NASH

NASH

Locke and Orla stayed with me every hour the hospital let them. My closest brothers rotated in and out—all but one.

By the time the mind-numbing boredom of my third night in hospital kicked in, I knew something was up.

It was midnight. Alexei was lurking around somewhere, but for all intents and purposes, I was alone.

And I needed a piss.

Score .

I eased myself upright and grabbed the crutches the orthopaedic nurse had left for me, threading my arms into them, bracing myself for the change in equilibrium. Laying down all day was a trip.

And this shit? It fucking hurt. It was nothing like hopping around with a crocked knee and I kinda missed the IVs that had kept me chained to the bed until this afternoon.

Didn't miss the catheter, though. And the searing burn in my dick every time I took a piss could fuck the fuck off too. Saint and Embry were getting mad texts from me when I got my hands on a phone that wasn't fucking Russian. They'd both been to see me and neither of those scarred fuckers had warned me about pissing razor blades.

I hobbled back to my bed, gritting my teeth through the pain, my entire body still feeling the effects of bouncing over Willow's bonnet and under a lorry, the morphine buzz long gone.

Moving so fucking slowly put me in a bad mood, though I managed a smile for the nurses who witnessed me shuffling past them like a ninety-eight year old. They seemed to like me. I got two breakfasts this morning. Shite breakfasts, but I appreciated the sentiment.

I appreciated the friendly face waiting on me when I got back to my bed too. An unexpected face given that, to my knowledge, my only company in the hospital this late at night was Alexei. "What are you doing here, Folksie?"

Folk smiled, lounging in the chair Locke had vacated a few hours ago. "Thought you might want this."

He passed me a paper bag. Inside was the food of the gods—a giant sandwich that Mateo called a bocadillo , and I called my favourite thing ever when I couldn't get a hot dinner cooked by my missus down me. And by missus, I meant Orla, Cam, and Rubi. In my heart, I was kinda married to all of them.

And Locke.

You lucky fucker .

Yup.

Folk took my crutches and helped me get back on my bed, eyeing the wince that crossed my face. "Painkillers not working?"

"I fucked them off. Once the buzz was gone, it wasn't worth the belly ache."

"They can find you something that doesn't give you side effects."

"I'm all right." I turned my attention back to my supper, hoping that was the end of a conversation I didn't want to have with Folk. Because I loved him too much to put him through it.

"It's okay not to be." Folk gave me a look that let me know he saw right into my brain. "And it's okay to talk about opiates around me. I'm not here to syphon your morphine pump."

"Hey, I never said that."

He grinned, un-offended. "I know. I'm just saying, I can talk about drugs without wanting them. I've been clean a long time, and even if I hadn't, I care more about you than I ever did about getting high."

His word choice gave me pause. I didn't know much about Folk's addiction, save that it happened to him.

I set the bag aside. "Is that what it was for you? Getting high? You don't seem the type."

"I'm not. And I wasn't back then. But that drug got its hooks into me and I wasn't strong enough to dig them out." Folk leaned forward, still chill as fuck, as if he'd expected me to ask him horrible, probing questions and he was completely okay with it. "I was already on my knees from everything else. If I hadn't been, the story might've been different, but it is what it is."

Everything else.

He meant cancer.

Radiation.

Chemo.

The chronic pain he still lived with.

Man, this brother was a tough motherfucker. "I'm sorry that happened to you."

Folk shrugged. "I'm not. Without it, I wouldn't be here, and I like where I am."

Because he loved Decoy. And Ivy. And Locke too.

Made sense to me. Appetite restored, I dug in the bag for the Spanish bread soaked in olive oil and loaded with chorizo, potato omelette, tomatoes, and cheese. "Mats is the sandwich king."

Folk laughed and handed me a paper cup. "You need to stay hydrated."

"Fuck that. Taking a piss is trying to kill me."

"It'll hurt less if you drink more."

"Are you dadding me?"

"If you like."

I didn't mind. Didn't care for the lurid yellow tea he'd brought me, though. "The fuck is this?"

"Turmeric. For inflammation. Help your body heal, brother."

The sentiment reminded me of something another brother had said to me a few days ago, when this place had been nothing but a blur. About smoking. I think. Maybe. "Where did Alexei go?"

"He's around." Folk balled up the sandwich wrapper and tucked it into the bag. "Hopefully outside."

"Outside?"

"I think he's reaching his limit on hospital time."

He wasn't the only one, but I knew it was different for Alexei. That he had triggers I didn't. I drummed my fingers on my good leg. "He could just go home. No one's sneaking up on me in this place. I can't fucking sleep for shit."

"You were asleep when I brought Ivy yesterday."

"At night," I clarified. "This place is an asylum when the lights go off."

Folk stilled my restless fingers, his touch as warm as Rubi's—as Locke's—but without the scalding heat. "Not much longer, brother."