Page 95 of Shrapnel

“Thank you. I…I’ve never been any good in this kind of thing.”

Rhett shook his head. “Not from what I’ve seen. You got Jamie here in record time and were able to tell us exactly what happened. You also managed to do the hardest thing there is.”

“What’s that?”

Rhett smiled. “Stay out of the way. You wouldn’t believe how annoying it is to treat people when their loved ones are hanging off of us.”

Owen huffed a laugh, running his fingers through his already ruined hair. “I couldn’t help him.”

“But you did.” Rhett cocked his head, his blue eyes dark. “Being a hero isn’t all kicking down doors and cracking funny one-liners. It’s about doing what you need to do, even if it’s hard.”

The door to the makeshift hospital room slammed open. A man with styled hair, heavy eyeliner, and hot pink nails leaned against the doorframe.

“Rhett! The light in the dressing room went out and Opal fucked my eyeliner all to hell.”

Turning back to Owen, Rhett smiled. Well, not exactly a smile. He didn’t really do that. He just kind of…looked like he was smiling. Happy. Caring. Like a puppy. A large, strong, heavily tattooed puppy.

“I’ll be right there, Evan. You good?”

“Yeah, I’m good. Thanks. For everything.”

Rhett disappeared, not minding when Evan leaped onto his back for a piggyback ride across the bar, claiming his feet hurt.

Left alone in the silence, Owen stared across the open space between him and Jamie. It was too much. Dragging his chair behind him, he settled it right beside Jamie’s bed. The oxygen mask was still affixed to his face, the plastic clouding up with his even breaths. His long eyelashes were sticky and wet, and his face was covered in blood and fluids.

Owen disappeared into the attached bathroom and came back with a wet paper towel. It wasn’t the best, but he managed to clean up his face. His lips and eyes were still swollen. Folding the wet towel lengthwise he draped it across his closed eyes. Using his fingers he combed his hair out of his face.

Jamie’s hands were resting on top of the sheet. Long fingers splayed. His middle one was crooked. Owen picked up his limp hand, running his finger along the digits in wonder. How did he break that one? It didn’t heal right. Did it still hurt? Owen hoped not.

The silence was insufferable. Owen cleared his throat.

“I grabbed your gun, by the way. It’s in the car because, you know…no weapons in the bar. He got the notebook though. I-I should have grabbed it.” His eyes welled up again and he blinked them back, swallowing past the emotion clogging his throat. “You taught me how to use a gun and I…It was on the ground right beside me and I just froze. Like a loser.”

He intertwined his fingers in Jamie’s, squeezing tightly.

“I’m here now. I’m here and I’m not going to leave, ok? I know you don’t like to sleep without your locks. I’m sorry I can’t bring them. But I’ll be here.”

His chest ached as he looked at Jamie’s calm sleeping face. Owen hated that he was here. Hated that he was ever hurt, that everyone didn’t look at him and see the wonderful, complex person he was. Owen had spent so much time trying to find out who the real Jamie was. He had spent so much time looking, he had completely missed it.

Jamie wasn’t one or the other. He wasn’t a manically smiling himbo, an arsonist, a killer, or a fanfic writer. He was all those things. All of those amazingly wonderful, crazy, fully fleshed-out people in one. He was vibrant.

And Owen liked it all. He liked it all so much he couldn’t breathe.

He panicked every time Jamie needed him most. Every time Jamie showed him some of the wonderful details that made him whole, Owen had turned away. Not anymore. Owen wanted it all. He wanted to spend time getting to know all the parts he hadn’t been strong enough to look at before.

Owen dropped his head to Jamie’s hand, breathing in the combined smell of their joined hands.

Jamie needed someone not to flinch. Not to freeze when he needed them most.

Owen was going to be that person.

Reading a room isn’t something that can be explained. It’s a necessary skill honed over years of making split decisions. Decisions that could be life or death. Is a man in that dark corner reaching for a gun or a cell phone? Is that a risk worth taking?Can I live with myself if I get it wrong?

Elijah has gotten good at it. Anyone who has lived in this life for long enough is good at it. Which is why when he burst through the door to the Sunspot’s treatment room, he immediately picked up all the details he needed.

Jamie was on the bed, passed out. His face was mottled in bruises and swelling. It was difficult to see the exact damage with the red stains on his skin and the oxygen mask over much of his face. Owen was sitting beside him, hunched over the bed, head resting on his and Jamie’s intertwined hands. His pale yellow hoodie was stained with phlegmy blood.

He sat up quickly when Elijah entered, eyes blinking owlishly at him. Half his hair was sticking up and there were marks on his cheeks from where he had been sleeping on his hand.