The Gender Game 5 by Bella Forrest (uplifting novels .txt) 📕

I turned back to Quinn and stepped back up to the bed. I felt a slight twinge in my ribs, but they still felt okay; they had been getting better every day. I was so glad I hadn’t broken any of them on top of all the other injuries.

Reaching out with my left hand, I worked my thumb under the bandage covering the remains of Quinn’s ear, slowly peeling the cotton back. I winced as some of it caught on the stitches there, but, with a degree of patience that surprised even me, I carefully untangled it and pulled it back.

“When will his stitches come out?” I asked as I tossed the cotton into a bucket next to the bed.

“Soon,” replied Dr. Tierney from behind me. “Probably today or tomorrow.”

I reached up and smoothed some hair from the young man’s forehead. The people assisting Dr. Tierney, including me, had tried to keep his hair tidy over the days of his convalescence.

“Why is he still asleep?”

“Well, he originally must have gone into shock from the blood loss, but to be honest, it’s probably a mental response to the trauma he experienced. It’s not that surprising. Sometimes people just… break.”

Frowning, I dipped a gauze pad into the salve Dr. Tierney had given me and smeared it carefully around the stitches, trying not to snag any of them. “Do you think he’ll ever wake up?”

I heard Dr. Tierney’s footsteps approach, and I cast a look over my shoulder, watching as she approached the foot of the bed. She leaned on the bedframe using both hands and shook her head, not as a simple no, but in an expression of uncertainty.

“I honestly don’t know, Violet. I’ve got him hooked up to everything I can think of to help him. Physically, his wounds were mostly superficial, except his eye. But the experience? For him?” She turned her gaze to me, her eyes dark. “Would you want to wake up after that?”

I thought about it. I knew what it was like to be under Tabitha’s knife—but only to a minimal extent. My eyes traced the lines of Quinn’s stitches, the way they cut through the natural lines of his body. I thought of the nightmarish hallucinations I’d had of Tabitha, the flashbacks to that one stab, the flash of the knife…

“Maybe not,” I admitted softly.

“Don’t worry, Violet. He’s a young man, a vibrant one. I want nothing more than for him to come back to us, and I have hopes that he will. He just needs some time.”

“Or some water,” came a soft rasp. I danced back from the bed, my reflexes kicking in.

Dr. Tierney, on the other hand, moved forward, her eyes studying Quinn breathlessly. He coughed slightly, and then peeled open his single visible eye, shuddering slightly.

“Dry,” he coughed, smacking his lips.

Looking around, I spotted a pitcher of water and a cup on Dr. Tierney’s desk in the corner of this room, and I moved over to it, quickly pouring the liquid into the cup. Crossing the room, I returned to him. Dr. Tierney helped me by lifting his head up slightly, and I pressed the cup against his lips.

“Just a sip,” Dr. Tierney ordered with a nod. I nodded and carefully tilted the glass up, letting some water splash over the boy’s mouth. He smacked his lips together as I pulled the glass away.

“That’s a little better,” he rasped, his eye blinking slowly. He stared at my face, the corners of his lips tugging up just slightly. “Hey, Violet.”

“Hey, Quinn,” I replied with a smile, clutching the cup to my chest. “How are you feeling?”

“Pretty dry. And… something’s wrong with my eye. I’m… having a hard time seeing you.”

I frowned, but it was Dr. Tierney who replied. “One of your eyes is damaged, Quinn. There’s a bandage on it.”

His mouth worked open slightly, and then he expelled a shaky breath. “Gone?” he asked, his voice tremulous.

Dr. Tierney’s mouth dipped in sympathy, but she met his gaze and nodded. “I’m afraid so.”

Quinn’s face fell. I reached out, pressing a hand to his shoulder, and he looked at me silently, just one brown eye glistening with tears. My heart clenched. Quinn had been a full-fledged member of the Liberators, and I’d gone on more than one mission with him—but at times like these, it was easier to see the teenager he still was. Younger than me, even.

“It’s going to be okay, Quinn,” I said.

He sniffled, and then nodded halfheartedly. “Yeah. Maybe this means I can try out the pirate life.” I wanted to smile encouragingly at him, but I could see the haunted look in his eye, could hear the forced quality of his voice, brittle and raw. “Can I have more water?” he asked.

“Not yet, but soon,” Dr. Tierney replied. “Just take it easy, okay?”

He started to nod, and then paused. “Oh God, Amber! Is she okay?”

“She’s fine,” I said. “She came and got me, and, well, we mounted a rescue.”

“We?”

“Amber, Jay, Thomas, me… and Tim.” I hesitated around Tim’s name, my throat constricting as I thought of my brother.

“Everyone’s okay?”

I hesitated again, and then shook my head, unable to stop my face from contorting, just a bit. “Tim’s missing,” I said hoarsely. Quinn’s mangled face twisted more, and I shook my head at him. “It’s not your fault,” I said, leaning over him. “It’s nobody’s fault. It just… it just happened. Besides, we will find him. Just focus on getting better.”

Quinn managed a half nod, his eyes drifting closed, whether from physical pain or the weight of reality, I couldn’t tell. I shifted from leg to leg, and then accepted he wasn’t going to talk anymore. In fact, his breathing was already beginning to slow into the deep, even inhalations of sleep.

It was good he’d woken up, if only for a few minutes, but still. His loss was horrific. He would need all the help we could offer him on his road to recovery.

I moved over to the desk, returning the glass of