Main Bonus #90: Escape Room Med Call (Patreon)

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SONG: We listened to "Hand In My Pocket" by Alanis Morissette while writing this bonus.

FROM THE BED, MAXIMOFF is watching me move around our room. I fish my leather belt through the loops at my waist. I’m in a hurry because Oscar texted: Med emergency happening. Cobalt might call. Sharing my location with you.

The lack of information isn’t ideal, but it’s also not a big deal. If this were life-threatening, he’d call 9-1-1 and tell me to go to the hospital, not to follow him. Which I’ve already explained to Maximoff.

Still, before we went to sleep, we were talking about Hale Co.—his legacy, the future. It’s not something that’s going to be resolved in one night. I just don’t love leaving him tonight of all nights. I’d much rather be there for him. Even if it’s just me being a warm body against his.

I could always call Trip. See how far my uncle is from New York.

But I know Maximoff would rather me be there for his family.

“You going to be okay?” I ask him.

His tough forest-greens say, In what damn universe would I not be?

I bet I could find one. It’d be my least favorite. But I’m more caught off guard when he actually replies, “No, I’m going to implode the second you walk out the door. Turn into a million tiny particles that you won’t be able to piece back together. I’m sure you’ll want to breathe in my dust matter though. Get high off the lingering remnants of me.”

I can’t help but laugh. Dork is on the tip of my tongue. While I put my socks on with another laugh and a wider grin, I look up at him and say, “Please never change.”

It catches him off guard now. He grinds away a rising smile. “Sucks for you, man. I’m changing right before your eyes. I might mega morph into a Power Ranger by the time you return.”

My chest floods with a powerful, pure love. I slip my phone in my back pocket, coming closer to him. “That’s exactly how I know you’re still the same wolf scout I married two years ago.”

“So you recognize I’m OP.”

The fact that I know he’s calling himself overpowered is something. I shake my head slowly. “I recognize you’re still a fucking dork.”

He doesn’t combat me. He stops fighting the smile edging at his lips, then watches me press a knee to the edge of the mattress. He’s hanging his flexed arms over his bent legs. “You better go,” he whispers. “They need the doctor, not the OP cousin.”

“The dorky cousin,” I correct.

He blinks. “It’s like you want me to push you off the bed.” He acts like he’s going to shove me, but I clasp his jaw too strongly. He goes very still for a second, his breath sounding heavier. “Farrow.”

“I know you can survive without me,” I whisper. “Just like I know you wouldn’t want to do this shit alone. Shit being life.”

“I got that,” he says quietly, his gaze not leaving mine.

“But I’m going to keep checking in with you because you’re stubborn and I care about you too much not to.”

He’s smiling again. His eyes flit to my lips, then back up. “I’m glad you’re there for my family. Seriously.”

“You’re wishing you could be?”

“Maybe. A bit. It’s just programmed in me to be there. But I have a lot going on with Hale Co. right now, and maybe I wouldn’t be the help they really need.” He pushes at my chest—and he’s really fucking strong, but I’m stronger. “Stop making this about me and go.”

“That’s the thing, wolf scout, I’m the one person who will make it about you, and I’m not apologizing for that.”

His nose flares. It hits something deep. “Fuck.” He inhales. “Don’t make me fall for you again, Farrow. One time is already too damn much.”

I look him over. “I think you mean several hundred times.”

“More like half-of-a-time. Maybe even a quarter. Barely at all. Have I ever really fallen for you?” His smile is roping me in as much as his softening eyes that scream the truths.

Still cupping his face, I don’t wait a second longer—I kiss him. Maximoff wrenches me closer, tighter, his lips so forceful against mine with emotion that balls inside my chest. He fists my hair for a beat, and then he suddenly pries himself off me, then shoves at my chest with a groan. “Dammit, just go.”

My blood courses hot. “Fuck,” I mutter under my breath now. I comb a hand through my hair, stepping backward from him and trying to ignore my hardening cock.

My breath is trapped a little bit, but I head to the door and glance back at Maximoff.

He gathers oxygen, his mouth parting like he’s about to call out to me. Nothing leaves his lips. But his soulful, affectionate eyes say everything.

I smile. “I know you love me.”

“Great.” He gestures toward me. “I know you love me more.”

I laugh, then nod and raise my brows. “I’ll let you jerk off to that.” I shut the door to his aggravated growl.

I’m smiling all the way to our garage. I’d thrown my trauma bag in the Audi earlier, but I double-check everything is there before I’m on the road.

At a red light, I text Oscar and tell him I’m on my way.

