Rowdy || 18+ || RH

Chapter 52 🌶️

Emersyn

Back at the house, the mood has shifted into a quieter, more reflective one. We're gathered in the living room, the aftermath of the fight settling around us. Fowler winces, a soft "ouch" escaping his lips as Valarie tends to the gash on his head.

"Be still," Valarie chides gently, her hands steady as she cleans the wound. "It doesn't look too bad. I don't think you'll need stitches."

Fowler pouts, a playful glint in his eye despite the pain. "I could've told you that," he says, trying to lighten the mood. "I am a nurse too, remember?"

Valarie shoots him a look, one eyebrow raised in a silent command for silence, and he immediately clamps his mouth shut, a mock serious expression overtaking his face.

I can't help but smile at their interaction. Moments like these remind me how well Valarie fits into our little family. I love seeing the people I care about being loved and cared for, especially on a night like this.

My eyes drift around the room, taking in the state of everyone else. Locke is seated on the couch, his usually stoic face betraying a wince as Valarie deftly pops a finger back into place. He must have dislocated it during the fight, probably from landing a particularly solid punch. Despite the grimace of pain, he doesn't utter a single complaint, just a quiet nod of thanks to Valarie.

Next to him, Cruz nurses a split lip and a blossoming bruise on his cheekbone. He's oddly calm, almost detached, as if cataloging his injuries is just another task to be completed. But I see the way his eyes flicker to the rest of us, a silent check-in to make sure we're all okay.

Finally, my gaze lands on Marx. He's standing a little apart from the rest, his posture relaxed but alert. There's a quiet intensity about him that seems even more pronounced now. I scrutinize every inch of him, searching for any sign of injury. Apart from his bloody knuckles, he's unscathed. Relief washes over me, mingled with an unspoken worry.

"Alright, everyone," Valarie announces, her nurse's demeanor taking over. "Everyone is patched up. It's time for you all to get some rest."

Marx finally moves, his steps carrying him closer to where I sit. He doesn't say anything, but his hand finds my shoulder. I look up at him, our eyes meeting. There's so much I want to say, so much gratitude and concern swirling inside me, but for now, I simply squeeze his hand in response.

Fowler, now patched up, tries to stand, still a bit wobbly. "Thanks, Val," he says with a grin that doesn't quite reach his eyes.

Valarie's hand on his arm steadies him, her concern evident. "Take it easy," she insists. "Let me help you to your bed."

"Honestly," I start, looking at Val. "It's probably best if you stay with him tonight. In his bed or mine. He doesn't look too good."

Valarie studies Fowler for a moment before talking. "Yeah, I think you're right."

Locke rises, carefully testing his newly popped-in finger. He grimaces but nods in appreciation to Valarie. "You've got a magic touch," he says, his voice carrying a hint of his usual humor.

Cruz, wiping the blood from his split lip, just nods in agreement.

Valarie finishes packing up her first aid kit, her eyes lingering on each of us, making sure we're truly okay. "I'll be right back," she says, heading to the kitchen for water and more ice packs.

The silence that follows is heavy, each of us lost in our thoughts. I glance around at the faces of my friends, my family. They're more than just the people I live with; they're the ones who stand by me through everything, the ones who make me feel safe and loved.