Chapter 7

Pulling up the hospital database on his phone, he checked for Wren’s room and frowned when he didn’t see one listed. His phone buzzed, the hospital’s main number appearing on the display along with the call.

He raised the cell to his ear. “This is Doctor McCleod.”

“Hello, Doctor, this is Brenda from Discharge. We’re sending Mr. Gibson home. Everything looks good, but he’s going to need observation for twenty-four hours. Do you know someone we can call to come get him and stay with him?”

His brain skipped over Dallas immediately. Noah and Lawson would stay at the hospital. No way would he trust those damned fool subs to look after the boy. They’d get arguing over lollipop flavors and wouldn’t notice if Wren died at their feet. Tracey had her hands full with Coal. Ezran was home for the summer too, and Garet would want to get back there soon. Which left...him.

“I’ll be right down.” Thumbing off the phone, he took another long sip of his coffee. He held up the cup and glared. Really, how hard was it to make good coffee? There was a reason he had an espresso machine in his office.

Standing, he dumped the mostly full paper cup in the trash on his way by and went in search of Wren. He rounded the corner to the ER bays, where shorter-term patients were kept, immediately zeroing in on Wren’s quiet tones as he spoke to the discharge nurse, who left his curtained bay smiling.

Even in a hospital gown, a bandage over his laceration, Wren looked far too...angelic to be a resident of The Asylum—and damn, but today that name applied in all the wrong ways. The perfect submissive, the boy had a way of standing out in any room he entered, if you knew what to look for. Which most of the wannabe Doms at The Asylum wouldn’t know if it bit them in the ass. While he respected Noah, Curtis, and Lawson, their taste in bratty boys consternated him to the point of headache even after seeing how happy they were. Why none of the numskulls had taken more than a passing notice in Wren—Noah’s light-handed protection of the boy notwithstanding—couldn’t be explained.

Wren opened his eyes, relief bringing color to cheeks almost as white as the pillow behind his head. One hand on his opposite wrist, he ran his fingers over the woven twine, fidgeting as if the thing were his lifeline and he swam, exhausted, in too-deep waters.

At his bedside, Jared stared down at Noah’s boy, wondering what to say to bring comfort back to those earnest eyes. Probably not this, but the truth couldn’t be avoided. “We’re going home and you’ll be staying with me for the interim until Curtis is out of the hospital and you don’t need looking after.”

At first, Wren smiled, those pillow-soft lips curving in a way that almost made him reach out to brush his naked fingertips over the boy’s cheek. Every emotion rolled through this one’s eyes, arranging themselves like a folio, easily read but not always in the expected order. Then, he bit his lip, abusing the tender flesh in a way that Noah wouldn’t have allowed, had he been there to see.

“Stop.” He directed a look at the boy’s mouth. The action ceased immediately.

He didn’t bother to nod his approval the way the other Doms would have. The boy shouldn’t have been doing that in the first place. If he weren’t already in terrible condition…

He doesn’t belong to me.

Breathing deep, he turned away. “I have an extra shirt in my office. You can wear it home.”

The time it took to walk to his office, cleared his head somewhat. On his way back, he planned Wren’s dinner. A light mid-afternoon snack, to make sure the nausea didn’t linger. Perhaps if he weren’t sleepy an old movie or a book would be all right. He found himself planning out the next twenty-four hours in one-hour increments. Medication, bathing, food, some ambulatory therapy to make sure there weren’t any complications from Wren sitting still too long. His mind settled by the time he returned to the ER, the shirt in his hands, and helped Wren dress.

Sitting forward, a frown marring his brow, the boy dutifully held out first one arm and then the other as the too-large white shirt slipped around his shoulders. Jared brushed the sub’s hands away and buttoned the fabric closed with care not to touch his naked skin, frowning at the blood still darkening the fall of his hair. That would be taken care of first. A warm cloth and some broth maybe...or something more substantial.

He stood back, fingers curling into his palms, as a nurse entered with the discharge papers and a request for a pharmacy to phone in some pain medication. He didn’t bother to tell her that anything the boy would need he could provide. There was only so much he was willing to share, and his work as The Asylum’s on-site medic was firmly off the table.

