Healing Hearts (Stealing Hearts Book 2)

by K. Evan Coles

  The EMT nodded. “I agree.”

  “Doesn’t feel like it, either,” Owen said. He opened his eyes and met Mark’s gaze. “My shoulder hurts more than my nose. I got clocked pretty good in the fight, but I’m fine.”

  “Fight?” Mark dabbed at the blood and shook his head. “What happened?”

  “There was an incident in the train station,” said the sergeant who’d given him access to the scene.

  Mark shifted his gaze to the cop. “Incident?”

  “According to witnesses, a group of passengers became involved in an argument on the subway over seating. One or more of them made threatening remarks, prompting other passengers to intervene. The altercation continued into the station and then up here onto the street and—”

  “Those people are assholes,” Owen shot back. “The lady was yelling and waving her bag around, calling those girls they were hassling dykes and telling us all to go back to fucking Africa.”

  The cop grimaced. “I know, kid—”

  “Yeah, yeah, you know.” A muscle in Owen’s jaw twitched. “One of the guys with her said he had a gun, y’know. He’s the one who fucking punched me in the face, but the cop in the station almost let them go!”

  Mark’s stomach turned. The sergeant simply nodded, his features drawn tight with what Mark read as frustration.

  “I know that,” the cop fired back, his voice almost a bark. “I’m glad you and the other passengers called 911 so that didn’t happen, but you’re also very goddamned lucky there was no gun and that guy was just talking out his ass! You could have been hurt, kid, and way worse than this.”

  “His name is Owen,” Mark murmured. He couldn’t have said why. He grasped Owen’s shoulder with his free hand, softly squeezing a deltoid muscle so tight it Mark thought it might snap through the wool coat. Owen closed his eyes at Mark’s touch.

  The cop’s grim expression softened. “You did a good thing sticking up for those girls, Owen,” he said, his voice gentler. “You all did. And I know you’re angry and probably don’t trust any of us to our jobs, but the people who started the fight are in custody.”

  He jerked his head at a trio of police cruisers parked nearby and there, Mark glimpsed figures in the backs of all three, their features obscured by distance and shadows.

  “So what happens now?” Owen muttered. He opened his eyes and stared at the cop, the fire in his gaze still bright.

  “We need your statement,” the cop replied. “It’s gonna take a while to process everything and I know it sucks waiting around, but we need everything you can give us. The information you and the others give us will go straight to the DA’s office so they have everything they need to take this case in front of a judge. Okay?”

  Owen nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”

  “What about his injuries?” Mark asked. “Can I take him over to MGH in the meantime?”

  The sergeant turned his focus on the EMT. “What’s his status, Kim?”

  She cocked her head, her critical gaze moving over her patient. “He’s banged up, obviously, and he’ll have a hell of a shiner in the morning. I’d recommend he gets a scan if the shoulder keeps hurting, make sure it’s not more serious than a muscle strain. Other than that, his injuries appear superficial.”

  “All right.” The sergeant nodded. “I’ll get someone from the Civil Rights Unit over here as soon as possible.” He started moving but paused when Mark held up a hand.

  “No, wait.”

  “Sir—”

  “He could have a concussion or an orbital fracture,” Mark argued, heat flooding through him like wildfire. Fuck, the nurse in him was pissed that everyone seemed okay with going along like Owen didn’t have bruises on his face and blood coming out of his nose. Like he hadn’t been assaulted, for God’s sake, and no one seemed ready to advocate for his health. He glared at Kim, the EMT, who drew her eyebrows together at Mark.

  “I don’t disagree.” She glanced back at Owen. “But he’s lucid and passed the concussion protocol, which tells me he’s okay to stay for the time being.”

  “I am okay,” Owen said, and his firm tone drew everyone’s eye. “Don’t talk about me like I’m not even here.” He shifted his gaze to Mark. “I’m good, Mark. Really. I’d rather stay and talk to the guys from the hate crimes thing and get this shit over with.”

  Civil Rights Unit? Hate crimes? Mark swallowed down a wave of nausea. Now his hands were shaking. He hauled in a deep breath to get a hold of himself.

