The nurse backed off. Fast.
I didn’t apologize.
I just sat back down and took Fletcher’s hand, while he stared at me in shock and awe of what had just happened. I looked into his olive-green eyes and smiled. “I’ll take care of you,” I said.
And I meant it.
Three days passed like molasses.And then finally, they released him.
When one of the nurses brought up a wheelchair, I declined it. Both Fletcher and the nurse looked confused, but I waved them off. Then I picked Fletcher up like he weighed nothing at all and carried him out of the hospital like the big, bad wolfy badass that I was.
If he wanted to protest, he didn’t; he only squeaked and wrapped his arms tightly around my neck, as if afraid I might drop him and injure him further.
No way in hell.
I carried him out to where my car was parked, then carefully tucked him into the passenger seat. Making sure his belt was secure, I walked around the front and got in, put the key in the ignition, and drove off towards home.
Fletcher was quiet the entire ride. It wasn’t until we pulled into my driveway that he broke his silence, peering over at me from beneath his fringe of overgrown coppery-red bangs.
“Adam,” he murmured, the tips of his ears turning pink. “I’m okay. Really. I can walk.”
“Yeah?” I said, unbuckling his seatbelt. “Too bad I’m not letting you.”
Before he could object, I scooped him up in my arms and carried him inside. He felt warm and solid against my chest, yet fragile at the same time.
He tried again when we reached the hallway. “Seriously. I’m not dying.”
I paused outside my bedroom door and looked down at him, something catching in my throat. The truth was sharp as glass.
“You scared me,” I said quietly. “I keep seeing you on the ground, covered in blood and bite marks. You weren’t moving, Fletcher. I thought—” My voice cracked. “Just let me take care of you. Please.”
He blinked up at me, his lips parting like he might speak, but no sound came out. After a moment, he gave a small nod and leaned back against me once more.
I pushed the door open with my hip and carried him inside, settling him down gently on the bed.
He looked around, confused. “Isn’t thisyourroom?”
“Master bath’s in here,” I said, like it was the obvious choice. Which it was, but not for that reason.
The truth was, I needed him close. Not for convenience. For my own sanity. The idea of him down the hall, out of reach, alone? It made my skin crawl. It made my wolf thrash back and forth inside my skull, raising hell like a beast scorned.
He raised an eyebrow like he didn’t believe me, but he didn’t argue.
I brought him dinner in bed that night—tomato soup and grilled cheese, nothing too fancy—and we watched whatever dumb reality show was on.
When it was time to sleep, I changed into my PJs and climbed into bed beside him, cautiously, not wanting to startle him.
He tensed, like he wasn’t sure what to do with me being so close. “I’m okay, Adam,” he murmured, his eyes still on the screen. “Really. I’ll heal.”
But all I could see was his body flayed open again. All I could feel was his blood on my hands and that terrified, glassy look in his green eyes. He’d already suffered more than anyone should ever have to. And I didn’t want him to suffer another second.
My heart was getting tangled in this beautiful, soft-hearted Omega and honestly? I didn’t care what my parents wanted anymore.
My wolf wouldn’t rest unless we were touching. Unless I knew he was safe and sound, and everything was okay.
“I know,” is all that I said.
Eventually, Fletcher shifted against me, his head resting against my chest.