I’ve made it to New York when my friend’s location stops moving for more than five minutes.

“Where the fuck are you taking me, Oliveira?” I mutter before I figure out he’s at a parking deck. “Fucking random.” I pop a piece of Winterfresh in my mouth and turn on Maximoff’s playlist he made me last month.

It’s titled My Music Choices Are Better Than Yours.

He tried to convince me he has better taste in nineties music. There is just so much Alanis Morissette on here. I’d typically skip her after the third song.

I don’t this time.

It makes my lips stretch wider and wider.

Less than ten minutes from the parking deck, a Cobalt texts me.

Charlie:  You’re on your way?

I’m guessing Oscar has already informed him that I am.

I call Charlie. “I’m ten minutes out,” I say as soon as he picks up. “What’s the injury?”

“A surprise. P6.” He hangs up on me.

I roll my eyes. To be honest, I can’t even tell if Charlie is the one who’s hurt based on his attitude. It’s rare he doesn’t have one.

Then again, if this were about Beckett, I bet he’d give me a book report on the injury. Maybe it’s about Ben.

I’m not playing “guess what happened” either. I’m about to figure out this late-night Cobalt mystery. The harsh fluorescent lights throb my eyes as soon as I enter the deck. I slip on sunglasses, then rotate the wheel and climb higher and higher.

On P6, it’s really empty except for a small handful of cars, including an old beat-up silver Honda and an expensive black Range Rover.

As I drive up, all five Cobalt brothers turn their heads.

They’re standing outside the security vehicle. So is Oscar. So is a short blonde girl, who I instantly recognize as Luna’s lab partner—and also the girl Xander just mentioned on the phone earlier today.

I’ve seen her before. Like at Luna’s birthday party. The bowling alley. Last year. I try not to let the mental pictures come crashing back.

She must be here because of Ben. She’s taking a class with him and Xander.

I don’t pull into a parking spot. I just stop at the rear of the Range Rover and cut off the ignition. Grabbing my trauma bag off the passenger seat, I exit, blowing a bubble and popping it in my mouth. I lift my sunglasses up to my head.

“Famous ones,” I say to my husband’s cousins—that’s what they are.

Family.

I snap on medical gloves. “Pop the trunk. Whoever’s bleeding goes first.” I give Oscar a brief nod in greeting. He’s already unlocking the trunk, and I make a quick visual assessment before they say shit.

It’s clear just by the way Beckett trains a concerned gaze on Charlie that his twin is hurt. And I notice how Tom keeps wheezing and clearing his throat.

“Brother, stop,” Eliot urges, his hand on Tom’s shoulder.

Ben looks okay. I don’t know Harriet well enough to determine shit from this far away. I assume Charlie is the worst based on Beckett.

I drop my trauma bag on the ground, then motion Charlie to take a seat. He’s favoring his bad leg. “Reinjury?”

“No.”

I glance at Beckett, but he’s just laser-focused on his brother, not giving me any answers.

Charlie releases a long sigh before sitting on the open tailgate. He points to his kneecaps. I squat down. His pants look wet at his knees.  

He must be bleeding. I roll up his right pant leg, but as soon as I see the fucking shards of glass still lodged in his knee, I move faster.

These are fucking deep. Blood, some dried, tracks down his calf and ankle. I’m more focused on the amount of glass and the size of these wounds. He’s going to need stitches.

Tom winces from somewhere behind me.

I hear Eliot say, “Oof. Don’t pass out, Tom.”

Tom is gagging while I roll up the other pant leg.

“That’s worse than what you described, Charlie,” Beckett says quietly.

Charlie is leaning back on the palms of his hands like he’s about to get a pedicure. “It’s barely even bleeding.”

“Eh, try again, Cobalt,” I say. “This is not barely.” The bleeding does look like it’s mostly slowed. Which is good news. I snap off my gloves to grab supplies out of my bag. I start asking him a series of questions and learn he’s not dizzy. Not nauseous. He can wiggle his toes, move his foot, and has no numbness. Pain level is a one though, which okay. Sure. He’s not prideful. He’s just something else.

I put on new gloves, then irrigate the wounds with saline. After which, I explain, “I’m going to give you local anesthesia—”

“Skip it,” Charlie interjects.

I frown. “It’s just lidocaine.”

“I don’t need it.”

I narrow a forceful look at him. “Man, you have about five pieces of glass I’m going to extract. Then I’m going to suture at least two cuts. One might need four stitches. You’ll want the lido.”

I would not enjoy suturing any patient without numbing the area first.

