Page 4 of Threads of Fate

No. No good comes of that line of thought. Instinctively feeling for his wallet with his good arm, he sighs. Knowing the treasure he’s hidden inside has survived these almost nine years brings him a bit of solace. Not that he allows himself the comfort of looking at it anymore. He often wonders how something could hurt so much and still be the only thing in his twenty-four years to bring even a speck of joy.

Leaning gingerly back against the cracked, mirrored wall inside the elevator, he avoids meeting his own eyes and tries not to think about the people he’s lost or the happiest days of his life. He also tries not to imagine what Dawson will do if he gets home before Nix does. That thought causes an uptick in his heart rate and makes him freeze until he can force the fear back. Instead, he focuses on his shoulder’s deep, raw ache because it is better than the fear. Nights where Dawson is out fucking his newest conquest mean he might not be home until after midnight. But even getting his dick wet won’t save Nix if that mess is still on the floor.

Exiting the elevator, he admits to himself that he had stopped caring long ago about the other people Dawson had sex with. He is sure this one might be more serious, and he can’t help but be glad about it. It means Dawson is less likely to want to hurt Nix that way. Or at least not as often.

Pushing the building’s front doors open, he turns toward the bus stop, dreading the long journey to an “acceptable” emergency room and knowing it will be even more nerve-racking on the return. He stumbles a bit as his empty stomach gnaws relentlessly, but it is easy to ignore that this is his third day of just water when his shoulder aches so badly—smallthings to be grateful for, Nix, small things.

Dawson’s apartment (never home, never that) is deep in the heart of Nashville. Not close enough to the East Side to be fashionable. Dawson laments how his talents are wasted at Ripley Records, where he works in marketing and that’s why they have to live in squalor. Dawson finds great pleasure harping for hours on end about how he should have been a star, that his musical dreams were being lived by talentless hacks who fucked their way to the top or were given a free ride because of nepotism.

Those long tirades never end well for Nix, either. In the early days, he’d tried placating Dawson’s volatile temper and easing his frustrations with attention and encouragement. It wasn’t two months into their living together before Nix realized Dawson liked to work himself up so he could tear Nix down. Still, maybe Nix deserves it. He doesn’t contribute to the household finances, as Dawson likes to remind him, and he was a college dropout. No matter that Dawson had been the reason, Nix missed classes and eventually was expelled. Nix blamed himself for thatandhis current predicament.

There are so many people whose lives are harder than his own. Nix tried to appreciate that the building was well kept, that the custodian was kind, and that his neighbors were polite. He’s always grateful that the bus stop is right in front of his building because sometimes he can’t face the thought of a long walk.

Tonight, while Nix cowered on the floor, bleeding through his sweatpants, the moon had risen high in the sky. Shivering in his T-shirt in the early fall weather, he realizes how strange it is that he can see such a large, full moon in the city.

It’s so beautiful. The pain in his shoulder, knees, stomach, and fingers fades a bit as he stops to admire it. How beautiful you are! If you are listening, could you help me? I need a bit of luck tonight if I’m to find a different hospital and be home on time. Thank you.

Nix steps under the bus stop shelter, and the moon slips out of view just as a bus arrives. The blue door slides open, and the driver gives a surprised smile. The older gentleman raises his nose as if he is smelling the air like people do at restaurants or bakeries.

How weird. But Nix doesn’t mind “weird.” He likes people, and aside from the risk of making friends, Nix finds small moments of happiness in making people smile. The driver seemssurprised that Nix intends to get on his bus as he struggles to get his pass out, but the driver shakes his head.

“Don’t worry about using that, son. It’s not what you need here. I’ll take you anyway, though. Find a seat.” He slides the doors shut and, looking back into the bus, Nix notices it’s empty. How odd. Public transport in Nashville is famously crowded. You have to be prepared for standing in crowded buses no matter the time of day and this one is empty at eight o’clock on a Friday night? Mind-blowing! Maybe someone heard his prayer after all.

Sliding into the seat nearest the driver, he clutches his arm. “I’m not certain of this route number, 0713. Does it go near a hospital?”

“Sure does. Nashville General? Ascension? Which do you prefer…this route goes by both.” The bus lurches a bit as it merges into nighttime traffic, and Nix wonders how the route could be taken by both major hospitals when they were at either end of the city.

“Neither, if possible. Do you know of another one? I’m in a bit of a hurry, and I need to get home before my–uh before it’s too late. I’m sorry to bother you. Just drop me at the connecting stop, and I can find my way after that.” Cheeks pink with the obvious lie, Nix tries to hide his embarrassment with a laugh. So much for suave stories about mythical zip-lining tonight; he really is an idiot. Nix wishes he could blame it on his low blood sugar.

