“I’m going to tell you something that you and your brother both need to know, and I need this to resonate in your soul,” I said.
His eyes locked on mine. Well, more on my mouth than my eyes. But it was good enough.
“You’re both idiots.”
His gaze tore away from my lips, and his eyes narrowed. I squished his cheeks together before he could snarl at me.
“And if either of you wastes one more damn day on the fact that you two have both worked so hard and given so much to this town in your own ways, then the idiocy is terminal, and there’s no cure.”
I released his face and leaned back.
“If this is your way of cheering me up about my brother getting shot, you suck at it.”
My smile spread slowly. “Take it from me, Viking. You and your brother have a chance to fix things and have an actual relationship. Some of us aren’t that lucky. Some burnt bridges can’t be rebuilt. Don’t burn one over something as stupid as money.”
“That only works if he wakes the fuck up,” he reminded me.
I blew out a breath. “Yeah. I know.”
We sat in silence. His knee and arm were warm and firm against mine.
“Mr. Morgan?” A nurse in blue scrubs stepped into the room. Knox and I both came to our feet. I wondered if he realized he’d taken my hand.
“Your brother is awake, and he’s asking for you,” she said.
I blew out a sigh of relief.
“How is he?” Knox asked.
“Groggy and he’s looking at a long recovery, but the surgical team is happy.”
The tension in his back and shoulders loosened.
I gave his hand a squeeze. “On that note, I think I’ll head home to get Waylay’s cereal and dish detergent ready.”
He tightened his grip on my hand. “Can we have a minute?” he asked the nurse.
“Sure. I’ll be right outside. I’ll take you to him as soon as you’re ready.”
He waited until she stepped outside before drawing me in close.
“Thank you, Naomi,” he whispered just before his lips met mine. Hot, hard, unyielding. His hand slid up to cup my jaw and neck, holding me in place as he kissed every thought out of my head, leaving me nothing but a riot of sensation.
He pulled back, eyes fierce. Then he pressed a kiss to my forehead and left the room.
TWENTY-TWO
ONE HATCHET TWO BULLETS
Knox
“You look like shit,” Nash rasped.
The lights were on low in the room. My brother was propped up in his hospital bed, chest bare to reveal bandages and gauze over his left shoulder.
Machines beeped, screens glowed.
He looked pale. Vulnerable.