I followed Marc out of the bathroom to find Rubi waiting.
Marc went to Viktor and checked his vitals again. Then he took a seat on the bench and speared Rubi with a stare that somehow managed to be stern and chill at the same time. “This is messy, and there’s a lot of risk that comes with providing unregulated medical care. Whoever treated Viktor before I got here knows their stuff, but I can’t reiterate enough how important it is to take him to a hospital if he doesn’t show significant signs of improvement in the next few hours.”
Rubi nodded. “What about Locke?”
“I’ve said what I think about his arm already. He might get lucky, he might not, and you need to be prepared for that.”
“Thanks, doc. We appreciate it.”
“I know you do, but I’m going to make one last thing very clear: I came with you because you asked me nicely, and it’s not in me to ignore people in need. But if you ever try to force me, it will be a very different story. Do you understand?”
“Yup.”
“I’m not your go-to for battle wounds.”
“Got it.”
“All right then.” Marc stood. “Did you find that pen?”
He dictated the list to us. Big words that meant nothing to me. Halfway through, I gave up, said my goodbyes, and handed the whole thing over to Rubi.
I went back to the bathroom.
Decoy was helping Locke wash his face again and clean his teeth. “We should get him inside and upstairs while it’s quiet.”
“Agreed.”
Orla ran ahead to make my room ready.
I waited with Decoy for Marc to leave, then steered Locke out of the bunkhouse and across the yard.
The stairs were an experience, but nothing we hadn’t lived through before with other brothers.
We got him to my room. Decoy melted away, shutting the door behind him, and we were finally alone, the three of us, in the room I’d called home since I was a teenager.
Someone had supplied Locke with Rubi’s spare boots. He sat on the edge of the bed and I eased them from his feet.
Locke sighed, but it had nothing to do with his feet and everything to do with Orla kneeling behind him, carding her fingers through his hair. “That’s nice.”
“Do you want to lie down, sweetheart?”
“In a sec.” Locke leaned into her touch, reaching forme. “Come here.”
I rose from the floor to stand between his legs. “You need something?”
“Just you.”
We held him until he was finally ready to let go.
He lay down in my bed.
Orla curled beneath his good arm, and I stretched out on his other side, keeping him between us, the way Saint and Alexei did with Cam sometimes, on the rare occasions I caught them at rest.
Locke knocked out fast, Orla too, their hands clasped, her cheek on his chest.
It was harder for me. Maybe because I missed his big hand dropping on top of my head, anchoring me to earth, but also because I was scared to death of what would happen when I finally slept. Locke was hurting enough, and he was exhausted. I couldn’t live with myself if I got rowdy in my sleep and caused him more pain.
Eventually, though, fatigue caught up with me. I fell asleep and woke to darkness and a yard still missing six bikes.