Page 90 of Hunted, Season Three

“You should be sleepin’,” Nolan mirthfully scolds, prompting me to open my eyes, not the least bit surprised to see him strutting in to check on me.

Rather than state the obvious, I casually challenge, “Yeah?So should you.”

He grunts.

Continues his trek around the bed to my side.

Kicks his chin at the untouched sandwich on a grumbled, “You should eat somethin’.”

“Yeah?”I mock at the same time my head hits the headboard.“So should you.”

“That’s it?”Nolan arrives near the bedside table.“You’re jus’ gonna pout in here like a spoiled brat?”

“You wouldn’t let me pout out there like your worried future husband.”

A loving but firm grasp is given to my chin.“I don’t want you pouting period.”

Cutting my attention elsewhere is ceased courtesy of a tighter hold.

“I want yousleepin’.I want youeatin’.I want you fuckin’ healin’, leavin’ me one less thing to stress about.”It’s impossible not lean into his touch.“I didn’t send your ass in here to punish you.”The corner of his lips kicks upward.“I would’ve jus’ put you over my knee for that.”

Light chuckles instantaneously spark louder murmurs of discomfort.

“Need another dose?”inquires my disheveled looking older half on a rattling of the bottle that’s in his other hand.

“Yeah.”

“Eat.”

Pushing his arm away precedes a huffed, “You fucking serious right now?”

“Like the Lambo purchasing process.”

Not glaring is impossible.

“Bunch of pain pills on an empty,dehydrated stomach, ain’t good, Kid.”He flops down on the edge of the mattress beside me.“And I didn’t have to go to med school to figure that shit out.”There isn’t time for a retort, let alone a snarky one.“Have a couple bites, some water, and then I’ll give you more meds.”

No movement is made.

“Or,” he harshens his tone, “you can keep being fuckin’ stubborn and continue to suffer and I’ll leave with the pills.”

“I can just get ‘em myself.”

“I’ll put ‘em on the highest fuckin’ shelf possible.”

“Nolan.”

“One that requires me to use Rabbit’s stepstool.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“And then I’ll fuckin’hidethe stepstool downstairs somewhere in the shop.”

“That’s fucked up.”

“So’s you refusin’ to do theonething I’m askin’.”

“Technically, eating and drinking aretwothings.”An urge to grin is almost given into.“Sir.”

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