by Lena North
Mac was on his back with a sheet covering him to his waist. His wounds were covered in bandages, and some sort of sling was wrapped around his shoulder. It looked as if he was sleeping but it was too much like when I had watched Willy’s dead body, and I couldn’t stand there one more time, clutching the foot of a hospital bed.
“Falk,” I said as I leaned over him. “Baby, you don’t have to wake up. We have your back, so you can just sleep for a while.”
He didn’t move.
“We’re not gonna let the asshat win.” I murmured softly.
His eyelashes fluttered and even though he didn’t open his eyes, that small movement told me he was listening. I touched his cheek gently with my fingertips and murmured with a smile, “Rest now, Falk. You promised to clean up that dumpster you live in so you’ll need your strength…”
My voice trailed off when I felt his hand squeeze mine.
“I’ve had my hands on your ass more than once but we still haven’t used what Sloane gave you,” he murmured groggily, and I laughed, but it was shaky.
“Your dad won’t like us being together,” he continued, and my head swung around to face Hawker.
He looked like he didn’t know if he should smile or yell at Mac.
“Falk, do-” I tried to stop him from talking, but he cut me off.
“Don’t care, though. Best man I know, but I’ll fight him if I have to.”
“F –”
“He’s getting old anyway. Bet I can take him down.”
Mac stopped talking and breathed deeply for a while. Then he opened his eyes, and they came to me first, but he spotted Hawker immediately.
“Shit,” he murmured.
“Yeah,” Hawker replied. Then he snorted something under his breath and went on, “You’re an enormous fucking pain in my ass, Mac, always have been. Good to have you back, though.”
“Yeah,” Mac echoed hoarsely.
Then the doctor cleared his throat, and I jerked. I’d completely forgotten about him, but he’d apparently stayed in a corner together with a nurse.
“The wounds are consistent with a knife injury,” he started, and when I turned to him, he said weakly, “I would have to report a knife injury to the authorities.”
“He slipped and cut himself on a couple of harpoons,” I said quickly. “We were visiting my step-father in Marshes, and I know that they use the harpoons to spear huge shellfish, but we didn’t realize that it would harm Mac.”
The doctor looked at me, and I could tell that he didn’t know if he should let it be or probe deeper into what had happened.
“Huge shellfish?” he asked slowly, and the nurse made a choking sound.
“Yes. Gigantic lobsters,” I stated calmly and with great certainty.
I’d never actually thought much about the size of lobsters in my life. I wasn’t allergic, but I didn’t like seafood, and neither had Willy, so we never ate it.
Then Hawker cleared his throat loudly and pushed his shirt aside so that his badge showed. The doctor’s face immediately lit up, and he smiled.
“Oh. Okay. Well, the, er, harpoons, would certainly explain why there seemed to be small grains in the wounds. It could be from some kind of shells. We had to flush the cuts repeatedly to get it all out, but once we had, his condition stabilized almost immediately.
“If you saved the grains, I’d like to have them,” Hawker rumbled. “For the investigation,” he added.
“Certainly. Absolutely. Nurse Ro –” the doctor started, although he didn’t even have to finish the sentence because the nurse scurried out of the room, looking like a frightened mouse.
Wow. Hawker must have really scared them.
“You have responded incredibly well to the treatment, but we will still keep you monitored through the night. If things progress nicely, we’ll let you leave tomorrow morning,” the doctor said, looking at Mac.
It seemed like Mac was about to protest but I wanted him in the hospital where the doctors would take care of him.
“Falk,” I said, gently but with absolutely no room for argument, “You will stay here for the night and I will pick you up tomorrow. Okay?”
He grinned weakly in answer to my question that wasn’t a question and turned to my father.
“Your daughter,” he said.
“Absolutely,” Hawker agreed, and he did it calmly but his lips twitched as if he had to fight to keep a smile at bay.
Then the doctor ushered us out of the room and back to the waiting room. As we walked, I turned to my dad.
