Idiot. Stupid-ass idiot. The poor male was there suffering on a hospital bed, looking like an extra on Sons of Anarchy - last thing he needed was company. More painkillers - that was what he required.
Jogging down the corridor, he found Doc Jane logged in at the clinic's main computer, entering notes into medical records.
"Qhuinn needs a shot of something. Come quick, will you?"
The female was on it, snagging an old-fashioned doctor's bag and going back down the hall with him.
While she went inside, Blay gave them some privacy, pacing back and forth in front of the door.
"How is he?"
Stopping and pivoting around, he tried to smile at Saxton - and failed. "He decided to be a hero. . . and I think he might have actually been one. But, God. . . "
The other male came forward, moving elegantly in his bespoke suit, his Cole Haan loafers making soft impacts, as if they were too refined to ever make much noise - even on linoleum.
He didn't belong in the war. Never would.
He would never be like Qhuinn, jumping out of safety into the thick of a fight, going up against the enemy with his bare, clawing hands to take down an aggressor and serve him his own balls for lunch.
It was probably part of the reason Saxton was easier to deal with. No extremes. Plus the male was intelligent, refined, and funny. . . had lovely manners, and lots of exposure to the very best in life. . . always dressed well. . . .
Was fantastic in bed. . .
Why did it sound like he was trying to convince himself of something?
As he explained what had gone down in the field, Saxton stopped right up close, his Gucci cologne a calming scent. "I'm so sorry. You must be a mess in the head over it all. "
Annnnnd the male was a saint. A selfless saint. Never to be jealous?
Qhuinn wasn't like that. Qhuinn was jealous and possessive as hell -
"Yes, I am," Blay said. "A total wreck. "
Saxton reached out and took his hand, giving it a subtle squeeze and then retracting his warm, smooth palm.
Qhuinn was never that discreet about anything. He was a marching band, a Molotov cocktail, a bull in a china shop who didn't care what kind of mess he made in his wake.
"Does the Brotherhood know?"
Blay shook himself. "I'm sorry?"
"What he did? Do they know?"
"Well, if they've heard about it, it wasn't from him. John looked upset and I asked him - and that's the way I heard the story. "
"You should tell Wrath. . . Tohr. . . someone. He should get credit for this - even though it's not his style to care about that sort of nonsense. "
"You know him well," Blay murmured.
"I do. And I know you just as well. " Saxton's expression tightened, but he smiled nonetheless. "You need to take care of him in this. "
Doc Jane emerged from the room, and Blay wheeled around. "How's he doing?"
"I'm not sure - what exactly did you think was wrong? He was resting comfortably when I went in there. "
Well, shit, he wasn't about to say the male had been crying. But the fact of the matter was, Qhuinn would never have shown that kind of weakness unless he was in some serious pain.
"I guess I misread him. "