  “Fine.” He frowned at Owen. “But you tell me if you start feeling woozy or anything like that, okay? By that I mean the second you have even more than a shade of headache, Owen.” Mark glanced back to Kim. “Can we get a cold pack for that eye?”

  She quirked a smile at him. “You bet.”

  Kim climbed into the rig and the sergeant headed off to find more cops, while Mark dabbed at Owen’s nose with the pad again.

  “This has stopped,” he murmured. He sat down on Owen’s left and tried to ignore the way his insides wobbled. “How do you feel?

  “Like shit,” Owen replied, his voice quieter now. He cast his eyes on the ground. “My head already hurts, by the way, but I’m pretty sure that’s more because I’m still mad as fuck about what happened.”

  “What did happen?”

  A muffled popping sound came from behind them. Kim squeezed past Owen on his other side and hopped off the rig, a white plastic package in one hand and a silver Mylar blanket in the other. Handing the blanket off to Mark, she shook the cold pack a few times and held it up to Owen, then waited for his nod before she applied it to the bruising around his eye.

  Owen hissed. “Motherfucker.”

  Kim grimaced. “Like I said, that’s gonna be an epic shiner.”

  “Great.” Owen reached up and took hold of the ice pack. “That’ll go over well at the office.”

  “Any dizziness or nausea since the last time I asked?”

  “No, I’m good.”

  “Okay.” Kim flicked her gaze from Owen to Mark. “I think you’re in good hands, Owen. I’m going to check in with the other rigs and see if anyone needs my help, but you or your friend call me if you need anything.”

  “Mark knows what he’s doing,” Owen replied. “And thanks. I’ll try not to keel over and die in the meantime.”

  Mark’s mouth went dry. Owen meant it as a joke—Mark knew that—but his hackles rose anyway, along with a wave of despair that made his throat go tight. He busied himself getting the blanket opened up and around Owen until he trusted himself to speak.

  “Are you going to tell me what happened now?”

  “Basically what that cop said.” Owen bowed his head slightly, and the sight tugged at the space behind Mark’s ribs. Every line of Owen’s body screamed of weariness and all Mark wanted to do was wrap him up in a hug.

  “I was on my way over here to meet you and—” Owen sat bolt upright. “Holy shit, the dinner!” He dropped the hand holding the ice pack and stared at Mark, his eyes wide.

  “It’s fine,” Mark said, but paused when his phone chimed in his pocket. “That’s probably Lo.” He moved Owen’s hand and the cold pack back to his face. “I’ll just tell her what happened so she knows not to expect us.”

  “Mark, no.” Owen grabbed Mark’s hand, his fingers icy. “I don’t want this to... Don’t let this ruin your night. It’s your goddamned birthday!”

  Mark stared. “Are you sure you didn’t you hit your head? Because why the hell else would you think I’d leave you here so I could go eat dinner?”

  “Fuck.” Owen’s expression cracked and took Mark’s heart right along for the ride.

  Mark sighed. “Owen.”

  But Owen had closed his eyes. The tension ran out of him all at once and even though he didn’t say a word, Mark felt like the shittiest human ever. Luckily, the nurse inside him was ready to take over again.

  He wound an arm around Owen, mindful of his sore shoulder. The movements crinkled the Mylar and Mark leaned until he
could rest his cheek against Owen’s temple.

  “I’m where I want to be, Owen. I can’t just pretend nothing happened, and I don’t want to.” He kept his voice low and steady. “I had no idea what was going on when I ran over here, but I knew you were hurting.”

  “M’okay,” Owen said again, but he’d started trembling, even if he hadn’t realized it.

  “Yeah, well I’m a wreck.” Mark sighed. “I saw people on the ground and...fuck. I thought that was you over there, waiting for a backboard.”

  “They tried to leave.” Owen’s shivering increased, which made his voice shake, and Mark recognized the signs of adrenaline let-down. “The people who started the fight on the train tried to leave because the transit cop wasn’t going to do fuck all.” Owen hauled a deep breath in through his nose. “The guy who said he had a gun started pushing people out of his way and yelling. He knocked a lady into the dude on the bike and they both ended up in the street with the cars.”

  Mark’s stomach fell through the ground. “That could have been you.”

