Page 166 of Piece Us Together

“Both of them,” I say, remembering now. “The two guests came out at once.”

He winces. “I’m sorry.”

“That shit happens. You couldn’t have been watching everything.” I grimace when I try to adjust my body, pain shooting up my arm. I go very still and it thankfully fades. Not by much, but by enough. “The brothers?”

“Safe. Ash is bringing them back to their parents.”

“And Trav?” I ask, suddenly remembering he was in trouble just before I got hit. I try to sit up again. Keats pushes me down as Travis appears over his shoulder. “Oh thank fuck.” I close my eyes, relaxing back and trying to breathe without it feeling like the oxygen is needles in my chest. My throat goes tight, my stupid chin wobbly. “If I’d lost you, Carter would have…”

Carter would have never forgiven me.

“Carter is going to kick your ass,” Travis says.

I open my eyes, frowning at him. “Why? I didn’t let you get hurt. You’re fine, right?”

Travis flicks my forehead. “Yougot hurt, you fucking idiot.”

“Oh.” I laugh as well as I can in my circumstances, closing my eyes again. “He won’t care.”

“Mais—”

“Wait, I’m hurt?” I look around, confused. The movement makes that pain come back in my arm. I squint down at it. There’s a wrap from just above my wrist to an inch or so below the crook of my elbow. “Oh.”

“Oh, he says,” Travis mutters, shaking his head. “Oh. Fucking hell.”

Keats shoots him a dirty look. “Shut up. Go finish packing our gear.”

Travis gives him a two-finger salute. “Aye, aye, asshole.”

“How does your arm feel?” Keats asks. “You need something for the pain?”

“No. I’m good.” I squint at my arm some more. “What even happened?”

“It was a graze. We flushed it out pretty good—you had some shirt in it. You have to keep an eye on that, yeah? Don’t let it get infected.”

I roll my eyes. “Yeah, yeah. It ain’t my first GSW, I got it.”

“Give him the meds anyway,” Travis grumbles. “He’s a fucking asshole martyr. No way that shit isn’t hurting. The first dose definitely wore off.”

“You were supposed to leave,” I say in return.

Both Travis and Keats ignore me. I catch sight of Keats flicking a syringe. I scowl at him. He doesn’t seem very intimidated. “I hate need—”

He jams the needle into my bicep before I can finish my complaint, injecting the fluid into me. I am very angry with him. Perturbed, even. The audacity of this asshole. Who does he think—oh man, that feels good.

Keats laughs, giving my cheek a pat that feels weird, fuzzy kind of, like he’s not actually touching my skin. “There ya go. All better.”

“Better,” I agree, my eyes falling half-closed.

“See, now would be the time to ask him,” Keats says.

I squint at him before realizing he’s not talking to me. He’s talking—and looking at—Travis. Travis gives him a deadpan look in response. “While he’s high? That’s cheating.”

“Probably a better chance of him saying yes,” Keats counters.

I try to care about the conversation, but really I’m just sort of wondering how soon I can see Nolan and Hunter again.

“I’m not asking him when he’s high off his ass,” Travis argues.

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