Page 275 of By His Rule

“I’m missing a killer party for this,” Wilder complains after a few minutes of me holding my tongue.

I didn’t want to talk to Tate about it, so I’m certainly not telling my seventeen-year-old brothers that my boss screwed my brains out on his desk not so long ago.

“I’m sure you can cope,” Hendrix deadpans.

“The cheerleader I had lined up won’t,” Wilder mutters.

“Oh, how my heart bleeds.”

If looks could kill, Hendrix would be six feet under right now.

Thankfully, a doctor interrupts their argument before it can really get started.

He gives me a rundown of Wilder’s concussion and gets me to sign some paperwork before letting us know that as long as his vital signs are okay over the next hour or so, we’ll be able to take him home.

Home…

Quite honestly, I think I’d rather spend the night here.

“You okay?” I ask as Hendrix and I help Wilder into the trailer.

I didn’t think it was possible, but the place looks worse than the last time I was here.

How it’s still standing is a miracle in itself.

“Yes,” he groans. “I am still capable of walking, you know.”

“The doctor said you could get dizzy spells. We’re just?—”

“Being overprotective.”

“Don’t blame us. There was a moment we thought you were dead, man,” Hendrix snaps, his concern for his twin brother coming through so strong that Wilder doesn’t say another word until we lower him to his bed.

“Thank you,” he says quietly. “I really do appreciate it.”

He looks at Hendrix first, then at me.

“We’d do anything for you, and you know it.”

He smiles before looking between us at Noelle, who’s once again loitering in this family moment.

“I’d do the same for you.”

“But thankfully, we’re not stupid enough to risk our lives every Friday night,” Hendrix muses.

“It’s not my fault that you’re not as cool as me.”

“Matter of opinion,” Hendrix says before turning toward me. “Are we really not allowed to let him sleep?”

“Nope. Not for a few hours yet.”

“I’m hungry,” Wilder complains.

“He must be feeling better,” I point out with a smirk. “What do you all want? I’ll order takeout. What?” I ask when they all just stare at me.

“No one will deliver at this time,” Noelle explains, reminding me that I’m no longer in Chicago.

“Shit. Do you have anything in?” I ask, but I already know the answer.

---