Seb handed the glass back and slumped against the pillows with another groan. “Are you sure it’s nothing serious? My head fucking kills.”
Jared’s voice piped up from the other room. “That would be all the alcohol you drank.”
“Ugh. They’re still here, then?”
Tim grinned at him, and Seb’s gaze caught on how full his lips were. “Yes, they were worried when you passed out.”
Seb glanced down to where Tim had one hand on the bed covers.
“May I?” Tim tugged the edge of the quilt to show what he meant. “I wrapped your wrist while you were sleeping, but I didn’t want to check your ankle until you were awake.” Seb nodded for Tim to continue and he slowly pulled the sheet back. Then frowned. “That doesn’t look too good.”
As soon as Tim said it, the pain in Seb’s ankle made itself known, as though it had been waiting for a doctor’s confirmation that it should hurt. With a wince, he pushed himself up on his good arm for a better look. “Oh.” Even from that awkward angle, Seb could easily see the swelling around the top of his foot and ankle and the slight discolouration. He watched closely as Tim carefully ran his fingers over the area. “Is it broke—ow!Fuck.”
Tim immediately stopped his gentle manipulations and sat back with a soft smile. “I suspect so. You’ll need to go to the hospital to get it sorted.” He pulled his phone from his jacket pocket.
Nathan and Jared appeared in the doorway, looking more worried than the situation warranted. Well, Seb thought they did, anyway.
“Hey.” He waved at them and managed a weak smile.
A wave of nausea rolled through him and he quickly shut his eyes, clenched his teeth, and breathed carefully in an effort not to throw up. Being sick in his bed, with an audience, was not on his list of things to do tonight. Or this morning, or whatever it was.
His skin felt clammy and he’d give anything for a cold flannel, but the threat seemed to have passed. For now, at least.
When he opened his eyes again, Nathan stood grinning at him from the door, but Jared had moved close enough to crouch next to the bed.
“I’ve emptied out the bin in case you’re sick. You went all pale and sweaty, so—” He looked back at Tim, who was typing something on his phone. “You sure it’s not a bad concussion?”
Tim set his phone down on the bed; his gaze landed on Seb again. “Almost certain, but they’ll check it again at A&E. How much did he have to drink?”
Tim had addressed Jared, and Seb huffed in annoyance. “I’m right here, you know.”
“Sorry.” Two spots of colour appeared on Tim’s cheeks and he quickly stood, fussing with his bag. “How much did you drink tonight, Seb?”
“Um….” Seb tried to recall the exact amount, but even the thought of alcohol made his stomach churn. “You answer him, J.”
Seb ignored Nathan’s laughter and tried to focus on Tim instead. He might be a shifter, which automatically ruled him out as far Seb was concerned, but he was nice to look at, and Seb always appreciated a pretty view.
“I reckon about four pints and four shots, so not loads, but—” He poked Seb in the shoulder. “—did you eat today?”
“Yeah, course.” He’d had cereal for breakfast, a sandwich at lunch, and then some toast before he went out.
Nathan was watching him as if he knew Seb was being economical with the truth, but he didn’t comment.
“You’ve downed that much before and not got ill.” Jared ruffled his hair. “Maybe you’re getting old.”
“Fuck off, I’m twenty-six. Same as you.”
Tim stood and cleared his throat. “I’d really like to get you to hospital and have that ankle looked at.”
Seb wiped at his clammy forehead and frowned. A trip in the car was not what he needed right then. “Can’t it wait until morning, when I’m not in danger of throwing up everywhere?”
“I’d rather go now.” Tim checked his watch. “My brother’s on shift until seven, so we won’t have to wait.”
Seb raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t that favouritism?”
“Yep.” Tim grinned, momentarily distracting Seb with how white his teeth were.
Seb strained to see if they were pointy like Jared’s sometimes got, but they looked normal as far as he could tell. That made sense. Jared seemed to have shitty control over his leftover shifter traits. Nathan’s control was much better, and if Tim was anything like him, he probably needed to be angry or—
