Page 44 of Wolf Lost

Strong Enough

The plan for the afternoon was for Sawyer and Dez to go to the shop and do interviews. Well, for Sawyer to do interviews, and Dez to sit around looking menacing. Sawyer figured if a potential employee couldn’t handle Dez’s presence, they probably wouldn’t be a good fit for the shop.

Ash had one of his baking classes, which had now produced both decent brownies and passable, if dry, scones. Gavin said they were supposed to be like that, so Dez guessed it was okay.

Gavin, for the first time in the seven years Dez had known him, was going on a date.

A local sheriff’s deputy had stopped by the shop to check on how things were going and introduce himself, and he’d been immediately taken with Gavin. Gavin had been more reticent, but that was Gavin. For all they knew, he was head over heels for the guy.

Dez didn’t think so, but Gavin was less emotive than Dez. He just didn’t get called on it as often because he was good at putting up a friendly facade.

Since they all had plans, of course Dez woke up with more pain than usual in his leg. He lay there in bed for a long time, hoping it would recede, but it kept throbbing at him, taunting him.

Made plans, did you? Guess what, I’m still here to make things difficult for you.

He wasn’t going to let Ash or Gavin cancel their plans to go with Sawyer, so he did his best to pretend it wasn’t acting up. He sat as much as possible and struggled to find a position that didn’t make it try to seize up.

Ash had just left the house, and the three of them were all sitting around the giant sofa in the den when Sawyer finally broke. “What’s going on?”

“Going on?” Avoiding the subject wasn’t going to work, but for some obnoxious, stubborn reason, Dez decided to give it a shot.

Sawyer rolled his eyes and motioned to Dez’s entire person. “You keep moving around, like you can’t settle for a minute. And you’re being pissy.”

Dez frowned at that. “Pissy? The hell is that supposed to mean?”

Sawyer planted his hands on his hips and scowled. “Seriously? You can’t convince me you don’t know how you’re acting. Gavin, tell him he’s acting funny.”

Gavin, who was staring at the notes Sawyer had made for his previous interviews, waved a dismissive hand. “Dez, you’re acting funny.”

“I’m not.” Dez stood up too fast and doubled over in pain as the cramp that had been threatening all day came barreling in and brought all its friends. It was so bad that he felt his gorge rise and had to swallow hard to keep from throwing up right in the den. He stood there for a long time, breathing and clutching his leg.

When he looked up, Sawyer was on his knees in front of him. His hands were stretched out as though he wanted to touch the leg, but he hesitated.

Instead of the disappointment he’d first seen in those warm brown eyes upon learning of his disability, there was pain there. For some reason, probably because his leg fucking hurt, that was worse. He was the one in goddamn pain, not Sawyer.

Even Gavin was looking at him in concern, and he had to bite back the urge to say something nasty for no reason.

“Maybe you should spend the afternoon in the hot tub, and I can do the interviews on my own,” Sawyer suggested softly.

Dez scowled at him. “I’m fine. The first one is in, what, half an hour? We should—” Another wave of pain hit when he tried to straighten, but he bit it back, clenching his jaw so tight his teeth made squeaky noises. “We should go.”

Sawyer threw up his hands in frustration. “This is ridiculous, Dez. I can do the interviews. They’re not hard. You can stay here and take care of your leg.”

“I’m not letting you go alone.”

He knew as soon as the words were out that they’d been wrong. Hell, maybe he knew before, and in some way, it had been deliberate—an attempt to piss Sawyer off. It worked.

“You’re not letting me,” Sawyer said, voice devoid of inflection.

Instead of doing what he knew damn well he should: apologizing, fixing it, telling Sawyer that of course he could handle things on his own, Dez’s mouth doubled down without consulting any other part of him. “No, I’m not.”

He pulled the keys to his truck out of his pocket—like him driving was possible, let alone a good idea—and the second he got them free, his hand spasmed and he dropped them on the plush rug in front of the couch.

Worse yet, even after the spasm, it kept trembling.

Sawyer reached down and snatched up the keys. “You seriously think you’re going to drive like this? Sit through four interviews without biting some kid’s head off? No. You’re staying here.”

“You don’t get to tell me what to—”

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