Her eyes widened. “Cam!”
Hutch chuckled then leaned over the couch to kiss her forehead. “I’ll take my good-night kiss now,” he murmured.
He touched her cheek as he drew away.
“Be a good girl and stay out of trouble, and I’ll cook you breakfast in the morning.”
“Ham and pancakes?” she asked hopefully.
He smiled. “Whatever you want, baby.”
Sawyer buried his face in her hair and kissed the back of her head. “Sleep tight, honey.”
“I’m beginning to get a complex,” she complained. “You guys keep trying to get rid of me.”
Cam reached down and scooped her up. He frowned and glanced over at Hutch. “Better double up on the pancakes. I swear she’s gotten lighter, and she could already be blown over by a stiff wind.”
“You’d rather I weigh a ton?” she asked. “At least then you couldn’t haul me around like a sack of potatoes.”
“Hush,” he said. “I just worry about you. You’ve lost weight.”
“I can still kick your ass,” she muttered.
He laughed as he started up the stairs. “I don’t doubt it, but I’d prefer you wait until you’re a hundred percent before you try it.”
“You know this is ridiculous, don’t you,” she said as he entered her room. “I’m perfectly capable of getting myself to bed.”
“Aren’t there laws about navigating stairs under the influence?”
She rolled her eyes as he placed her on the bed. He proceeded to pull the covers back then moved her up onto the pillows so he could tuck her in. He arranged the ice pack back over her wrist, angled it a few times, and then, apparently satisfied that it would stay in place, he left it alone.
“Good night,” he said. He dropped a kiss on her forehead, and she was vaguely disappointed that he hadn’t kissed her lips.
She was hungry for him.
“Good night,” she whispered.
“I’ll be across the hall if you need me,” he said softly as he moved away from the bed.
He paused at the door and flipped the light off. She burrowed deeper into the cool sheets and embraced the warm glow of the painkiller.
An hour later she was staring at the ceiling wondering why she hadn’t entered the fuzzy, narcotic coma. She was, instead, wide awake. And feeling oddly alone. The ice had melted, and she removed the soggy bag from her wrist.
She turned on her side and stared at her closed door. Were they asleep? Were they even in bed yet? Or were they downstairs hanging out in the living room?
The distance between them sucked. Before, she wouldn’t have given any thought to joining them, hanging out and enjoying their company. Now she worried that she’d give them the wrong idea, not that she was even sure what that was exactly.
How could she give them the wrong idea when they were already rooted in their expectations?
Despite the presence of the medication, her wrist throbbed. She flexed it experimentally and cradled it in her other hand. She flopped onto her back again and resumed staring at the ceiling.
After counting the dots in the textured paint a dozen times, she gave up on the idea of sleep and glanced over at the bedside clock. Midnight.
With a disgusted sigh, she threw off the covers and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She held her wrist to her chest and put her other hand on the edge to push herself up. Despite her state of wakefulness, when she stood, the room spun.
Careful to keep her footing, she shuffled over to the door and opened it. When she stepped into the hall, it was dark. No light filtered up the stairs from the living room.
She glanced left toward Hutch’s bedroom and then across the hall to Cam’s. Both doors were closed with no light on. Her gaze wandered right to Sawyer’s room, and she saw a faint beam shining underneath the door.