“Maybe I should tell the cops, Dad? About everything, I mean?”
“You told me. I’m a cop. End of story,” Hawker replied calmly.
Then he turned to me with a resigned look on his face.
“Gigantic lobsters? That’s the best you could come up with?”
“Shut up,” I murmured, feeling a little bit stupid because I’d started to realize that it probably wasn’t all that common to spear lobsters with harpoons.
Then my father slung an arm around my shoulders, and as we walked into the waiting room he asked casually,
“So, what did Sloane give you that you haven’t used?”
Oh. Shit.
Chapter Eighteen
Wilder than everyone
We rolled up in front of Carson’s place right behind Miller’s truck, and as Hawker turned off the engine, I saw Carson and Bo come out to hug Kit, and then Miller.
I was in the back seat, but I’d not gotten there without a fight.
Mac had been rolled out from the hospital in a wheelchair, and he’d been absolutely furious about that. The doctor in charge in the morning had been made of sterner stuff than the one who had treated him the day before, declaring calmly that it was either the wheelchair or he would carry Mac out like a baby. Hawker started laughing loudly at that, and I tried really hard, but also failed to hide my chuckle. To my surprise, Mac lost the staredown that ensued and sat down in the wheelchair with an angry grunt.
When we got to the car, he moved to ride shotgun, and I tried to stop him, thinking that he could lay down in the back. Also, I wanted to be in the front seat.
Mac refused. I argued. He growled, and I yelled. Hawker got involved and told us that we should both be in the back seat, which made us round on him, suggesting that I could drive and he could go suck an egg or something. The look on my dad’s face when he heard this was priceless, and a few of the hospital staff that had gathered outside to watch the show started laughing.
Then Byrd waded into the discussion, closing it down in a firm voice.
“Hawker drives because it’s his car. Mac is in the front because he’s tall and needs the leg room. Wilder, you go in the back because that’s the only seat available to you.”
I stared at her, and I could totally tell by the unblinking stare she aimed back at me that her bird was an owl. I also knew that this was a fight I wouldn’t win so I backed down.
“You worked as a kindergarten teacher or something?” I asked sourly.
“Army intel. General. Retired,” she replied calmly and opened the front passenger door raising an eyebrow at Mac.
“Really?” I breathed, not knowing why this was such a surprise.
Maybe because she looked like someone’s housewife with her hair in a soft bun at the nape of her neck and a flowery blouse in pale blue and pink?
“Get in,” she ordered, and I obediently climbed into the back seat of my father’s gigantic, black truck.
“Obliged, Bee,” I heard Hawker mutter as he got into the driver’s seat.
Then we drove off, and I turned around to wave at Mickey and Olly who were going back to Double H. The huge doctor was grinning widely, and I watched in surprise as he raised his hand and then how Byrd slapped it in a high five. Hawker must have seen it too because he started laughing.
Mac promptly shifted the back of his chair until it was almost horizontal and closed his eyes.<
br />
“You could have gone in the back if you were going to lie down,” I grumbled.
“Babe,” he muttered. “I don’t go in the back.”
Then he fell asleep. I stared at him, contemplating if I should slap him or let him rest.
“Get used to it,” Hawker muttered.
“What?”
“Your choice, Wilder. You chose him. He apparently chose you right back. I can’t say I’m too happy about it, but watching you riding in the back seat right now and knowing that I’ll get to watch you have this fight every time you go in my truck makes it bearable,” he said.
Then he turned and gave me a quick wink, and the smile on his face was sweet. He said he wasn’t happy about Mac and me being… I didn’t know just exactly what we were, but whatever it was, I didn’t think that my dad was quite as upset about it as he said he was.
“Shit,” I replied sourly, but that was all fake.
Then I got down on my side and slept all the way to Carson’s.
Mac didn’t wake up when we stopped, and I’d opened the door to gently nudge him out of sleep when Hawker gave him a hard shove.
