“Willa,” I called, voice deceptively calm as I set the bags on the island and toed off my boots.
No answer. Not even the sound of her dragging herself across the floor and into bed like the martyring little menace she was.
I climbed the stairs two at a time and found her in the bathroom in nothing but one of my T-shirts and those husband-tormenting pajama shorts. One hand was braced against the vanity, the other clutching a glass of water like she hadn’t collapsed in the chicken coop half an hour ago.
“I told you I was fine,” she said before I could speak, no doubt anticipating the lecture that was coming.
“You didn’t tell me shit. Laurel did. And it’s a good thing, too, since you can’t be trusted alone.”
“Excuse you. I’m?—”
“Shuffling your way to the sink when I told you to keep your ass in bed?”
“I needed water.”
“You have a husband for that.”
She set the glass on the sink and raised a brow at me in the mirror. “He was too busy being dramatic over text.”
I didn’t even blink, just scooped her into my arms, so damn tired of these games.
Willa yelped, hooking her arms around my neck. “Lincoln! You’re being ridiculous. I got to the sink just fine. I could get back just fine too.”
“Uh-huh. I bet you slunk out of bed the second you sent that text, and it took you the full thirteen minutes just to make your way over there.”
“You’re a pain in my ass,” she grumbled. Noticeably not denying it.
“And you’re limping.”
“I’m not—” Her breath caught as I shifted her weight, her mouth pinching in a grimace.
My smile dropped as I scanned her expression. “Hurts worse than you let on, doesn’t it?”
She didn’t answer. Didn’t have to. It was written over every tight line of her face.
I strode to the bed as fast as I dared, setting her on the mattress like she was breakable. Which, for the record, she absolutely fucking was when she was like this. Too proud to ask for help. Too stubborn to admit she needed it.
I arranged her pillows how she liked, grabbed her refilled water glass and set it on the nightstand, then headed for the stairs.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“Getting your heating pad. And an ice pack. And a gummy. And the takeout I brought home since I know that granola bar you said you had for lunch was actually for breakfast hours ago.”
“You know this is overkill, right?”
“Maybe, but I’m good at it.” I raised a brow in her direction. “Would be a shame to waste all this talent on someone who won’t let me take care of her, don’t you think?”
After grabbing everything from the kitchen, I made my way back upstairs. As much as I hated that she was in pain, I couldn’t deny that taking care of her felt a hell of a lot better than anything else I’d done all day.
I unloaded everything on the bed, grabbing the ice pack first and tucking it gently behind her back.
She exhaled a heavy sigh—weary and exhausted. “You seriously did not have to interrupt your whole day for this, Linc. I’d be fine on my own.”
I snapped my gaze to hers, my jaw ticking. “You really think I’m gonna let you suffer in silence and just go about my day? Jesus Christ, Willa.”
This woman was so goddamn infuriating, I’d hate it if I didn’t love her so much.
Bracing my hands on the mattress on either side of her hips, I leaned over her and met her gaze. “That’s not how this works, wife. You might think thein sickness and healthbit of our fake vows was bullshit, but they fucking mattered to me. When something’s wrong, you come to me. Don’t hide it. Don’t downplay it. Fuckingtell me.”
