Page 90 of Wild Omega

I stare at my phone, frozen with unfamiliar despair, like the world around me clouds over in a way that’s got nothing to do with the sunset. Then I grit my teeth. I can’t blame anybody other than myself. I can’t hide from this pain. I’ll examine it in every dark hour when I sit alone at my desk, and I will endure it.

First, I need to print a new engagement contract and then get back to the OCB headquarters to clean up the mess of haze oil I spilled everywhere.

Grunting, I break free of my daze. With a plan, I can accomplish anything. I dial my paralegal, and he answers on the first ring. “Hale, I need you to look into a man by the name of Hudson Vatters. We’ll be going up in a domestic violence case against him, so see if there’re any social media posts about relationships or whereabouts over the past twelve months and grab copies before they get taken down.”

Hale grunts softly. “On it. Which of our clients?”

I rub my brow, suddenly feeling like I’ve run a marathon today. “Hasn’t signed on yet. I’ll need two new engagement contracts for representation in all legal matters. I’m texting you their details now. Print and leave them on my desk and I’ll swing by tonight.”

“No problem,” Hale replies, keyboard clicking as he speaks. “I’ll leave the case files for the Kipman case on your desk as well. First hearing is Friday.”

I swear mentally. I’ve never minded working eighty hours a week before, but suddenly the workload’s daunting because I need more time. After hanging up, I catch a cab to the closest shopping center to pick out a gift for Rickon. Usually you give flowers to people in hospital, but I don’t think that’s his kind of thing. This whole situation is unnerving enough.

I feel awkward as fuck strolling through the aisles. Like I’m a turtle stuck on its back, swimming madly but going in circles. My confidence in everything I believed has been shaken today, including how well I thought I knew my friend.

I opt for a gift bag, which I fill with a fashion magazine, chocolate milk, a fantasy novel that has amazing reviews online, and a selection of ten different kinds of snacks. I throw in a combined puzzle and adult coloring book with a selection of color pens for good measure. And because I still feel uneasy, I add a stuffed bear in his favorite teal hue. I think it’s his favorite, anyway. He wears that shade of eyeshadow a lot. On the way out through the checkout, I belatedly remember to grab an entertainment magazine—that’s his industry, after all.

Thirty minutes later, I’m standing outside his hospital room, steeling myself to see those dark bruises on Rickon’s neck again. I wait too long like an idiot and a nurse comes bustling through with a trolley loaded with a computer and bristling with medical equipment.

“You going in, sir?”

I nod, and open the door for her to proceed me. Time to man the fuck up.

“Hey, Ricky,” I murmur as I enter. Then I stop short in shock. Next to the area where Rickon lies, three other beds fill the room, each one occupied. The one at the end even has, like, a dozen children mobbing it. Well, at least four on the sweeping count I do.

I frown as I duck into the tiny alcove hosting Rickon and draw the curtain between him and his neighbor. “Why don’t you have your own room?”

He blinks up at me, flashing a tiny smile I don’t like because it seems to have a hidden meaning. Maybe he has more things in his life I don’t know.

I settle for a question he might be able to answer without a voice. “Have the doctors said how long you might be here?”

He lifts three fingers.

I lump the gift bag on his bed and scratch the back of my neck. “This is for you. I didn’t really know what to get, sorry.”

He grins as he pokes his nose in to see what I bought. “It’s like a Christmas stocking,” he croaks out.

A child from the horde cries and the patient next to us has a coughing fit. I wince. He won’t be able to sleep a wink like this.

“Hang on a tick, Ricky.” I veer out of the room, nearly tripping on a fifth child, who appears out of thin air holding what looks like used toilet paper and yelping for “Mama.”

At the nurses’ station I flag down a harried-looking woman and sign Ricky up for a private room. The only reason I glance at the cost as I sign the bill is because I want to know if that’s why he hasn’t paid for it. Maybe he doesn’t have private medical insurance. Another thing I don’t know.

It’ll take a while for them to prep a room, apparently, so I drag the visitor’s chair closer to Rickon’s bed while I wait. “They’re getting you a new, private room, Ricky, so wait a while they sort it out.”

“You . . . didn’t have to,” he croaks.

“You won’t be able to sleep with all this racket,” I grumble. “Besides, I wanted to.”

His hand flops onto the edge of the bed and he smiles weakly. I take his pale hand in mine, staring at the long, elegant fingers with pronounced knuckles.

Looking at the price on the bill made me think of the apartment where Ricky lives. It’s not exactly a terrible house, but it’s tiny, with no additional security. He always wanted to be independent, so I thought I was doing the right thing not getting involved, but now I don’t think that’s the case.

I clear my throat. “Red’s at the Bureau, giving her statement. She sounded a little shaken, but peppy enough to give me cheek.” I grin, hiding the ache in my heart. “She asked how you were doing, and she called herself Red Jones.”

Rickon’s eyes slide shut in relief, and he smiles.

“They’re also hunting for that bastard, Hudson. I’ll be notified when he’s in custody.” I check my phone, but I have no new notices. “Look, until this case is tried, I think you should come and stay with me.” I run my thumb absently over his knuckles.

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