Chapter 73

"Ouch!" Brady says from where he's lying on the guest room bed. "Damn it, Doc, is this really necessary?"

"Is it necessary to stretch your leg muscles while you're laid up post-surgery and can't walk for another four weeks at the least?" I ask drily, raising one eyebrow and staring down at him. "I don't know, Brady, what do you think?"

"All right, all right," he grumbles. "I'm just saying. Ouch."

"Ouch, indeed," I agree, reaching for his other leg and moving it through a gentle cycle of stretches. "But you don't want to try to stand up in a month's time and keel over because your legs have forgotten how to walk."

"I know," Brady says. "Isn't there some other way to do this, though?"

"Aside from accessing a time machine and avoiding your near-fatal gunshot wound altogether, no, not really," I respond. "Sorry, buddy."

Brady sighs, slumping back on his pillows. "This stinks."

"Major surgery usually does," I agree. "But really, Brady, you're lucky to be alive at all. And not in prison, by the way."

"That's true," he says, perking up a bit. "I still can't believe you managed to get me out of that one, Doc. Well played. I owe you one."

"As soon as you're fully recovered, you can bring me breakfast doughnuts for a month," I say. Brady snorts.

"I've never met a doctor who can inhale sugar like you can," he says. "Are you sure that's normal?"

"Nothing about me is normal, Brady," I respond, gently lowering his leg and helping him pull up the blanket over his knees again. "Besides, even doctors get to have at least one or two vices."

"And yours are sugary breakfasts and enough daily caffeine intake to kill an elephant?"

"Something like that."

"Knock knock." Kent is standing in the doorway, looking tired and drawn but still putting on a smile for Brady. "How's the recovery going, Doc?"

"Very well," I say. "Some hefty complaining from the patient, but I think he'll survive."

Brady rolls his eyes as Kent gives a genuine laugh.

"Glad to hear it," he says. "Doc, wanna join me for a cup of coffee?"

"Sure," I say, waving goodbye to Brady, who has already got the TV remote in hand and flicking through channels. "I'll bring up your lunch in about an hour, okay Brady?"

"Sounds good, Doc," he says, then turns to look me in the eyes. "And Doc – thanks. Really."

"You're welcome," I say softly. "Door open or closed?"

"Open is fine," he says. "If any of the guys stop by, send 'em my way. Could use a little company. Never thought I'd say this, but sitting around watching TV all day can get a tad boring."

Kent and I both laugh at that, and then we head downstairs to the kitchen.

Torsten and Dave are here, too. Dave is taking garlic bread out of the oven while Torsten mixes a pot of spaghetti over by the sink. They both smile cheerfully at me when I walk into the room, Kent close behind me.

"How is our Brady boy?" Torsten asks, carrying the spaghetti over to the table and placing it in the center, then popping two clawed spoons into the pot. He sniffs appreciatively as Dave adds the garlic bread to the ensemble and goes back to the cabinet to get water glasses.

"I brought a bottle of red wine," Dave interrupts before I can answer. "Anybody up for a little glass with lunch?"

"That sounds lovely," I say, waving a hand toward the cupboard that holds the wine glasses. They're new, actually; I found them at a little flea market that Marcus had recommended to me a few weeks ago.

Well, new to me, anyway. They're antiques. I used to really enjoy antiquing, back before I went to prison, and it's felt nice to rediscover that in myself again. I spent too long locked up - first literally, in prison, and then figuratively, inside my own mind.

Dave brings the wine glasses to the table, and Torsten grabs a jug to fill with water. I stand back for a few moments, watching the cozy domestic scene with a feeling of contentment. Things are kind of a mess right now, but these boys will always be my family, and I'll always enjoy these times with them.

"Doc?" Torsten asks, and I shake myself a little.

"Sorry, Tor, what was that?"

Torsten shoots me an odd look before saying, "Brady. How's he doing?"

"Oh!" I say. "Of course. Yes, he's doing really well. His physical therapy is right on track. He did say to ask you two to go on up after lunch, to hang out for a little while, if you would. He's bored. Can't blame him, really."

"No problem," Torsten says, and Dave nods. "Has he had lunch yet?"

"No, but he slept in this morning - needs his rest - so he had a late breakfast. I'll have you guys take something up to him."

"I'll put a plate together now, put it in the oven to keep warm," Torsten says, and then does so. The rest of us sit, spreading napkins in our laps and digging into the steaming noodles.

"This is amazing, Tor," I say around a mouthful, sipping at my water to cool it a little. "Did you make this sauce yourself? It can't be jarred sauce."

Torsten grins at me. "My mama's secret recipe," he says. "Recipe lives up here." He taps the side of his head.

"Well, thank your mama for me," I say. Torsten gives me a little salute.

We pass the rest of the lunch with similarly light chit chat, avoiding the difficult conversation for the time being. I think the guys can tell that I need at least a slight break from all the heaviness and strain.

After we've finished, though, and Dave is doing the dishes, Kent clears his throat and looks at us all expectantly.

"Just wait," Torsten says, anticipating what Kent is about to say. "I want to take Brady's lunch up to him real quick, before it totally dries out in the oven."

Kent nods his agreement, and Torsten puts together a quick tray. By the time he comes back down, Dave is finished with the dishes and I've got the leftovers put away in the fridge. The spaghetti pot is sitting in the sink to soak, and there are no more distractions to stall us.

"So," I say with a sigh. "I assume you've all been caught up to date?"

"We have," Dave nods. "And dude, Doc - congratulations! The freaking Alpha's favorite son proposed to you! You're engaged!"

"Well, not really," I say. "I had to turn him down. Well. Postpone him."

"Doc, if you said yes, then you're engaged," Dave argues. "Just because you ain't getting married tomorrow doesn't mean you're not engaged, right Tor?"

"He's totally right," Torsten says. "You're basically engaged, Doc."

"Not basically," Dave says. "Actually. What do you think, Kent?"

Kent is shaking his head, but fondly.

"What I think is that we have a lot we need to cover. So, yes, congrats, Nick. But seriously, guys. We've had three more near-misses this week. Jim's car was shot at just last night as he drove away; they blew out his back window."

"What?" I exclaim. "Kent, why didn't you tell me about this sooner?"

"Nobody was hurt, and I'm telling you now," Kent says. "The question is, what are we going to do about it?"

"I wonder if it's time we get Marcus fully on board," I say slowly. "Kent, come on. Think about it. Why are we continuing to keep all of this from him? He's probably the best-suited person to help us."

"I don't know," Kent says. "I don't know that I trust him, Nicole. Not fully. What we do is illegal, after all. The Alpha's household has a habit of looking the other way, sure, but they might feel obligated to take stronger action if they have to admit they know about us."

"I'm sure Marcus isn't like that," I begin, but Kent waves me off.

"No, Nick, I'm sorry. It's too risky. Besides, you'd have to tell him your real identity. Is that what you want?"

I'm silent, and Kent frowns.

"Oh, I see. That is what you want." He sighs. "Nick, I'm sorry, I really am. But not yet, okay? Just give us some more time while we figure this thing out."

I bite my lip, but then nod.

"All right."