Page 144 of Shrapnel

He had been steady as he screamed for help, staring into sightless eyes as his skin paled and his breath stuttered.

“Owen?”

His name was like a cool drink on a hot day. Suddenly he could think. Snapping his head up he looked to see Grant breeze through the hospital doors. His lips were pressed together so hard they disappeared.

Owen felt his knees give out. Had he been standing he would have fallen.Relief. Grant would fix everything.

“Are you hurt?”

His chest ached at the question. “No,” he lied.

Grant was looking him up and down, concern evident in every movement. He wasn’t wearing a weapon, but the sheath on his thigh was still there. Like he’d ripped the blade off at the last second to come into the hospital.

“What happened?”

Owen made to answer but he couldn’t. His lips parted automatically but the words wouldn’t come. Every time he found the right words, his chest constricted, and his body reminded him that all his focus needed to be on breathing.

“Owen,” Grant knelt beside him. “Look at me.”

He did. Grant’s eyes were soft, but the skin around his mouth was tight. He was wound tightly but trying his best to calm Owen down.

“Noah was shot,” Owen blurted, crumpling in on himself the moment the words left his mouth. There it was. The release. His tears were hot as they leaked down his cheeks, mixing with Noah’s blood.

Grant didn’t react, just pulled his phone from his pocket, and made a call. Stepping away from Owen he spoke in hushed tones. Tension rose off his shoulders in waves.

“Grant?” Kurt burst through the hospital doors like a hurricane. His violet hair was loose around his face, still half in its usual bun. Wood shavings clung to his shirt and his jeans were covered in flecks of paint.

“Selcouth.” Grant hung up his call without saying goodbye.

Kurt caught sight of a bloodied Owen and his eyes widened. He stormed toward the back, screaming about something. Grant caught him, wrapping him up and bodily lifting the man.

“Selcouth stop, please.” Grant tried to soothe him.

“Fuck you! Where’s Noah?”

Grant slammed Kurt’s back against the wall, framing his body with his own. He took the kicks and punches without flinching, hands cupping around Kurt’s face to block his vision. Until all he could see was Grant.

Kurt’s chest heaved as he relaxed, fingers digging into Grant’s forearms as he stared into his face. Slowly his legs stopped kicking and he leaned into Grant.

“Where is he?” Kurt’s voice broke.

Grant rested his forehead on Kurt’s. “I’m trying to find out, love. Let me.”

Owen watched them both in awe. He had seen Kurt angry—it was his default setting. But he had never seen him vulnerable like this. It was like seeing a turtle out of his shell. Wrong in so many ways. So wrong he wanted to look away, but couldn’t.

And Grant? He was afraid. It was there in the fine lines on his face and the way his shoulders hunched.

Seeing two of the strongest men Owen had ever seen looking like that, destroyed something in Owen. They couldn’t be propping him up.

He swallowed. Twice.

“We were trying to get Mateo,” Owen began.

The two men stopped and looked at him. Grant led Kurt over to the chairs along the wall. He sat one away from Owen. The blood had seeped into the neighboring chairs too. Grant stood, one eye on Owen and the other on his boyfriend.

His words flowed now. He told them everything. From the beginning, even though Grant knew most of it. Or all of it. It was usually safer to assume Grant knew everything. Owen wanted to omit what Jamie told him, but he couldn’t. The dam broke and his words were a floodwater that would only stop once he ran out.

“He’s in surgery. The surgeons won’t tell me anything but um…” Owen’s throat was dry.