“Nope. But you make it better.”
Faint shyness crept over his face. Then it was gone. But I saw it, and I banked that shit too.
We washed up. Then, dressed in my clothes, Saint stood in front of me and put his hands on my shoulders. “Embry?”
I nodded. I was drowning in so many things, but none more than the need to lay eyes on our fallen brother. “Help me get some food from the freezer first?”
“Whatever you need.”
* * *
I found Embry sitting on the edge of his hospital bed, curtain drawn around him, concealing him from the rest of the busy ward he was currently residing in.
He had his back to me but turned his head when he heard me coming, gaze lighting at the sight of the food parcel I carried. “Bacon?”
“You’re not allowed it till your guts heal, but there’s chicken soup, bananas, and that toffee yoghurt you always pinch from the kid’s fridge in the café.”
I set the bag on the battered plastic side table and embraced him, keeping pressure off his torso and pressing my forehead to his. “I’ll cook you all the bacon you want when you’re better. Just don’t fucking die on me, yeah? I need you, brother.”
Embry smiled, his eyes brighter than I felt. “I’m not going anywhere. I keep telling you people, I’m fine.”
“You got shanked, bro.”
“It looked worse than it was.”
“There’s something worse than having a blade in your intestine?”
Embry rolled his eyes. “It was a scratch, not a disembowelment.”Lies. “I’ll be good to go in a few weeks.”
“Thank fuck for that.” I released him and retreated to the bedside chair. “You scared the shit out of me. I’m sorry I haven’t been here.”
“Stop stealing my lines.”
“What?”
Embry eased himself back on his bed, stretching his legs out in front of him. He was wearing black sweats and a hoodie that I’d swear blind was Saint’s. “Youscared me. AndI’msorry I haven’t been there for you.”
“Are you taking the fucking piss?”
“That implies I’m funny, and you’ve spent the last—” Embry waved his hand. “—however many years, telling me I’m not.”
“You’re not.”
“So... how are you?”
“That’s not why I’m here.”
“But it’s why I’m here. It’s my job. Don’t cut my goddamn throat.”
The edge in Embry’s usually mellow voice had me leaning forward, noting the IVs threaded into his arm. Painkillers. Antibiotics. Probably other shit I’d never think of. “Cabin fever?”
“Don’t change the subject.”
“I’m not. Just trying to judge how much club bullshit I can dump on you right now.”
“I didn’t ask about the club, Cam. I asked about you.”
Embry shot a pointed glance at my shoulder and waited, knowing I’d crack because he knewme. Knew that however hard I tried to keep shit to myself, I loved him enough to give him what he wanted: something to focus on that wasn’t himself and the shitty situation he’d be dealing with for weeks yet, if not to some degree, forever.