Page 147 of Shrapnel

Grant nodded tersely. “Then I’ve got work to do. You need a new identity, and the staff needs to change their records.” He turned, pulling out his phone.

Kurt stood, catching Grant’s arm. “Grant I—”

“Don’t,” he leaned forward and kissed him softly. “I promised you, didn’t I?” Kurt’s eyes dropped to Grant’s open palm, to a silvery scar that ran across it.

Noah had fallen asleep again. Owen was staring at his feet, not comfortable looking at a sleeping Noah or Kurt and Grant’s private moment. His heart ached. He missed Jamie. He wanted to call him, tell him what he’d just seen. Grant wasn’t infallible. Kurt had softened with time.

But mostly, he wanted to ask him what the hell was going on. What was he doing? Where was he? And why didn’t he tell Owen? He didn’t believe the moments they spent together were a lie. Not for a second. Just like he knew that Jamie hadn’t meant to kill Noah, he knew that Jamie hadn’t been faking it. Not when he broke down and told him about his past, and not when they were in bed together.

Grant was right. He had a job to do. With his brother on a plane somewhere, and his two lieutenants out of commission, he still pressed on. Head held high, and emotions in check. Owen would have to do the same. He would push his fears and emotions aside. He had to.

He had to find Jamie.

“I’ll go help him,” Owen said to a quiet. “Keep me updated?”

Kurt nodded distractedly.

Owen moved past him but paused in the door. “You were wrong,” he said to the room, refusing to meet Kurt’s eye. “You were wrong about him. We all were.”

The ceiling changed. It wasn’t an obvious, but the tiles were slightly off. Noah would know; he’d spent the last three days looking at it. He lifted his head a little, grunting with the exertion. He didn’t mind them constantly moving him around he just wished they’d tell him. It was disconcerting to always wake up in another room.

Kurt was asleep on the chair beside him. He hadn’t left the hospital since Noah was admitted. His hair was beginning to look ratty. The sponge baths in the bathroom sink weren’t cutting it anymore.

Yesterday he had been allowed to visit Elijah. Just for a moment—according to Grant it wasn’t safe. Not until his funeral had been planned and he was officially in Weaver Syndicate territory.

Elijah was getting better. That’s what they told him. He didn’t look any better. His face was gaunt, skin sallow. All his muscles were deteriorating while he laid in bed. Noah missed him. He knew being asleep was the kindest thing they could do for him, but he hadn’t heard Elijah’s voice in days. Hadn’t seen his beautiful green eyes sparkling at him.

According to Dr. Uber German—the pulmonologist with the insane name Noah couldn’t pronounce—he was getting better. Better seemed relative. They were excited about a small change in some numbers he didn’t understand. Molly had been explaining things to him in small words, but he found it difficult to concentrate for long.

Even though he had spent the last two days staring down the bed at himself, he still had a hard time believing he was shot. He didn’t really remember it. The last thing he remembered was trying to call Jamie, then he was staring at the sky. There were fuzzy images of Owen, then the inside of an ambulance. He remembered fighting the plastic oxygen mask. It felt claustrophobic at the time.

Kurt’s head bobbed, and he jerked himself awake. Smacking his lips, his gaze slowly focused on Noah.

“You’re awake.”

“Shocking, I know.”

Kurt snorted. “Pain meds are a bitch.”

He sagged back in bed. Noah might be bored if he was capable of it. But at the moment even lifting his arms seemed like too much work.

“Where’s Willow?”

“They brought the doctor but then she had to get back for a performance. She came in and saw you while you were sleeping. She wanted to stay but Roland wouldn’t let her miss out on this one. Apparently, it’s some big deal.”

He didn’t begrudge his aunt. Willow suffered a lot for their messed up family. She deserved this.

“How did she look?”

Kurt wrinkled his nose. “I can’t say I understand her fashion choices.”

“Says the guy with the paint covered jeans.”

His lips quirked in a smile. The siblings couldn’t be more different. Maybe it was because they weren’t technically related, or maybe it was because they made up two halves of a whole. They griped about the other, but they needed each other like oxygen. Privately Noah had always been jealous of their closeness. He would never have that. Noah was always the third wheel.

He laughed at the thought, rubbing his eyes with the hand that didn’t have the IV.

“What’s so funny?”