you okay?”

I leaned against the doorframe and looked up at the tiled ceiling. “Apart from seeing them hurt him every time I close my eyes, yeah. I’m fine.”

“I’m at the police station about to give my statement. Can I come by and check on you two after we wrap up here?”

“Not this afternoon, Dad. I’m exhausted, and Chris just fell asleep.”

“Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow morning, then. Do you need anything? I can drop off whatever you need.”

“I’ll be okay, and they’re looking after Chris.”

“Okay, Kam. Call me if you need anything. Doesn’t matter what time it is.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

I slipped back into the room as quietly as I could, pulled a chair closer to Chris’s bed, rested my arms on the mattress next to him, and laid my head down. But every time I did, I saw the same vision—his dad punching him, his brothers hitting him, kicking, and stomping on him.

Nothing justified their actions.

Nothing.

I would never forgive them for what they did to him.

Tears of relief mixed with anger, frustration, powerlessness, and heartbreak fell, wetting the sheet beneath my cheek. Everything that happened today were my worst fears come true. We were blessed given Chris’s only injuries were fractures, but with two words—“I’m bisexual”—he’d lost his entire family. They’d assaulted him, laying their hands on him in anger and disgust.

But I was so damn proud of how Chris had handled himself. His nieces and nephews would remember what their fathers and grandfather did to their uncle, even if they didn’t understand why. They’d remember he didn’t react in anger or with hatred. He tried to talk to them. He’d acted like the good Christian here, not them.

I just wish he’d used some of the aggression he had on the ice.

Fuck, the ice. He was due to go on a road trip with the team in less than two days’ time. It was only a short one—San Francisco for a few days—but there was no way he’d be fit to play.

***

I startled when I heard the door click closed. I blinked my eyes open, but what I was seeing wasn’t quite right. Locke was standing there in front of me, shivering. He rubbed his hands up and down his arms, and a full-body shudder wracked him again.