Page 44 of Claimed By the Rockstars: Part One
"I know what you're going to say." He cuts me off, blue eyes meeting mine with more steel than I usually see in them. "That Rex would hate that, that he'd tell me to fuck off, that he doesn't need anyone hovering. But I don't care. Someone needs to be here when he wakes up, and it's going to be me."
I open my mouth to argue, then close it. Because he's right. Someone should be here. And Phoenix has always been the one who stayed, even when staying was hard.
Even when Nash...
I don't finish that thought.
"Alright," I say instead. "I'll take Bells to the pack condo. Make sure he actually eats something and doesn't do something stupid like take off. Stephen was up to some kind of bullshit if Rex mauled him like that."
More bullshit than usual, at any rate.
Phoenix nods, then surprises me by reaching over and awkwardly gripping my shoulder. "Thanks, Raf."
"Yeah, man. Of course."
The doors open again and Bells reappears, looking somehow more exhausted than when he went in. The attending physician is with him. She's a middle-aged woman with kind eyes and the sort of calm competence that comes from seeing every form of humanity the ER can throw at you.
"Your packmate's facial wound is infected," she says without preamble. "We'll need to clean and debride the area. He will need to stay for the week on fluids and antibiotics."
"What's his prognosis?" Phoenix asks immediately.
The doctor hesitates. "Well, considering the… situation regarding his facial disfigurement," she says carefully, "his prognosis is worse than it would be otherwise. But being an alpha, he should pull through."
Disfigurement.
The word hits me like a slap. We all suspected something was wrong under that mask—the never eating with us, the way he tilts his head to the side when he drinks, how he guards his masks like his life depends on it—but hearing it confirmed, hearing that clinical word...
I'd caught a glimpse in the ambulance. Just a sliver when his mask shifted during transport. Angry red infection spreading from a jagged cut, white and pink scar tissue that looked like melted wax, the right-side corner of his mouth not ending where it should.
He wears the masks on stage same as Phoenix and I do, this gothic theatrical thing that's part of Vespyr’s brand. But Rex doesn't take his off. Ever. Not backstage, not in the bus, not when he sleeps for all I fucking know.
We just... don't talk about it.
BecauseRexdoesn't talk about it, and pushing Rex on shit he doesn't want to discuss is a great way to get fired. Or punched. Or both. Pack bonds be damned.
My eyes flick to Phoenix. He doesn't even blink. No surprise, no reaction at all. Just that same worried expression he's been wearing since Rex collapsed.
How long has he known?
"What about the other guy?" Phoenix asks, and there's something dark in his usually gentle voice. "Stephen Hughes. How's he doing?"
The doctor's expression tightens slightly. "Mr. Hughes is in rough shape. Multiple facial fractures, severe contusions. Buthe'll live, if that's what you're asking. There won't be a murder trial."
"Shame," I mutter under my breath, and Phoenix shoots me a look that says he agrees but we shouldn't say it out loud in front of the nice doctor.
They walk off together, sharing a hushed conversation, leaving Bells and me alone in the waiting room. I just stand there like a dumbass for a full solid minute before turning to Bells with a sigh. "Come on. Let's get out of here. Phoenix has this."
He looks up, those gold eyes meeting mine with clear relief. "Yeah. Okay."
The rideshare back to the condo is quiet except for the rain hammering the roof of the car and the driver's funky polka music that's completely at odds with the mood I'm in. Bells is pressed against the passenger door like he's trying to meld with the upholstery, arms still wrapped around his ribs.
"You alright?" I ask, even though it's a stupid question. Of course he's not alright.
"Peachy," he mutters, which is such obvious bullshit that I almost laugh.
"Yeah, you look it."
He doesn't respond, just goes back to staring out the window at the rain-soaked streets.