“Dad,” I hissed. “What the hell are you doing? He’s been injured.”
“Yeah, Hawker,” Mac said as he raised the back seat. He turned away from me to face my father, echoing my words in a voice that sounded suspiciously like a tease, “What the hell are you doing? I’ve been injured.”
“Shit,” Hawker muttered and climbed out of the truck, followed by Mac’s chuckle.
“This is fantastic, babe,” he murmured as he got out and slung an arm around my shoulder. “Drives him nuts to hold his temper back like that.”
“You’re mean when you’re not feeling well,” I said, but I did it smiling.
He looked a lot better this morning. The awful shivers that had wrecked his whole body when I drove up to the hospital were gone, and his body felt strong and warm, so I leaned closer into him as we walked toward Bo and Carson.
“Oh, my poor boy,” Bo exclaimed, rushing toward us.
He had apparently decided to pass on the lipstick that morning, but his eyes were immaculately lined with dark eyeliner, and I noticed a faint blush on his cheeks that I suspected was applied expertly with a brush. He looked amazing.
“Boz, I’m good,” Mac murmured.
“Seeing you so weak, not walking on your own… It’s killing me,” Bo continued dramatically as if he hadn’t heard.
“What?” Mac muttered. “I can walk on my own, Bo.”
“But you’re leaning on Wild –”
He stopped talking when Kit started laughing.
“Oh?” he said, and I could see how his mind worked through why Mac would have his arm around my shoulders. “Oh…” he repeated, but this time it was with a sly grin.
“Well, shit,” I heard my father mutter, again, and I let go of Mac to walk over to Carson.
“I’m thinking that food would be good right about now,” I whispered.
He grinned at me as he ushered us all through the house and then we sat down on his back deck to eat. There were a few others there, gorging down Carson’s fabulous food, which turned out to be chicken this time, grilled with a rub that was thick and spicy and served with veggies that he’d roasted in the oven.
We moved around, re-filling plates and glasses and the slow, peaceful pace that I’d enjoyed the last time I was there settled in over me like a warm, soft blanket. When we heard another car drive up, Carson ambled through the house unhurriedly, although when he walked back out on the porch, he seemed surprisingly tense. His face was hard, and he immediately aimed his eyes on Mac, who sighed and looked down at his plate.
“It’s okay, Carson,” he muttered.
I blinked, wondering what was going on. Then a couple stepped out on the porch, followed by two men my age. They looked straight at Mac and it didn’t take me long to realize that this was his uncle and aunt, and his two cousins. Mac nodded once and continued eating calmly while Carson placed the family at a table as far away from us as he could manage.
The mood at our table was thick enough to cut and Hawker moved to get up when I heard Mac mumble, “Settle down everyone. I’m good.”
I leaned into him and thought about how he’d grown up, and what kind of man he had become. Without thinking it through, I got to my feet and, followed by Mac’s annoyed rumble, I moved into the kitchen where I helped Carson to prepare four plates. Then we took two each to bring out to Mac’s relatives.
“Enjoy your meal,” I said sweetly, placing the plates in front of Mac’s cousins.
They shifted uncomfortably, and their eyes darted between me, Mac, Hawker, and their father.
“You’re Wilder?” the older man asked, sounding like he was delivering an insult.
I smiled happily and moved to the side to let a stone-faced Carson put the other two plates down.
“Totally,” I replied. “Wilder than everyone else, apparently,” I added. “It’s probably good to remember that,” I concluded, holding the older man’s eyes firmly until he lowered his gaze.
Then I sauntered over to sit down next to Mac again. Carson moved back inside, but he must have made some sign to Bo because the big man got to his feet and followed him, and Kit did too. It didn’t take long for the sounds of muffled laughter to reach us from inside the kitchen. When Kit came out, he glanced over at Mac’s family at the far end of the porch, only to start chuckling again.
“What did you do?” Mac asked quietly.