  Owen leaned into Mark so their bodies seemed to mold together. “It wasn’t.”

  “I know.” Mark’s heart twisted so hard it hurt. He drew Owen in a little closer, and together they did their best to shut out the chaos of the scene around them.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Over two hours later, after the cop cars and ambulances had driven off and Owen had finished with questions and statements, he and Mark were completely worn-out. Neither voiced the suggestion, but they turned toward Mark’s, quiet as they walked through the bustling weekend crowds headed out for the night, hands linked.

  “Where’s your board?” Mark thought to ask out of the blue.

  “I went home to change and left it there,” Owen said. He slowed down then and seemed almost surprised when he looked up at Mark’s building. “Wait, is this cool that I’m here? I’ve been on autopilot since we left Haymarket and I didn’t even—”

  “Yes, it’s cool.” Mark glanced at the entrance and back to Owen. “Come upstairs with me. We’re both exhausted and I just... I want to lie in bed and eat junk food and watch people cook while we drink beer.”

  “Okay. If you’re sure.” Owen leveled a very earnest expression Mark’s way. “I’m really okay to go home if you’d rather have the bed to yourself—”

  “Yeah, but I wouldn’t,” Mark replied with a creaky little laugh. “I want you here, Owen, with me. But I’ll make you some eggs first, because I know you’re probably starving and I don’t want you to eat my face while I sleep.”

  Despite his joking, Mark was still wrestling with a real urge to bundle Owen over to the hospital for a thorough exam. He got them inside the apartment regardless and took Owen’s coat, then looked him up and down. “You feel okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine.” Owen sat down at the breakfast bar with a grunt. “Just beat.” He balanced his chin in his hand. “Some birthday, huh?”

  “I told you already—I don’t care about that.” Mark set their coats over the back of his couch. “Dinners are easy to reschedule, and I’m having Lo and Keith over on the fourteenth anyway.”

  The corners of Owen’s mouth tilted up. “For Shitty Movie Night.”

  “You know it.” Mark returned his grin. “You should come too,” he said and moved so he stood at Owen’s knees. “We decided to make jambalaya and watch vampire movies, so it’s going to be killer. If you don’t have plans for that night, I mean.”

  “I don’t.” Owen licked his lips. His smile had faded, but his eyes shone. “You’d be okay with me being there?”

  “Yes.” Mark took his hand. “See, I wouldn’t ask just anyone to join us. But I’d definitely ask you.”

  The tips of Owen’s ears turned pink. “All right. I’d like that.”

  Warmth spread through Mark. “Good.”

  He couldn’t help wrapping Owen up just then and kissing him, slow and almost chaste, despite the avalanche of feelings rushing through his heart and head. A low hum sounded in Owen’s throat when they parted again, and Mark pressed their foreheads together.

  “We should talk about this. That’s what I wanted to do when I asked you to meet me for a drink tonight. Talk about how to make this work between us.” Mark squeezed Owen gently. “I’m sure you want a shower now, though. We both need to eat, too, because I am ready to eat the counter, I’m so hungry.”

  Owen huffed out a laugh. “Well, we can’t have that.”

  “No we can’t.” Mark stepped back and tugged Owen to his feet. “How about you hit the shower while I crack open the eggs and a couple of beers? Unless you need some help cleaning up?”

  “Yes, please. To all of the above.” Owen dropped another peck onto Mark’s mouth, then stared at him a beat, his expression growing somber. “Thanks.”

  It’s no big deal.

  The words hung on Mark’s lips, just waiting for him to blow the moment off. He didn’t though. Couldn’t. Something about this moment—something about Owen—felt too important and Mark recognized that, even if he couldn’t say exactly those words aloud just yet.

  “You’re welcome.”

  They’d started for the bathroom when Mark’s phone chimed in his pocket.

  “That’s my sister,” he said, but any apology he thought about offering faded under Owen’s smile.

  “Call her,” he urged. “She’ll only worry if you don’t do it now, and we both know you don’t want that.”

  Mark got Owen into the bathroom with some sweats and fresh towels first, but before he could check his phone, a knock sounded at his front door. Mark glanced at the message—We’re here and we brought you food—and let out a strained little laugh. So much for keeping Lauren from worrying.

