Leverage. Timing. Precision.
Those were the words he used in nearly every speech, every lesson.
And I’m going to incorporate each one. Only this time, it’s not to get ahead. It’s to protect someone who actually matters. Someone who didn’t ask for a war and still got dragged into mine.
Guess I’m more like him than I thought.
Just not the version he was.
Better.
Tammy’s message comes through with a link.
I click it.
And there it is—buried in the fine print. Something I never saw coming. But something I canabsolutelyuse.
CHAPTER 49
RESET
RORIE
I popmy next round of pain meds, chasing it with lukewarm water and a grimace. Not because I need the full dose right this second, but because my thigh is throbbing and my pride is in shreds and I’m tired of pretending that I’m not bothered by that.
Four hours. Like clockwork.
The dull ache says: still human. Still healing.
The sharp one says:he’s still out there.
And then, Nolan is there, standing in the open space that connects our rooms.
No storm in his expression. Only soft eyes, a twitch in his jaw, and a thin hoodie stretched across his built chest because the universe is really leaning into the wholetorture Rorietheme tonight.
“You okay?” His voice is rough around the edges like maybe he’s not.
My mouth opens, but I hesitate. I want to tell him I’m fine. That I’m great. That I’m not actively reliving every second of that ATV crash and the way he didn’t say a word when Thatcher shut him up like a puppet on strings. And how he doesn’t stand up for himself, or for what’s right when it matters.
I nod. “I’m fine.”
His eyes narrow. He doesn’t buy it. But he doesn’t push it either.
Instead, he steps into my room.
And for the first time in hours, I feel my breathing level out. Maybe this painkiller won’t have to do all the heavy lifting tonight.
“I brought dinner. Thought we could eat outside? I figured the view might be a decent distraction from today.”
The air between us fills with tension-laced silence. His gaze drops to my leg for the briefest second before snapping back up.
I shift on the bed. “Uh, yeah–sure.”
He steps back, revealing a cart covered in silver covered dishes, entrees, desserts, a mini fondue pot situation. And a waffle maker?
I stare at it, then at him.
“I wasn’t sure what you liked,” he says, suddenly sheepish. “So I got everything.”
