Blacklake-Book4-1 Three Cousins

Chapter 32
~

“How’re ya feelin’?” an ogre hen in scrubs, face covered with a mask, dreads wrapped up tightly, asked me for the tenth time in the last ten minutes.

Who knew recovery rooms are so loud. And stinkin’ bright. Really hurt my eyes.

~ Ezra ~

“Did they find anything in that skull of yars?” I asked him.

“Now would be a good time to show me a little compassion,” Ike slurred, without a growl. So he was prolly wonderin’ the same thing.

“Something that wasn’t pushed out of the ground twenty million years ago,” his papa said.

We were sposed to only be in here one at a time. Uncle had been at his youngling’s side since he woke up in Recovery. The clan leader whose papa’s name is plastered on the building, gets special treatment, I guess.

“When did ya study geology?” Ike asked his papa, with a bit of a worse slur. He claimed they gave him great meds for the headache.

“Cracked a book when ya were born,” he said. “Had to find an explanation for the idjitry ya got into those first years.”

“I was just tryin’ to keep up with Kriz,” Ike claimed. His eyes continued to flick open and closed.

“Except ya came along three years earlier,” I reminded him.

“I think Commander Nazre was hopin’ ya’d die on the operatin’ table so he’d have a significant charge for whoever took ya out the other day,” his papa said.

“That’s cold,” Ike and I said together.

“Embarrassin’ that an ogre smacked in the back of the head ends up havin’ his brain opened up,” his papa continued.

“Bliar,” I growled. “Shut up.”

“I’m told it’s a tiny little hole.” Ike turned his head and lifted his dreads. “Look. Not even a sliver of a bandage. Not that I could find.”

“A lota dried blood,” I said, fightin’ the ickiness. And I carve up carcasses for a livin’.

“Who knew stones hold blood,” Bliar said.

I gave my uncle a glare. Pointed my finger at him. Before I could complain, he was whinin’ about a youngling bein’ rude to their elder. The hypocrite.

Funny in a way, that the bull had to be insultin’ to hide the fact he was about to lose it a few hours ago. Maybe still. There are hard crow-claw marks at the corners of his eyes that weren’t there yesterday.

“Ya still don’t remember who hit ya?” Bliar asked.

“Last I looked,” Ike said, “don’t have eyes in the back of my head.” His slur was maybe a tad worse.

“They have video of the—thing,” Bliar said. “But not of ya bein’ clobbered. They’re interviewin’ everyone they can recognize in the footage. The commander is pretty irritated folk in the Valley were—”

Ike filled the pause. “Don’t even remember anything between the time I first got there, to wakin’ up at the hospital.”

“Doctor told me,” I said, “memories would likely never come back. The brain has a funny way of protectin’ itself.”

“Or the grainy, rocky part just doesn’t care,” Bliar said softly.

About that moment Ike got a funny expression on his face and his papa rushed to him, grabbin’ a little spit tub off the rollin’ table and got it under Ike’s chin as the bull spit up. Wasn’t much. But the groan comin’ out of his chest ripped my lungs in two. Or more aptly, apart.

Blair wiped his chin up and got a sippy straw in his mouth. After a bit of a swirl, Ike emptied that into the spit tub. “Happens, now and then,” he said softly.

Uncle Bliar has been the most important, formative figure in my life, excludin’ Ike and Kriz of course. Today I was seein’ a side of Bliar I never could have imagined.

Ogre mamas are about tough love, ensurin’ their younglings grow up with a stiff spine, and character. Papas aren’t heard much. Mostly drag their little bulls purposely into bad situations just to let em learn the hard way. Maybe we ogres are weird. I thought of the winter hunts Bliar and Razi dragged Ike and Kriz deep into the Range for a week.

I announced my two minutes were up, that there were more who wanted to say hi. But Ike stopped me. Said he’d rather have some quiet time. Asked me to tell em all to go home.

