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“Hand, too,” he says, grabbing mine before I can tell him no.
He washes away the blood and cleans the cuts on my knuckles. I hiss when he pours rubbing alcohol over them.
“When was the last time you slept?” he asks without looking at me.
I’ve had terrible insomnia for years. It’s helpful considering the weird hours we end up working, but I do tend to crash at the most inopportune times.
“I don’t know.” I rub my face with my free hand. “Wednesday night? Thursday morning?” Tuesday afternoon. And only for a couple of hours.
“You need to sleep.”
“Not tired.”
“Well, you’re laying down with me. Because I don’t want to be alone tonight.”
Translation: I panicked when I saw a gun pointed at your head, and I need you close to me.
I nod. He and Elliot are my rock. Have been for years. So when I get a chance to be there for them, I refuse to let them down. Forget that being vulnerable with someone makes my skin prickle and my stomach turn. They’re the two most important people in my life, and I’d do anything for them.
“Whatever you need, O. Whatever you need.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
OLIVER
IN THE morning, I wake to find Rhett still in bed with me. He’s reading a book silently, unaware that I’ve opened my eyes.
I watch him for a moment. His brows are furrowed in concentration—he’s probably reading some stupid nonfiction book—but other than that, he’s completely relaxed. And while I doubt he slept a wink, at least he’s getting some type of rest.
He glances over at me and smiles. “Morning.”
I let out a groan, still too tired to figure out how to use words.
“I haven’t heard Elliot and Wren get up yet. You want coffee?”
I nod, reaching out and resting my hand on his leg. He’s here. He’s safe. No bullet holes present.
“I’ll go get some started.”
“Okay,” I croak out, rubbing my eyes.
However much I want him to stay and hold me until I wake up all the way, I don’t ask. He’s been sitting up in bed all night. The man is probably so restless he feels like he’s about to burst.
Before he steps out of the room, I sit up. “Rhett.”
He turns.
“Thank you. For staying.”
A faint smile graces his lips, and then he’s gone.
I grab my phone and scroll through my notifications until my eyelids don’t feel like they weigh fifteen pounds each. After getting ready for the day, I head down to the kitchen.
Rhett hands me a cup of coffee with a kiss, and I settle onto a barstool at the counter. He can’t stop doing things with his hands—fiddling with his own cup of coffee, opening and closing a drawer absentmindedly, pulling at his shirt.
How he has spare energy, I’ll never understand.
“I think I’m gonna go on a run.”