  “What happened?” she exclaimed the second he pulled back the door. The concern on her and Keith’s faces sent Mark’s stomach down to the floor. “Your message said Owen got into a jam on the train and you had to skip dinner, but that was it and then we never heard from you again. What’s going on?”

  “I’m so sorry, guys.”

  Lauren scowled. “Don’t be sorry, Mark—it was just a dinner, no big deal.” Her words were so much like the ones Mark had spoken to Owen earlier he nearly laughed again.

  “Just...come in and I’ll try to figure out where to start.” They gathered at the kitchen counter with the bags of takeout, and Mark busied himself opening beer bottles and unpacking the food. “I’m still processing the whole thing myself,” he muttered, and went still when Keith settled a hand on his shoulder.

  “Take it easy,” Keith said in what Mark recognized as his nursing voice, the one he used to talk down stressed-out patients. “Just tell us what happened.”

  “Okay.” Mark blew out a long breath. “There was an altercation on the train Owen was riding. A group of men and a woman started harassing two girls over seating. The girls were a couple and—from Owen’s perspective—that triggered the group who started it. It seems they found two women showing affection for each other in public offensive.”

  He aimed a frown at the containers of food on the counter. “I’m not sure they weren’t just looking for any excuse to fuck with someone.”

  “What do you mean?” Lauren asked.

  “You know what the subways are like. What this city is like. Everywhere you look there are people of color and different religions, people like Owen and me.” Mark met her gaze. “Owen’s got Pride buttons on his messenger bag—those could have been the trigger if not for the girls. Or Owen’s brown skin. Or the lady sitting next to Owen if she’d been wearing a hijab or the guy on his other side because he looked Asian. People who want to hate have plenty of fucking material to choose from and they’re not picky as long as they get to hurt someone.”

  His sister’s eyes glazed over with tears. “Mark.”

  “Sorry.” Mark heard the bitterness in his own voice, and God, he was so tired. Taking out his frustrations on Lauren wouldn’t get him anywhere and he rubbed his faced with one hand.
“Anyway. Owen wasn’t involved at first, but he and some other passengers got involved when the people harassing the girls started getting physical with them.”

  Keith’s face went hard. “Oh, hell.”

  “The driver kicked everyone off the train at Haymarket, but Owen and some of the others got the transit cops involved.” Mark put his hands on his hips. “From there, it sounds like things just got way out of control. Everyone ended up outside at Haymarket and some pedestrians were knocked off the sidewalk and into traffic. By the time I got there, the BPD and EMS were on scene. I found Owen sitting in the back of a rig with some spitfire named Kim.”

  “But he’s okay?” Lauren’s voice rose almost to a squeak and she grabbed Mark’s hand when he reached out to calm her.

  “Owen’s fine, Lo. He’s banged up with a sore shoulder and he has a huge fucking black eye, but otherwise, he’s good. I’ll keep an eye on him tonight and take him over to MGH tomorrow if his shoulder feels worse. We were just getting cleaned up and figuring out the food situation when you barged in.”

  “Thank God.” Lauren caught her bottom lip between her teeth for a moment, her gaze moving over Mark’s face. “How about you? How are you doing?”

  “I’m good.” Mark gave her a smile, but his heart wasn’t in it. “I’m so sorry the whole night went to shit. Owen feels badly, too, but I couldn’t just leave him there.”

  “Well, of course you couldn’t.” Lauren frowned at him. “I’m not stressed that you guys couldn’t make it, Mark—I’m just glad you’re both okay.”

  Mark blinked at her, feeling way overtired and stupid. “Why wouldn’t I be okay? I’m not the one who was punched in the face by a bigoted piece of trash. I’m fine.”

  “You don’t look fine,” Keith said, his voice quiet. “As a matter of fact, you look like shit. You’re paler than you should be and that’s saying a lot because you’re white as fuck to begin with.”

  The boulder in Mark’s throat kept him silent as Lauren and Keith stared him down. Seeing Owen surrounded by cops and EMTs had shaken him, badly in fact. But listening in on Owen with the cops while he’d given his statement had been painful.