Didn’t surprise me. He’d had a hot wire in his head and a tube suckin’ liquid out. Prolly woulda tired me out a bit too. But then, it was prolly more about the attention. He isn’t as obsessively introverted as Kriz, and while I’d rather read a book than look someone in the eye, Ike’s nowhere as political and outgoin’ as his papa.

I took the step to get me against Ike’s bed, bent down and pressed a tusk against his forehead, light-like. Held it there a good twenty seconds, maybe. Neither of us said anything. I rose and left the room, eyes wellin’. Such an un-ogreish thing. But wasn’t ashamed.

Despite the surgeon playin’ it all down, didn’t take a rocket builder to figger it ain’t good to have a brain hematoma-thing. Days to come, we’d learn of any—the surgeon did warn Aunt Dorig softly, the more serious complications of his concussion and bleed could remain hidden for days. Even weeks.

The waitin’ room down the hall had cleared some. Every face turned to me as I strode in. Mama and the aunts stood together in the near aisle. It was gonna be hard to tell em Ike wasn’t up to seein’ em today. Aunt Dorig would now wish she hadn’t let me go in first.

I had to put my hand out to stop her, and she blinked, maybe sendin’ away one of her own tears. My throat tightened as I told her. She nodded bravely like it was no big deal. It was a big deal. Her little bully preferred rest to seein’ his mama.

I announced Ike’s message. Not any growls. I guess a lot of folk just come to the hospital because of the expectation they should be there. I grabbed David by the front of his shirt as he neared. Thomas walked almost on his friend’s heels. Daze was holdin’ back a bit in the crowd of family.

The troll held my eyes. I gave him a head twitch. Would he read my mind—that we need to talk? I dragged David with me as I got away from the door so folks could leave. Thomas stayed with us, and Daze ambled over to us a few moments later.

David mumbled, “Did he sound okay? Was he awake? Alert?” Hard to believe he and Ike are as close as they are, considerin’. Guess sharin’ a dorm room for almost four years will bring two, completely different fools, together.

“He and his papa were bickerin’ like two ten-year-olds,” I said.

David grinned. “So, normal, huh?”

Finally, maybe a grin crossed my face. Thomas asked me how I was doin’, which I thought was odd at first. Why wouldn’t I be okay? Then, I considered, humans and ogres take to things a lot different, so maybe his question made sense to him.

Funny. I was still claspin’ the front of David’s shirt. I let him go, and patted his chest, before turnin’ to Thomas and pattin’ him on the shoulder. Humans need a lot of physical contact, I’ve come to notice. I turned to Daze.

“Thanks for comin’,” I told him.

He gave me a nod. “Thomas needed a ride,” he said. His face turned a richer flavor. Troll bulls are usually better at hidin’ emotion—at least compared to ogre bulls. Odd that he wished—maybe not to appear like a softy. It’s a loud secret that troll bulls are actually a pushover.

I turned back to Thomas, at a loss for my lack of knowledge of human ways. Would he be all stubborn about comin’ back to OW? An odd mechanism to get past any stubbornness crossed my itty bitty brain.

“If ya don’t come back to OW,” I said, allowin’ just the hint of a good growl, “no way we can ever go out again.”

I worked not the see David’s expression deepen. David wasn’t my problem.

“You’re going to hold me hostage with the promise of another date?” Thomas shrilled a bit.

I think David was laughin’ on the inside. He opened his mouth, to speak I figger, and I growled at him not to say a word.

He had to blab anyway. “I thought I was the one tagged to bring these two back to work.”

“I’m retired,” Daze said. Not that I believed him.

“Ya’re too young to retire,” I told him. “Ya’re prolly already bored.”

We exchanged glares for a good ten seconds. He finally sighed, and said, “Yeah.” His mate would prolly love to have space of her own during the day.

With the waitin’ room mostly empty, I caught sight of one last cousin. He looked up from his laptop as though he felt me glarin’ at him.

“My ride—musta—left,” he said.

~