Page 27 of Saint’s Revenge

"Riley."

His voice is rough. Scratchy from sleep, smoke and everything that happened last night.

"Hey," I say.

He sits up too fast, winces as his back protests. One hand goes to his lower spine, trying to work out the damage from sleeping on that couch.

"How long have you been awake?" he asks.

"Not long. Ivy brought food." I gesture to the tray. "There's a sandwich for you."

He looks at the sandwich like he's forgotten what food is. Then picks it up, unwraps it, takes a bite. Chews without seeming to taste it.

"You should eat in a real chair," I tell him. "Your back is going to be destroyed if you keep sleeping on that couch."

"I'm fine."

"You're not fine. You look exhausted."

"I'm—" He stops. Sets the sandwich down. Looks at me with eyes that are too tired, too haunted. "I can't leave you alone. Not yet. Not after…"

His voice breaks. He looks away, jaw clenched tight.

"Lucas." I wait until he looks back. "I'm okay. I'm here. I'm alive. You don't have to torture yourself on that couch to prove you're not leaving."

"Yes, I do." His voice is firm. "Because every time I close my eyes I see you on that floor. See what he did to you. See how close I came to losing you completely."

"I'm not going anywhere," I say. "I promise."

"You can't promise that. You're hurt. You could have complications we haven't seen yet. Internal bleeding that shows up later. Delayed symptoms from the head injury." His hands are shaking slightly. "I know all the things that can go wrong even when someone looks stable."

"I didn’t ask yesterday, but how do you know all that?" I ask. "You treated me like... like you've done this before. Like you know exactly what you're doing."

He runs a hand through his hair. Looks uncomfortable. "I was a paramedic. Before I came here. Worked on an ambulance for about two years."

"You were a what?" I stare at him. "Lucas, you were a paramedic?"

"Yeah." His voice is quiet. "Got my EMT certification first, then did the full training. Worked emergency calls for two years before I found this place."

"You became a paramedic." The words feel strange in my mouth. "You left Oakridge and became someone who saves lives."

"Yeah." He meets my eyes. "Seemed like the right thing to do. The opposite of everything we grew up around."

I sit with that for a moment. Try to picture it: Lucas in a uniform, responding to emergencies, saving strangers while I was still back in Oakridge watching his brother become something monstrous.

"What else don't I know?" I ask. "What else happened in five years that I missed?"

He picks up the sandwich again and takes another bite. This time he seems to actually taste it. Chews. Swallows.

"A lot," he says finally. "Too much to cover right now."

"Then start somewhere. Anywhere." I adjust slightly on the bed, trying to find a position that hurts less. "I want to understand who you became while I was stuck back there."

He's quiet for a long moment. Then: "I wandered for about six months after I left. Took odd jobs. Slept in my car most nights. Tried not to think about what I'd left behind."

"What made you stop wandering?"

"Exhaustion, mostly. And guilt." He sets the sandwich down again. "I kept thinking about you. About Daniel. About whether I'd made the right choice leaving."