His eyebrows draw together as he stares at the ground, his jaw set. “All right.”
I pack up the sleeping bag, then lead the way to the most insulated house, shouldering both packs despite Rex’s protests.
If he notices the way my eyes dart around rapidly, constantly scanning our surroundings, or how I flinch at the slightest sounds, he doesn’t mention it. Then again, he’s barely dragging himself forward, fatigue written across his face.
My stomach twists into knots again, the bitter taste of fear flooding my mouth.
Rex is going to die.
Chapter 8
I take us to a section of houses in the opposite direction of where I was earlier. No need to run across those two men. I’ve got plans for them anyhow. But right now, my focus is on Rex.
We find a brick house with some boarded-up windows. Doors are still on their hinges, and I help Rex up the creaky stairs to the master bedroom. “Get comfy, old man. I’ll go make sure everything’s locked up.”
He grunts and places his pack down near the nightstand then flops onto the mattress, his eyes drifting closed.
I swallow hard, dropping my own gear next to his, then head back to the first floor. The place is dusty as hell, but mostly intact. Kitchen is empty, no canned goods in any of the cabinets.
Once the house is as secure as I can get it, I head back upstairs. Kneeling at Rex’s pack, I rifle through it and pull out some dried meat and canned beans, then hand it to him. “Eat.”
He sits up and huffs. “Keep ordering me around, and I’m going to bend you over my knee and spank you.”
Any other time, heat would flood my groin. The promise of a spanking from him gets me hard. Except for now.
He launches into another coughing fit, and it scares the shit out of me. No matter how hard I try not to think about him dying, I can’t.
“Just eat, please.”
With a snarl, he takes the food then finishes about half the meal before pushing the rest my way. “Your turn.”
“No, you need it more.”
He goes to stand up, staring me down and I take the rest of the food, shoving some into my mouth. Anything to get him to rest.
And he calls me stubborn.
Fucking old goat is worse than I am.
Rex sits back down, pulling off his coat. My gaze drops to the tattoo again, focusing on the second string of words—Fall as One—and my stomach roils.
I fight the nausea but can’t shake the fear digging its claws into me.
Wearen’t in a battle,heis.
And I’m not ready to lose him.
After swallowing the last bite, I grab the medicine and hold out the green cough syrup and sleeping pills, but he shakes his head.
My chest constricts as if I’m buried under a pile of bricks, jaw clenching so tightly my teeth might fucking crack. “Rex, please?”
“Can’t believe all I had to do was get sick to knock that defiant little shit attitude out of you.” He takes the two bottles, then gulps down the cough syrup. “Jesus. Damn Nyquil is fuckin’ expired.”
He reads the label on the pills twice before taking two and washing them down with some water. “Happy now?”
“Yeah.”
A lie. One he can read on my face because he leans forward and presses a kiss to my forehead.