“Me?” I said innocently.
He kept looking at me, and I smiled widely.
“Spat in their food, of course. What did you expect me to do?” I chirped.
He blinked slowly.
“I stirred it in properly, though, Mac. I don’t think they’ll notice,” I clarified, and added gently, “But I know, and now you do too. And that’s all the energy I’ll spend on those idiots, they aren’t worth more than that.”
The mood suddenly shifted around our table. The men started eating again, although they did it chuckling and glancing across the porch. Hawker stared at me and then his lips twitched.
“Elegant,” he murmured and forked up food.
Mac didn’t move for a long time, and I started to worry. What I’d done was kind of juvenile, so maybe he’d be angry with me, or think that I was ridiculous? Then his good hand came up to cup my cheek, and he kissed me. Thoroughly and deeply.
“What am I going to do with you?” he murmured softly when he pulled back, but he did it grinning hugely.
“Um,” I replied because he was good with his mouth and I was a bit dizzy.
Hawker made a strangled noise that snapped me back to reality, and I started shoveling the fantastic chicken into my mouth.
“You’re going to clean up that dumpster you live in, and then you’re going to make dinner for me. Though, baby, talk to Carson before you start cooking because this food is dee-vine,” I said and the last part I aimed at a grinning Bo who was back at the table again.
We finished off our meal, declined coffee on the porch but accepted the travel mugs Bo offered and then we walked back to the cars. Next to Miller’s car there was a low, beige station wagon and laughter echoed when the men saw it. From the front of the hood and all the way across the roof, the car was completely covered in bird shit.
“Wilder…” Mac murmured, but I turned to him.
“Wasn’t me. Swear,” I said.
“Yeah, that was me,” Hawker muttered. “Didn’t know what Wilder would do, though. Might have held them back a little if I had.”
Everyone stopped, and the men stared at him, but I stared at the car thinking that it would probably be close to impossible to clean it up completely.
“Them?” Miller asked after a while.
“Yeah, we all know the birds don’t talk to each other, but apparently they do talk to Sloane’s army of insects, and they pass messages between our bir
ds, and all other types of flying critters,” Hawker said disgruntledly. “Have been doing it for years, so she knows all kinds of shit,” he finished, and that was apparently the end of the discussion because he beeped the locks to his car and walked off.
“Huh,” Miller said but since there really wasn’t anything else to say he also beeped the locks to his truck and opened the front door. “Get shit on my ride, boy, and you wash it off,” he said to Kit who was grinning as he moved gingerly to the passenger door, keeping away from the beige car and the poop on it.
Mac opened the front door to Hawker’s truck and then he motioned for me to get inside.
“Spat in my uncle’s food, babe. You get the front seat this time,” he murmured.
I smiled widely at him and stepped into the car. He looked tired, and I figured he was going to lie down and sleep all the way to Norton anyway, so it was a nice gesture but not exactly a grand one.
I wasn’t wrong, Mac was out before we left Carson and Bo’s parking lot.
“Weird that the birds talk to Sloane’s butterflies, huh?” I said, hoping that my father would tell me more about it.
At first, he didn’t and all the food I’d eaten made me sleepy, so my eyelids had started to droop, but they flew up when he started speaking.
“That’s how she told me about the cup,” he muttered, almost reluctantly.
“What?”
“Your pink cup, Wilder. My bird told me that you were feeling blue and that you needed something pretty and girly. Said you needed a pink cup with pretty swirls on it for your tea.”
I turned and stared at him.
“Apparently you said some things and the butterflies heard. They passed it on to Sloane, and she asked them to tell my eagle. He did, and I got you a cup,” he stated, staring at the road in front of us.
“I thought Willy had told you,” I said.
“Nope. He was as clueless as I was,” Hawker said.
“I wasn’t sad very often, Dad,” I murmured. “It was good most of the time. The weeks were lonely, but not bad because they weren’t there most of the time. And I had Willy.”