“None of that, now. You found this bus, you found me, and we’re going to get you fixed up. I’ve got just the place. Hang on.” Nix relaxes, then. Trusting the driver to get him where he needs to go, Nix looks out the window, and he notices the bus passing by several full bus stops with red buses stopping to pick up passengers. Their six-digit route numbers are clear in marquee-style LED signs: six, not four. Red buses, not blue. Weird.

It isn’t more than fifteen minutes before Nix’s empty bus slides to a stop in front of a hospital emergency lane. “Here you are, Nix. They’ll get you what you need.” The older man moves as Nix gets off the bus, looking as if he might step down and guide him through the doors himself. In the end, he remains seated and waves. “Remember, son, you deserve good things.”

It isn’t until Nix is inside the vestibule of the emergency room, feeling the warm blow of heated air, that he realizes something: he’d never given the driver his name. And even if he had, he certainly wouldn’t have saidNixbecause he hasn’t heard that name said out loud in almost five years.

Chapter Two: Finn

Finn

Almost seven hours into his twelve-hour shift, Dr. Finn Merritt decides he has never been hungrier. Supernatural health care didn’t revolve around emergency care as much as it did for their human counterparts, but today has been next-level chaotic.

By nature, Weres have enhanced healing and longevity going for them that humans do not. That means as a physician, his rotation in the ER could be boring. He’d no doubt jinxed himself just this morning when he’d complained to Leo that yesterday’s main excitement had been a Were toddler with a piece of Lego, a half-inch of cyan blue crayon, and a Hot Cheeto up his tiny little nose.

He couldn’t be blamed for not wanting to get up for his noon start when he’d had to disentangle himself from a very warm, naked, and satisfied-smelling Luca. Shortly after arriving, he’d been rushed nearly off his feet when a bus carrying a football team from the local Were secondary school had blown out a tire, and several injuries required all hands on deck. Any serious injuries have been moved to other units in the small hospital, and thankfully, there were no fatalities. Most of the kids would be back on the field in a few days. But that means he’d forgone his breaksandhis dinner, meals he looks forward to every single day.

Pulling the bento box out of the communal staff room fridge, he smiles in anticipation for several reasons. One of his mates, Gideon, is the head chef atQuest, a Michelin-starred restaurant in the heart of The Gulch. He always makes time to cook for his mates whenever he can. He insists on it. Seeing what Gideon has prepared and eating it are the highlights of his workdays and often make his twelve-hour shifts in the quiet ER bearable.

The bento has three levels, and upon opening the top one, Finn inhales deeply. Fresh sashimi lies in perfect rolls. The rice accompaniment has been shaped into the shape of a dog with a cute seaweed nose with its tiny tongue sticking out. Despite Gideon’s tough guy exterior, he could be considered the most romantic in their daily life next to Leo. Knowing Gideon puts such thought into Finn’s food every day makes him warm all over.

Taped with a heart-patterned Washi tape to the outside of the lid is the other small thing Finn looks forward to every day. The blue sticky note has a series of vertical lines drawn painstakingly on it. The spacing and length are no coincidence. Pulling out his phone, he swipes into the camera app and snaps a photo of the lines. When Spotify pops open, it is to a song Gideon has chosen for him. It’s a romantic song about falling. Smiling, Finn cracks open his chopsticks, mouth already watering for Gideon’s meal.

Then he hears it. The previously hectic ER had emptied about thirty minutes ago, leaving him and the nurse receptionist, Dennie, at his waiting room station through the large sliding doors. He hears his co-worker’s brisk walk headed his way and clicks the pause button, effectively silencing the song for the time being. Finn is already looking at the door when Dennie rounds the corner, looking uncharacteristically harried. Finn is sure if scent blockers weren’t mandatory for staff, his scent would have preceded him.

“Dr. Merritt, there’s a man in the lobby with several injuries! Aman.” Dennie twists his hands, and Finn is reminded of a distraught Victorian maiden. It is amusing, given the stoic, take-no-shit demeanor the nurse wears day-to-day. Dennie is one of Finn’s favorite co-workers because of it.

Resigned to miss out on his dinner again with a sad little sigh, he closes it up; with a little pat on the lid, before he puts it back into the fridge.

“Which bay is he in? Triaged?” Dropping his phone in his pocket and checking that his scent blocker patch is in place on his neck. Four hours and thirty-eight minutes to go and he could head home, maybe see if Jay wanted to re-enact how he got his alpha’s bite on his hip.

---