Beneath This Mask (Beneath, #1)(15)

Simon shoved the clipboard away. “I’ve already instructed Jack—Dr. Richelieu—to add him to the Duchesne account.”

Her eyes went wide. “Oh, of course, Mr. Duchesne. I apologize.”

Simon nodded at her and led me to a bathroom where we both washed the blood from our hands. The gravity of the situation was further highlighted by the swirling red water running down the drain. My breathing accelerated, and I started to feel lightheaded. Simon once again wrapped an arm around me as he directed me into the waiting area and pushed me down into a chair. He crouched in front of me, pulling my hands into his. “Charlie, you need to breathe. You’re going to hyperventilate, and I don’t want to have to take you to the ER too.”

I looked down at our joined hands. His were big, tanned, with little white scars on the knuckles. They didn’t look like a politician’s hands. Mine appeared childlike in his grasp. My nails were short ovals painted black. His thumbs brushed back and forth over my wrists, where the ink stopped and unmarked skin started.

I matched my breathing to his, slow and rhythmic. He squeezed my hands, and I looked up to meet his eyes. I said the first thing that came into my head.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bother you. I wasn’t even trying to call you. I mean—I don’t even know how I called you. I was—” He squeezed my hands again, and I went silent.

“It’s okay. I get it. I wouldn’t have been your first call if you’d had your shit together.”

“No—I didn’t mean … I just meant I shouldn’t have troubled you.” I gave him what I hoped was a heartfelt stare. “But I’m really glad you came. I … I don’t know what I would do without him. He’s just a baby.” A fresh wave of tears spilled over, and Simon released my hands to wipe them away with his thumbs.

“Jack’s going to do everything he can for Huck. I promise. He’s one of the best; I wouldn’t have brought him here otherwise.” He paused, catching another tear on his thumb. “I’m glad you called me. You scared the hell out of me, but I’m glad it was me you called. Even if you didn’t mean to.”

“I’ll pay you back for everything. I promise. I … don’t do credit cards, but I have cash. At my place. I’ll pay you back every dime, I swear.” I hoped I wasn’t lying. Because I knew this wasn’t going to be cheap. It’d probably wipe out my emergency fund. But I didn’t care. I’d do whatever I had to do to make sure Huck was okay.

“Let’s not worry about it right now. Jack’s an old friend; we’ll work it out.” He stood, stretched, and sat in the chair beside me, threading his arm around my shoulders. “We’re going to be waiting a while, so why don’t you try to chill, okay?” It was so easy to let my head rest against his solid shoulder. I felt some of my tension drain away, but I couldn’t get the picture of Huck lying in the street out of my head.



Two hours later I was pacing the waiting room. I’d already flipped through damn near every magazine without reading a single word. The door to the back of the clinic opened, and a man in black scrubs stepped out. He looked to be in his early thirties and was classically handsome—blond hair with striking green eyes. But I didn’t give a shit what he looked like—all I cared about was the name embroidered in red above his pocket. Dr. Richelieu.

Simon rose and reached out a hand. The vet shook it. “How’s Huck?”

I crossed the room, barreling into Simon’s side in an attempt to get closer to the vet. “Please. How is he?”

“Why don’t you come in here for a moment.” He gestured to a small private room connected to the waiting room.

“Why? What’s wrong? Please—” My words died, and dread spread through me as I followed Simon inside.


“Just let Jack tell us. Okay, Charlie?”

I refused to sit, so Simon stood beside me, and the vet leaned against the closed door. “He made it through the surgery. He’s in recovery.”

Relief momentarily smothered the dread, but I needed more information. ‘Made it through surgery’ didn’t sound promising. “And?”

“His leg was severely broken, and I had to screw a stainless steel plate directly into the bone. Because of his size, it was really the only option we had. The upside is he’ll be able to walk a little sooner than he would otherwise. He also had extensive internal bleeding, but we were able to stop it. I’d like to keep him here for at least a week so we can monitor the initial stage of his recovery. It was a hard hit. He’s very lucky.”

I stumbled to a chair and dropped my head into my hands. I was thrilled he was going to be okay, but the hours of waiting had sapped my energy.

“He’s really going to be okay?” I felt like I had to ask one more time, just to make sure I hadn’t superimposed the words I wanted to hear over his.

The vet nodded. “He’s young, otherwise healthy, and a fighter. Barring any unforeseen complications, he should be just fine.”

“Can I see him?” I asked.

Dr. Richelieu nodded. “Just for a few minutes. We’re keeping him sedated so he doesn’t further injure himself.”

He led us back through the clinic to a wide room containing what looked like horse stalls. Huck was laid out on his side on a thick stack of blankets covering the floor, an oxygen cannula in his nose. The vet opened the chain link gate, and I knelt and stroked Huck’s silky ear. I whispered nonsense to him for several minutes before kissing his furry forehead and standing.