Page 48 of Destined Prey
“Best fucking idea I’ve had in ages,” Rhett groused. “And it’s happening. My head’s fine. It’s my brain that’s a mess. Seeing all this—shifters and guts and gore. Can’t stay sane with that stuff happening. Not without a few beers.”
“I’m checking your head, and other bruises,” Jack warned. “No beer until I do.”
Rhett stopped by the kitchen door. “Fine. Check me over so I can relax.” He swung around and moved into the living room. “I’m just gonna lie down while you do it.” He flopped onto the couch. “Ouch. Ribs. Shit.”
“Mmhm. All right, I’m checking those again too. Ben, could you get the ibuprofen, a glass of water and an ice pack? The meds are on the microwave.”
“Sure.”
“And a beer,” Rhett added.
“Thanks.” Jack started at Rhett’s head. “You would give a phrenologist a field day.”
“What’s a phrenologist?” Rhett asked.
“Um. A quack. Centuries ago, they thought you could read a person’s skull, the bumps and all, and that would tell you about their personality and other stuff.” Jack checked Rhett over. “Well, nothing seems fractured or torn. No blood, just another lump. It’s a good thing you’re so hard-headed.”
“Yeah, it is.” Rhett sighed happily as Ben handed him a cold beer. “Oh, and I got a hold of your ex earlier.”
“Hm?” Ben sat in the chair by the couch.
“Alex,” Jack said. “I guess we need to have a talk about him, but not right now.”
“Well, at least let me tell you that he reallyisin some rehab center that specializes in alcoholism and behavioral issues. I even talked to his case worker there. Alex has no delusions of getting you back, though he does need to apologize to you at some point, supposedly.” Rhett shrugged, then grimaced. “Ouch. Again. Anyway, that apology part is up to you. You don’t have to let him. He’s having your stuff shipped here, though, as part of doing the right thing.”
Jack didn’t know how he felt about Alex getting help, except he guessed it was a good thing—if it stuck.
“So that’s handled.” Rhett took a long drink, then started to sit up. “Shit. Should check the livestock.”
“We’ll do it. There’s enough of us here to make sure everything is just as it should be.” Jack patted Rhett’s shoulder gently. “Just relax. If you don’t want to be alone, I can send someone in. Casey, maybe.” The devil made him say that, or at least that’s what Jack would claim.
“I’d rather have Ernesto in his creepy-as-fuck form, thanks, but I’m fine by myself.” Rhett sank back down on the couch. He set his beer on the coffee table. “I’m just gonna try to erase all the nightmares in the making from my brain.”
“Good luck. We’ll be back when we’re done. I have my phone. Yours is…” Jack spied it on the end table. “Do you just not carry it?”
“No one ever called much,” Rhett said. “No need to keep it with me all the time.”
Jack winced. “Well, we sucked at staying in touch, but now you’re stuck with me.” He got up, retrieved the phone, then gave it to Rhett. “Okay. We’re off.”
“Damn right you are.” Rhett snickered.
Jack smiled, amused by the teasing. He and Ben went back outside and, in short order, had everyone helping out, Ernesto and Robin included, since the mess they’d been working on had been dealt with.
“I like this, having everyone here. You think your pack would consider living on the ranch?” Jack asked. “We could figure something out. Build a house or put a nice trailer in here. You’d have a longer drive to work, though.”
“I wouldn’t mind. I’ll talk to Casey in a week or two and see what he says.” Ben slipped an arm around Jack’s waist. “That work for you?”
“Yeah.” Jack couldn’t hold back a grin. He was suddenly so very happy. “Everything about you works for me, Ben.”
The joy Jack felt was reflected back at him in Ben’s eyes. “Same goes, Jack.” Then he kissed Jack, and together, they headed back to the house.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“Ithought we were never gonna be alone,” Ben grumbled, locking Jack’s bedroom door. “God, what a day. It’s freaked me out. You’ve gotta be twigged.”
“Twigged?” Jack seemed to consider that. “Nah. Once I accepted that shifters are real, everything that comes after that’s easy to believe. Even Ernesto as a hellhound. I can’t remember his other name for what he is.”
Ben let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. If Jack could shrug off hellhounds and nightmare nights, maybe they really could just…be.
