Page 53 of Finders Keepers
Nate approached the bed slowly, taking in the sight before him.
“Hi.” Wesley peered out at him through slitted eyes, a puffy face, and a slanted smile. He looked ten times worse than the night Nate had found him in his car. This time, the bruising covered his entire face. The side of his head and his ear were swollen, too, and bandages wrapped around his ribcage.
“Hey.” Nate took his hand, leaned in, and pressed a kiss against his forehead. “What’s the prognosis?”
“Definitely a concussion. Cracked and bruithed ribs. Tonth of thwelling. Bruithed kidney,” Wesley said, his words slurred once more. “They think the thpeech thing’s from the concussion. Thwelling pressing on thomething, maybe.”
“Ouch. Are they giving you the good narcotics?”
Wesley lifted the other arm with the IV line. “Mmm hmm.”
Nate’s heart clenched. “Good.”
So much love swirled through him. Yes, love. He felt dizzy with the surge of emotion. But loving Wesley felt right and good. The organization had his back, from top to bottom, making his decision easy. His teammates were still a question mark, except for Kincaid, but he’d promised to step into the breach as needed.
Nate had so much he wanted to say but now was not the time. Not in the hospital and not while Wesley was under the influence of a concussion and painkillers. All that could wait. He’d waited this long. What were a few more days?
Wesley sniffed wetly, and Nate noted a few tears tracking down his face. “What’s the matter? Does something else hurt?”
Wesley’s eye pinched closed, and he looked away. “I can’t work. Not recovering from all this. What am I thupposed to do?”
“Hey, hey...” Nate squeezed his hand. “You’ve got a contract with the district, right? Health insurance?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why don’t you know?”
“I rethigned. I think.”
“What? Why?”
“Thomeone narked on me to the principal, and she athked me to thubmit my rethignation.” Wesley swiped at the tears, wincing at the swelling. “Thaid it would be cleaner if I thtepped down myself before the board thtarted athking questions.”
Nate huffed. He had a sneaking suspicion who blabbed.
“Okay, listen…” Nate ran a thumb across Wesley’s knuckles. “You’re not doing this alone. Not anymore.”
* * * * *
The following morning, Wesley was watching the door when it finally inched open and Nate peeked in. The look in his eyes made Wesley’s chest ache—like Nate was seeing something he’d almost lost. Like he wasn’t going to let Wesley out of his sight again.
Wesley’s throat constricted. His body tensed, ribs flaring with pain, but he barely noticed. His fingers gripped the edge of the blanket, heart thudding—not from fear, but from sheer, aching want. The kind that had nothing to do with romance novels or fantasies, and everything to do with safety, with being seen, and the staggering relief of not being alone.
Nate didn’t smile. Didn’t speak. He set a bag on the floor and crossed the space between them, fast and quiet, and pulled Wesley into the gentlest, most desperate hug of his life.
“Nate…” He breathed his name, gripping the soft tee shirt and inhaling in the scent of home.
“You okay?”
“Better now.” Wesley swallowed a sob.
They clung together for a few moments until Nate kissed the top of his head. “I brought you something.”
He pulled away and fetched the bag by the door and presented Wesley with a red-lidded container like it was something precious.
Wesley unscrewed the lid from the small round plastic dish. A yogurt parfait with his favorite add-ins. “Oh.”
His throat tightened again. It was just yogurt with strawberries, granola, a drizzle of Nutella—but Nate had remembered. Nobody had ever remembered the little things before—not like this. Not when it counted.
