Page 56 of Something Unprofessional

Owen was on his knees in a puddle of liquid, trying to gather the broken glass back onto the tray.

“Owen,” Ev exclaimed. “Are you okay?” He crouched down and tried to see what was going on, but it was too dark. “Stop. Stop, you’ll cut yourself.” He batted Owen’s hand away from a smashed wineglass stem. “We can get a broom. Stop.”

Owen didn’t seem to hear him and reached for another shard. Ev needed help. He turned to look for Daddy, but Daddy was already there, catching Owen’s wrists while Jack stepped up behind him and lifted him to his feet. Ev scrambled up as well, his worry twisting in his chest.

The light was better, and he gasped at the gash in Owen’s palm and the blood dripping from his fingers. Jack cursed and called for someone to bring him a towel. Spencer appeared amoment later with both a towel and a broom and directed the onlookers back from the mess.

“This is going to need stitches,” Jack announced as he peeked at Owen’s cut under the towel.

“No,” Owen said, voice sharp with panic. “No. I’ll be fine.”

Ev gave him an incredulous look. “Dude, you’re bleeding everywhere. You need a doctor.”

Owen shook his head rapidly. “No, just give me some gauze or something. I can do it myself.” He pressed the towel harder to his hand and blinked a few times like he was trying to clear his vision.

Jack didn’t try to argue. He just swept Owen up in his arms and started for the stairs. Ev jogged after them, Daddy right beside him. Owen was still protesting when they reached the stairwell, and with a grumbled curse, Jack carried him up instead of down.

“Where are you taking him?” Ev asked Jack’s back as he ran after. Jack was taking the stairs two at a time, and Ev could hardly keep up. “Daddy, where are we going? He needs a doctor.”

Gabe ducked ahead of them and opened the door to the fifth floor, then another that led to a long hallway of what looked like offices.

They reached a wooden door, and Gabe held it so Jack could carry Owen, who had gone quiet when he saw they weren’t going to the hospital, inside.

Ev was right that it was an office. As they walked in, Max stood from the leather sofa, and Felix hopped up after him.

“What happened?” Max asked, his deep voice sharp with concern.

“It’s no big deal,” Owen repeated. “It’s just a cut. I’m fine.”

Max shifted his concerned look to Jack.

“He needs stitches but doesn’t want to go to the hospital.” He handed Owen to Max like he was passing a package marked fragile. “I’m calling Grant.”

“Who’s Grant?” Ev wondered. He hadn’t heard that name before.

“Jack’s husband. He’s a doctor,” Gabe answered, wrapping an arm around Ev and pulling him close.

“Surgeon,” Jack corrected, his phone already to his ear as he turned away to make the call.

Max moved to the sofa and sat, settling Owen in his lap. Ev thought that was a little overly familiar before he saw how pale and shocky Owen looked and the way he was clutching Max’s shirt with his uninjured hand.

Ev glanced at Felix, whose aftercare they’d interrupted, but other than the crease of concern on his forehead, he seemed fine.

The room was tense as they waited. After a short conversation, Jack ended his call and crouched down in front of Owen. “My husband will be here in ten minutes. He’s bringing supplies to stitch you up, but he says if you need surgery, he’s taking you straight to the hospital. No arguments.”

Owen’s lower lip wobbled, and tears streaked his cheeks. “I don’t have insurance,” he admitted, voiceshaky.

Jack petted his hair back from his face. “I figured. But don’t worry about that right now. It can all be worked out later. There are a lot of tendons in your hands, and the most important thing is making sure you didn’t do any permanent damage.”

Ev twisted his fingers together as the clock ticked. Spencer poked his head in to check on them and said everything was cleaned up downstairs and the guy who’d accidentally tripped Owen had apologized and hoped he was okay. When ten minutes had passed, Felix offered to run down to the entrance to collect Grant.

A few minutes later, he returned, a strikingly handsome man with a black bag in tow. Daddy nodded to him, and Max thanked him for coming so quickly.

Grant opened his bag on the coffee table and knelt down in front of Owen to take a look at his hand. Owen held it out reluctantly and winced when Grant eased the towel away. He made a sympathetic sound as he examined the wound and had Owen move each of his fingers in turn. His face remained calm, and some of Ev’s worry unwound. A calm doctor was a good sign, right?

“You definitely need stitches,” Grant announced. “But I think we can avoid surgery. You don’t seem to have nicked anything vital.”

Owen let out a breath that shook, and Max murmured, “Thank fuck,” giving Owen a brief squeeze.

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