“Ready?” Bringing one arm around the boy’s trim waist, he held up his forearm for him to balance against.

Wren rested warm fingers against his skin—

It doesn’t count if he touches me.

Today.

Maybe ever.

—and pulled himself up with a shy smile. “Thank you, sir. I promise I won’t be too much trouble. I’ll get better and I don’t mind if you have work to—”

“Hush.” Shaking his head, he felt a smile tug at his lips against his will.

Blushing prettily, Wren ducked his head and allowed himself to be helped to the waiting wheelchair. Pushing him along the corridor, Jared tasted the freedom of a long night where nothing could possibly go wrong—no one was home. The fight club would be closed on a Friday night for the first time in a long time. He could take care of his—

Not yours.

—the boy. Enjoy the company of someone who at least wasn’t bleeding all over him for all the wrong reasons.

A short ramp led the way to the emergency vehicle space, and he rounded the corner with Wren into the sunshine in time to see the officer ticketing his car.

“Excuse me.”

The man looked up, a dark frown creasing his tanned brow. “Is this your—” His lip curled. “Hearse, sir?”

Well, at least he’d gotten the form of address correct.

“Yes. And—” He nodded to the front of the car. “—As you can see, the plate says MD.”

Ripping up the ticket, the cop shook his head. “Brings a whole new spin to treat ‘em and street ‘em.”

Wren worried his lip, eyes shining, and earned a look which had him sobering quickly. He swore, if the other miscreants had corrupted the boy, there would be hell to pay.

Helping the boy into the passenger side, he ignored the stares of a few of the staff who congregated around the windows. One woman had her hand over her mouth as she laughed at something a man in a dark tie said. The glare on the windows prevented him from seeing the man’s face, but his suit said he was hospital administration. Whatever. Jared was the best surgeon the hospital had, and they could all go pound sand.

“Do you have any special foods you like? Something I can pick up on our way back?” He glanced at Wren, who sank back against the black leather seat like he found the world much too large and wished he might be able to disappear into the cushion altogether. “There is a drive through chicken place, though I know it doesn’t make wings as good as Reed’s.”

He’d much rather cook for the sub, but he didn’t want to presume that his cuisine would suit the boy.

Rather than comforting Wren, the question had him sucking in his lower lip and quickly releasing it when he realized what he’d nearly done. “I’m sorry, sir. I’ll enjoy whatever you’d like.”

Everything in Jared’s being sighed with pleasure. So much beautiful submission in one package. Jamie was lovely in his own way, but how Noah had missed perfection when it was right under his nose was inconceivable.

The “Good boy” slipped from his lips for the second time that day before he realized what he’d said.

“I’m glad I could please you, sir. I know you don’t praise lightly, I mean, Noah’s a tough Dom, but almost...softer? Not saying you’re hard, but —”

Cutting him a sideways glance, Jared shook his head. “Are you calling the man who helped you survive prison, soft, boy?”

“No!” Wren sat up, cheeks going crimson. “I mean, yes, but no. I don’t mean to.” He groaned, falling back against the seat. “I’m sorry, sir.”

Jared chuckled to himself. That was far too easy. It would be a delight to play with this one. Except the idea of breaking that bright-eyed innocence, replacing it with something dark and dazed, didn’t quite appeal in the same way it usually did. Something went quiet in his head at the idea, unsettling him, making his fingers grip the steering wheel harder as he pulled up to The Asylum’s gates. He leaned out of the open window to punch in his code.

The security fence slid shut behind them. Wren breathed deep, a layer of tension falling from his shoulders. “I can clean up the—”

Rounding on him, Jared undid his seatbelt. “If you so much as lift more than a fork to your lips, I will find ways to punish you that will make you wish you were allowed to stay in bed for a month.”

Wren sucked air between his teeth, wide eyes holding more than trepidation. Contrition was there, but overlain with something he could not, would not contemplate. Angels and demons did not play well together. Pretty wings were too easily singed. No matter who might come out the victor at the end of what could only prove to be his personal Armageddon, he didn’t intend to watch for a second time as his world burned.