It’s worse having personal relationships with patients, and I hear Trip cautioning me after Luna and Lily’s assault. “Emotional distance is good, Farrow. You shouldn’t be the one treating your mother-in-law, let alone your sister-in-law. Okay, me and Eddie are going to disagree on this.” He sipped his thermos of coffee and had a nonthreatening look. “Challenge me, I’m in need of a good ethics debate.”

“Then go find Sylvie.” I walked away from my uncle and heard him shout, “Thanks for mentioning my beautifully intelligent wife!”

I’ve already drawn lidocaine from the vial into a syringe. I’m just waiting for consent.

“Charlie,” Beckett murmurs.

“Fine,” Charlie relents. “Just hurry, I’m sure Tom is panicking about never being able to sing Bohemian Rhapsody again.”

“Not funny,” Tom croaks.

He sounds like complete shit. I look over at Tom. He threads his hands on his head in distress. “Don’t talk until after I check you out.”

“Tom’s wet dream,” Charlie says dryly.

“Dude,” Tom groans like he’s been stabbed in the back or chest. I do not care how embarrassed Tom is right now. I’m administering shots of lido in Charlie’s knees while Tom rasps out, “Stop spreading lies, Charlie Keating.”

“Tom, please be quiet,” Beckett says firmly.

“No one believes a word of Charlie’s,” Eliot consoles Tom. “We all know he is a teller of tall ugly tales.”

“Can you feel this?” I ask Charlie as I press near the glass in several spots on both knees. He shakes his head, and I have to believe he’s not a “teller of tall ugly tales” tonight and he’s actually spouting the truth.

Because my job is to heal, not to cause harm.

I shift off my knee and return to a squat while I pluck glass from his kneecaps with forceps. Then I irrigate his wounds again, suture, clean, and bandage. It’s an easy process, and once I’m done, I change out my gloves for another clean pair.

Moving on to Tom, I stand several inches taller, and Tom’s brothers explain what happened. Tom basically screamed over a siren while they were playing an escape room game.

“I’m going to touch your neck and check out your throat. You okay with that?”

He’s already red in the face. He shifts his weight like he’s uncomfortable. Does not help that Charlie made that comment, and I’m sure Tom is remembering that I know about his long-ago crush on me.

See, I’m trying to be as professional as possible, but I hear Trip in the back of my head again.

Fuck.

“Do it,” Tom rasps in a whisper.

I press my fingers around Tom’s neck. “Everyone be quiet for a second except for Tom.” I nod to him. “Okay, speak.”

“You’re lucky you’re hurt, Charlie, or I’d rescind all the applause I gave you for solving the escape game.” His voice sounds worse than just hoarse.

Before Charlie can reply, Beckett cuts in and asks me, “How is he?”

“Still deciding.” I click on a light. “Stick your tongue out and say ahh.”

Tom follows instructions. He wheezes, and I hear a rattle. After a visual assessment of his throat, I know I’m sort of shit out of options here. “You likely just have vocal strain, but I can’t rule out vocal bruising without a laryngoscopy.”

“Are you doing a laryngoscopy here?” That’s not a Cobalt brother asking. The higher-pitched tone belongs to a girl.  

I turn and see her big blue eyes pinging around at the sudden attention. Ben is smiling down at her.

“Harriet Fisher?” I say. “Luna’s lab partner?”

“Former lab partner,” she nods.

“Farrow.” I see her clutch her elbows and how she tucks into herself in a defensive stance. I can’t tell if she’s worried I’m going to be a dick. But she seemed excited. Like she was interested in seeing a laryngoscopy.

So I tell her and Tom, “I need to do the laryngoscopy in the office. It’s sterile and all the equipment is there.”

“That’s back in Philly,” Beckett tells Tom.

I go through the options with Tom. One of which will be having Trip bring the equipment up to New York. The other is letting Tom go to the hospital in this city. Or he can ride back with me to Philly and I’ll look at his vocal cords tonight.

After some back and forth, Tom chooses Philly. Sounds good to me.

I discard this set of gloves. “Anyone else need looked at?” I twist toward Ben the second he focuses on Harriet.

So I’m unsurprised when he says, “Yeah, Harriet does. She knelt on glass.”

I don’t judge. I’m not asking for specifics on how this happened to her and Charlie out of everyone. Not my place, not my fucking drama. Maximoff will likely get those details from Charlie later.

Harriet freezes. “No…no, I…” She stammers while I sling the trauma bag on my shoulder and approach her. Confusion furrows her brows. “Dude, I don’t pay for concierge treatment. I’m not a ‘famous one’.” She uses air quotes.

