Folsom (End of Men, #1)(24)

“Oh. Does he know I’m here?”

“Yes, he does,” I say quietly.

“Is he dying?” He sets the fork down and wipes his face with the napkin, his eyes searching mine.

“He’s in critical condition, but I have every hope he will recover. Just trying to keep him relaxed and—”

“I have to see him,” he says. “I can’t believe we’re in the same place. I’ve always wanted—”

Corinne knocks then peers through the door. “Got that sample yet?” she asks.

“He’s eating. We’ll get to that after he’s done,” I tell her.

She nods and backs out of the room.

“What’s that about?”

I look at the ceiling and hate my life right about now. “I’ll work out a way for you to see your father, I give you my word. I’m sorry for how awkward this is, but…as soon as you’re done eating, I need to collect a sperm sample from you.” I point to the magazines on the table next to him. “If those aren’t satisfactory, let me know. I can get more.”

His cheeks darken and he looks down at his empty plate. He points to the brownie covered with ice cream and hot fudge. “Is it okay if I eat that first?”

I feel a pang in my chest and want to cry. He’s just a baby.





THIRTEEN





FOLSOM


The days drag by, molasses days. They need me to heal, but they constantly prod me about how I feel like I have the ability to speed up the process on my own. The Society is not pleased. Good fucking days gone to waste.

“They are, of course, deeply concerned about you, Folsom,” Robin says, and I want to laugh. “It’s just that you only have a year here and you’re already behind schedule.”

“Simple solution, Robin, we can line them up and I can fuck them all the way down the line. Just bend them over. It’ll be better than one of Jackal’s orgies.”

Robin stares at me, undeterred. I’ve always admired that about her. Nothing shocks her.

I hear a couple of the staff arguing in the hall about who will bathe me. Two or three of them have a habit of getting handsy. Essie wins and comes in the room, quickly undressing me and getting to work with the warm water and soap. Her hand wanders lower and lower even though I assure her I can find my way around washing my own dick.

She finally gets the nerve to cup my balls when the door flings open and Gwen appears like a bat out of hell.

“Essie!” she yells, stalking toward us. “I’m pretty sure Mr. Donahue is capable of taking care of that. You can stick to general bathing…shampooing his hair perhaps.”

I put my hands behind my head and watch both of their eyes travel down my body. The flush in Gwen’s cheeks grows darker, and fuck, if I don’t enjoy making her squirm.

“Why don’t you take over?” I ask, and she blinks rapidly.

“I’ll take it from here, Essie,” she says, shooing her out with her hand.

When she comes to me, she lifts the washcloth and hands it to me. “I’ll do your hair, but you’ll have to do the rest.”

“I thought we’d gotten past these formalities,” I tease her.

“You’re too weak to be dealing with that.” She points to my dick and I look down. Well, shit. I think this might be the first time in at least a decade that I’ve gotten hard without the appropriate drugs in my system.

“Essie was on a mission.” I shrug, not wanting her to know that she’s the one who seems to turn me on without even trying.

A pained look crosses her face and I immediately regret saying it.

“Lean back,” she says curtly.

She comes behind me and I tilt my head back, but she still catches me by surprise when she dumps several cups of warm water over my head. Water drips onto my shoulders and into my eyes, but I don’t complain—I deserved it. I like this flurry of emotion she brings with her every time she enters a room. She lathers shampoo into my hair and I enjoy the feeling of her hands massaging my scalp. She takes her time and when she rinses it out, I catch her eye and smile. She doesn’t smile back, her bottom lip between her teeth while she focuses on getting all the suds out. When she’s satisfied, she leans back and I grab her hand.

“Thank you,” I murmur. And under my breath, I add, “It wasn’t Essie…”

Her small intake of breath lets me know she heard me. Her eyes warm and she smiles.

Late one afternoon Gwen marches into the room, stopping in the doorway when she sees the two nurses standing around my bed. Her eyes narrow.

“Shouldn’t you two be working?” Her voice is terse. She holds a stack of papers to her chest, lips pulled into a tight line. I watch in amusement as they look at her over their shoulders then exchange a glance, rolling their eyes.

“Our jobs, Gwen,” one of them says. “We’re checking on our patient.”

The dark-haired one smiles at me reassuringly and I smile back. Gwen bristles in the doorway.

“Folsom doesn’t mind us being here, do you, Folsom?” the girl asks.

I’ve seen Gwen’s fury. I wouldn’t mess with her if I were them.

“You two get out.” Gwen walks toward us and I have to work hard to keep my face still. They seem flustered by her tone. I think I am too. I watch as they head for the door, shooting Gwen a nasty look.