ADAM
I only leftthe hospital long enough to shower, eat something vaguely edible, and take a three-hour nap that did little to ease my exhaustion.
Truth was? I didn’t want to leave him. The second I stepped into my house, I hated it. It was too quiet. Tooempty.
Fletcher should’ve been here. Chattering about what to watch on TV. Giving me puppy-dog eyes for the last cookie. Flashing that impish-yet-innocent half-smile like he hadn’t just been on death’s doorstep.
Instead, he was laid up in a hospital bed, stitched and bruised and swathed in clean white bandages like my own personal mummy.
And I hated it.
Needing to be with him, I rushed back to the hospital before visiting hours could end for the day. I returned to Fletcher’s room, my arms loaded with vending machine junk—apple juice boxes, trail mix, fruit snacks—as well as a couple of cat-themed adult coloring books. I’d seen his eyes light up the last time we passed the store display of art supplies.
So maybe I wanted to spoil him a little.
When I walked in, he blinked at me through sleepy eyes, and for a split second, I saw something flicker across his face. Guilt? Maybe a bit of confusion? Like he wasn’t sure he deserved to see me again.
Why would he feel guilty? He didn’taskto be attacked. Those bastards had left him bleeding in the street, and yet he looked like he was the one who needed to apologize.
I didn’t ask about it. No need to pick fresh scabs off of newly-healing wounds.
I sat down in the chair beside his bed and piled the stack of goodies on his little plastic hospital tray. His eyes widened. He glanced first at the treats and then at me.
“You brought all this for me?” His voice sounded impossibly small, and right then, I wanted to wrap him up in my arms, hold him close and tell him everything would be okay.
Instead, I said, “Of course, Fletch. I know how bad hospital food is.” Giving him a wink, I fiddled with one of the apple juice boxes, unwrapping the straw before poking it through the tiny foil hole. Juice dripped out of the straw and onto my hand, so I licked it off. “Mmm, tasty.”
I handed it to him and his entire face melted into a look of pure joy. He took the juice box in both hands and sucked it down until the carton collapsed.
Then he giggled, soft and airy. “Thank you…”
“You’re very welcome. I brought you some coloring books and a pack of colored pencils, too,” I said, gesturing to the art supplies.
He bit down on his lower lip, his lashes lowering, fanning his pale cheeks. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I know,” I said. “But I wanted to, so I did. You want to color together?” I reached over and flipped through one of the books, showing off all the cool cat pictures he could fill in. My chest tightened with emotion when Fletcher’s eyes filled with tears.
“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”
“You saved my life…” he uttered.
“And I’d do it a hundred times over,” I promised, reaching over to lace my fingers through his. I gave them a gentle squeeze. “As soon as you’re better, you’ll come home and everything will be okay again. I’ll install better security. Those assholes won’t get another chance to hurt you, I promise.”
I watched his throat work as he swallowed before finally nodding. “Thank you.”
Then he took one of the books, flipped to a picture of a cute tiger-striped cat with sunglasses and a boombox, and grabbed a yellow pencil.
I smiled and grabbed a coloring book of my own. “Let’s get to work.”
I stayed as longas they let me. Every night I left reluctantly, and every morning I returned like I hadn’t slept a wink. Maybe I hadn’t.
The manor felt all wrong without him. Off-kilter. Like I was walking around missing a piece of myself.
It was foolish. In the grand scheme of things, we’d only known each other few months. He was a homeless stray I’d picked up off the streets like some wayward kitten. I had no claim to him, no right to feel this damnpossessiveover an Omega I shouldn’t even want.
But tell that to my wolf.
The longer he stayed in that hospital bed, the more agitated I became. Every time a nurse touched him, I tensed. One of them, a tall man with roaming hands, got a little too casual adjustingFletcher’s bandages, and I growled before I even realized it. A low, teeth-baringgrowl.