“If you’re hurt, I’m going to treat you. I don’t give a flying shit about the pay.” I drop my bag and crouch down, unzipping it. “I’ve never been into medicine for the money.”

I look up at her and wait for her consent.

She bends down and rolls up her sweatpants.

I snap on another pair of gloves.

“I already cleaned and sealed the cuts,” she explains. “They weren’t as deep as Charlie’s. I bandaged them too.”

The bandage is very meticulously placed. Going off her clear interest in medicine, I crack a guess that she’s pre-med.

“You sealed them?” I ask, peeling off her bandage on her left knee. “With…?”

“Superglue.” Her voice sounds tight.

I examine the five sealed cuts. She’s right, they’re not as deep, but if she didn’t clean the wound well before supergluing them, she could trap debris and cause infection. I check each kneecap. They look very clean.

“Keep an eye out for infection.” I look up since I hear her caging breath.

She nods stiffly.

Her chest rises and falls like her heart is racing. I almost catch her wrist to take her pulse, but I stop myself, not wanting to intensify her nerves.

I place new bandage on both of her knees, and my lips inch up. Seeing someone so eager to learn medicine is special. It reminds me of how much I loved it.

I stand up and peel off my gloves.

Harriet is waiting like I’m about to tell her off for the superglue.

“Nice work,” I say with a rising smile. Her whole face is in a permanent freeze. My smile stretches. Usually Maximoff has this big of a starstruck effect on people—not me and definitely not because I doled out a medical good job.

When I leave her to pack up my things, Oscar finds me near the trunk of the Audi. “Redford.” He keeps his back to the wall, his gaze on Charlie over at the Range Rover. “You made one Cobalt blush and one girl go speechless all within a half hour. Should I tell them you once barfed up Taco Bell on your doormat?”

I side-eye him. “That was you.”

Oscar has a slight grin. “Only me and you were there, bro. We have no other witnesses who’d say otherwise.”

That night in New Haven is too vivid, as my memories can be. Acid tries to sear my throat just remembering the smell of his gordita crunch. “I haven’t eaten Taco Bell since cleaning up your mess.”

He lets out a low groan I’ve heard a thousand times.

I give him a harder look. “Man, you cannot be hungry after we’re talking about vomit.”

“I’d give my left arm for a gordita crunch,” he says while looking over at Charlie. There is more concern in his fixed gaze.

I tune out the Cobalt banter. Tom and Eliot are getting their things out of the Range Rover since they’re riding with me.

I keep the trunk open. “Did you not have a ‘funny feeling’ earlier about shit going down and needing me?” I whisper. “Why didn’t you grab a fucking protein bar?”

“I thought it was a false alarm,” he whispers back just as quietly. “Plans flip-flopped until Charlie made it seem like it’d be a chill day. To the point where I was with Jack. Then Charlie went to the Met, and everything went out the window. Did not prepare well.”

That’s unlike Oscar.

“Maybe listen to your funny fucking feeling next time.” I shut the trunk.

Oscar smiles. “Now I see why I love these infrequent New York meetups with your snarky ass.”

I raise my brows. “Not snarky. Try not to mistake me for your client, Oliveira.”

He opens his mouth like he wants to refute me. His lips shut. I almost, almost think he was about to say, “My friend.”

I look him over. He’s gotten closer to Charlie while my relationship with Maximoff’s cousin has been a rollercoaster I did not ask to ride. Every time I want to pull the brakes, Charlie does something to keep it moving.

“He’ll be fine,” I tell Oscar. “Glass is out. He let me numb the wounds.”

“Yeah,” is all he says.

I don’t care to dive into Charlie Cobalt’s psyche. There are plenty of people willing and wanting to do that (Oscar being one of them). As long as Charlie isn’t provoking me to hit him in front of my son or calling Donnelly contaminated and disease-ridden—we’ll be okay.

We’ll be okay.

I hear laughter.

Good laughter from beside the Range Rover, and Oscar and I share a subtle smile. Bad nights can become better ones.

No matter how many years pass, it still rings true.

Thank you so much for reading this month's main bonus! As soon as we wrote Farrow's cameo on Burn Bright, we knew this would be such a fun scene to bring back as bonus from his point of view. We hope you enjoyed Marrow, the Cobalt brothers, and Oscar x Farrow friendship in this one!

There's another bonus on the horizon for this month, so keep on the lookout!

xoxo Krista & Becca

“Escape Room Med Call" Copyright © 2026 by K.B. Ritchie