Cam was on the phone.

Alex didn’t know how long he’d been out, but he didn’t think for long. A quick glance at his leg indicated she hadn’t yet changed the bandage. He knew cleaning that wound and figuring out what the hell was wrong with his ribs were tops on her list.

They were tops on his, too.

Especially the ribs.

Because fuck, it hurt to breathe.

She was speaking softly, but he could immediately tell that the person on the line was someone she knew, someone she felt comfortable with. Another voice spoke and he realized she was using the speakerphone.

His eyes widened slightly.

He recognized the other voice, too.

Miguel.

Cam’s brother. The big brother who’d gone off to college and then on to med school. Alex didn’t keep tabs on him the way he had with Cam, but he’d seen an article about Miguel in one of the local magazines, an issue dedicated to Native Americans. It was a piece on health care access on the reservations, and how local clinics were opening up in nearby towns to help support underserved populations. Miguel had signed on with a clinic near the Red Lake reservation and had spent the last few years working there, treating everything from diabetes to asthma to drug addiction. And because resources were scarce and luring other medical professionals to the region was difficult, Miguel often found himself filling other roles, too: nutritionist, social worker, therapist.

Alex wasn’t a bit surprised to find out that was where Miguel had ended up. He’d always had a desire to help others, even when they insisted they didn’t want it.

Alex knew this from experience. Because Miguel had tried to help him, time and time again.

And Alex had always refused.

“Back up a minute,” Miguel was saying. “And tell me again why Alex Castillo is in your bed.”

“He’s not in my bed,” Cam responded, a little haughtily. “He’s in a bed in my house. And I don’t know.”

“How do you not know?” Alex could hear the impatience in Miguel’s voice.

“Because he won’t answer my damn questions,” Cam snapped back. “Look, can you help me or not?”

Miguel breathed a heavy sigh. “Tell me what’s wrong with him.”

Alex’s eyes were closed but he could almost feel the stress leave Cam’s body. “He has a wound on his leg,” she began. “Knife wound.”

“How do you know it was a knife?”

There was a short pause. “Because I’m the one who stabbed him.”

“What?”

Alex almost smiled at Miguel’s incredulity.

“It’s a long story,” Cam said.

“I actually have time…”

“Later,” she clipped. “I stopped the bleeding last night, but then he was moving around and it opened up again.”

“What does it look like now?”

Cool fingers tentatively touched Alex’s leg and he tried not to react to the feel of Cam’s skin on his.

“Well, the bandage is pretty bloody…”

“You need to change that,” Miguel said. “Clean it up.”

“I will, I will.” She started peeling away at the wet gauze. “What I’m most concerned about are his ribs.”

“His ribs?”

“Yeah, they’re causing him a lot of pain. I think they might be broken.”

“Has he had an X-ray?”

Cam snorted. “You think I have an X-ray machine in my house? No, he hasn’t had an X-ray. I just need to know what to do to treat him. Wrap them, I guess?”

“No.” Miguel’s voice was firm. “We don’t do that anymore. What are his symptoms?”

Cam rattled off what she’d witnessed. “Pain, obviously. Some shortness of breath.”

“Is he complaining of stomach pain? Is he feverish at all?”

No, Alex answered silently.

“No.”

“Coughing up blood or mucous?”

“No.”

Miguel was quiet for a minute. “Well, I can’t be sure without seeing an image of the ribs and doing a physical exam, but if I had to guess, he’s probably bruised them.”

“So what does that mean?”

“It means they’re gonna hurt like hell for a while,” Miguel said bluntly. “But there shouldn’t be any lasting damage, providing there are no complications.”

“Complications?”

“Pneumothorax. Surgical emphysema.”

“Could you speak English, please?” Cam said.

Miguel chuckled. “Secondary infections.”

Alex opened his eyes just a fraction. Cam was staring at his chest, a worried expression clouding her features. He closed them quickly, hoping she hadn’t noticed.

“So we just have to wait?” she asked her brother.

“Pretty much.”

Alex could have told her that. It wasn’t the first time he’d suffered this type of injury. Far from it. He knew how long the recovery period could be. Coupled with his other injuries—the wound in his leg, the mild concussion he was sure he was dealing with—he was probably going to be in less than optimal condition for a while.

Oh well. He’d just have to make do.

Because there weren’t any other options.

“So there is literally nothing I can do to make him feel better?” Cam asked.

“Drugs would help with the pain,” Miguel told her. “And rest. Ice if the pressure doesn’t cause too much discomfort.”

“Drugs.” She immediately seized on the word. “Like what? Ibuprofen?”

“You could start with that, I guess.” But her brother sounded doubtful. “Judging from what you’ve told me, though, he probably could benefit from something stronger.”

“I don’t have anything stronger,” Cam said flatly. “Unless…”

Silence filled the room, and then Miguel sighed. “I guess I could write a prescription…”

“You’re the best.” Cam was smiling; Alex couldn’t see it, but he could hear it in her voice.

“You owe me,” Miguel grumbled. “This is so unethical.”

“Why? You’re writing a prescription for someone who needs it,” Cam said. “It’s not like I’m gonna go and sell it on the street. I’m a cop!”

“And you think cops don’t sell drugs?” Miguel asked.

Cam was quiet.

“Besides, that’s not the point,” he said. “The point is that I’m writing a script for someone I haven’t examined.”

“There are virtual doctors now,” Cam reminded him. “This is literally no different.”

“Well, it feels different to me.”

Alex listened to their exchange with more than a twinge of guilt. He hated putting Miguel in this position, but a small thrill ran through him because of how hard Cam was fighting on his behalf. She had no reason to do it; hell, if anything, she should have just picked up the phone and called the cops or 911 and washed her hands of the whole thing.

But she didn’t do either of those things.

She’d kept him in her house, and she’d found a way to seek out medical treatment. Well, maybe not treatment. Medical advice was probably a better assessment of what had just happened.

Regardless, he was still grateful.

He felt hands on him again, this time a flutter of movement on his chest.

His eyes flew open, and what he saw took his breath away.

Cam’s face, her eyes peering at him with naked concern.

She immediately drew her hand away. “Did I hurt you?”

“Hurt me?” Miguel’s voice rang out loud and clear via the speaker. “What, by asking me to falsify a prescription?”

Neither Alex nor Cam responded.

Alex shook his head. His throat was tight, and he didn’t trust himself to form words, much less a complete sentence.

Relief flooded Cam’s features.

“I’m okay,” Alex managed to get out.

“Alex?” Miguel’s voice was sharp.

“I’m here,” he responded weakly.

There was a thread of doubt in Miguel’s voice. “You alright?”

“I think so,” Alex responded. It wasn’t a complete lie. Everything hurt like hell, but he didn’t feel like he was at death’s door or anything.

Yet.

“Thanks for helping,” Alex mumbled.

Miguel’s sigh was audible. “Yeah, well, just don’t fuck things up, alright?” He paused. “Any more than you already have, I mean.”

Alex nodded, forgetting that Miguel couldn’t see him.

“And whatever you do,” Miguel continued, his voice laced with warning, “do not fuck up my sister.”