Knocking.
Lots of knocking on Balz’s bedroom door.
As his heavy lids lifted, he couldn’t figure out why in the hell someone was waking him up in the middle of the day. He was fucking sleeping.
“What,” he snapped.
At his kind invitation, the door opened and airmailed him a shaft of light from the hallway that was like getting rusty-spiked in the iris. With a hiss, he went classic Dracula, putting his forearm over his face and rearing back.
“How are you still in bed?”
Syphon, back again. Of course. The Mother Hen motherfucker was an alarm clock that ran on gluten-free organic smoothies, almond shakes, and organic porridge.
On that note, if only there was a bag of Doritos to throw at the guy.
Or anything that had Red Dye 40 or GMO shit on the ingredients list.
“Yes, I’m still in goddamn bed,” he shot back. “It’s almost one in the afternoon. The question is why you aren’t in—”
“It’s midnight.” When Balz didn’t respond, the bastard went hello. “Twelve a.m. Like, one dozen bongs from the grandfather clock out in the—”
“I can count.”
“Can you?”
Balz threw out a hand to his bedside table. Grabbing his Galaxy S21, he checked the time, ready to throw the hour back in his cousin’s face—
12:07 a.m.
Sitting up, he pushed his hair out of his face, even though he’d recently gotten it cut and there was nothing in his eyes. Sure enough, next to where his phone had been, there was that travel mug and the croissant that was still wrapped in a dish towel.
Jesus. He’d slept like he’d been punched in the head.
And no dreams of his female.
The lights overhead came on as Syphon flipped the switch, and then the fighter said the words every Brother and bastard dreaded like the second coming of the Omega.
“I’ve called Doc Jane.”
“What?” Balz tried not to scream. “Why? I’m perfectly fine—”
“You were electrocuted.”
Balz frowned because he couldn’t have heard that right. When his cuz merely stared back at him expectantly, like the bastard had just proved for a fact that pigs could fly, it was apparent that true logic was going to have to be spelled out.
Where were a whiteboard and a marker when you needed them?
“Back in December.” Balz indicated himself. “And in case you haven’t noticed, I don’t glow in the dark.”
“And you think that means you’re fine.”
“I think it disqualifies me as a night-light. And being a patient of Doc Jane’s four months ago—”
“Did someone say my name?” The good doctor, and V’s shellan, poked her head around the doorjamb. “How we doing?”
Balz groaned and flopped back against his pillows. “Can someone explain to me why doctors use the royal ‘we’ when they’re talking at people they think are sick? Who is this ‘we’?”
The blond female walked by Syphon and gave the bastard a pat on the shoulder—which was the universal sign for We’re good, thanks.
“I agree,” Balz muttered. “You can go, Cousin.”
“Both of you are so cute.” Syphon marched over and parked it in the chair by the bureau. “Really. It’s cute.”
Having clearly lost that fight, Balz focused on Doc Jane and shook his mental hat full of excuses, not really caring what came out. And as she patiently stared back at him, it was hard to be frustrated at her. With her short blond hair and level green stare, she looked like the kind of person who could treat anything from a hangnail to a ruptured aorta with competence, compassion, and calmness.
And she really needed to take all that expertise somewhere else, to someone who actually required it.
“So I understand you’re fatigued,” she said as she sat down the edge of his bed.
“Of this visit? Yes, and we haven’t gotten started yet, have we.” He cursed. “Sorry, I don’t mean any offense.”
“None taken.” She leaned in. “You wouldn’t believe what patients have said to me over the years.”
“Just don’t tell your hellren. I like my arms and legs right where they are.”
“Your secret is safe with me.” She smiled at him. “Now tell me what’s going on.”
“Nothing.” He glared at Syphon. “I swear—no, wait. I am suffering from cousin-itis. Can you remove that noisy, malignant growth for me? I’ve been finding it really irritating lately—”
“He missed a meeting of the Brotherhood.” Syphon stared across at the doc. “He never does that.”
“I slept in!”
Syphon rolled his eyes. “Until midnight? And actually, you missed two meetings, haven’t you—”
“Okay, okay.” Doc Jane made cool-it-boys motions with her hands. “How about I do a quick exam? If the vitals are good and there’s no fever or anything, we’ll call this case closed.”
“Great.” Balz glared at his cousin as he took off his t-shirt. “And listen, Doc, after you’re done certifying all my perfectly-fine, I’ll drop and do three hundred for this asshole, just so he’s sure I’m tight.”
Syphon nodded. “I’ll count ’em so you don’t have to.”