No Saint (Wild Men 6)

“Prison,” I mumble. “Dad. Snakes. They were biting me.”

She snickers. “Really?”

I open an eye and half-glower at her. “I’ll show you my snake if you like.”

“Heh. Thanks for the offer, but not now.” She sits up and fuck, takes her hand off me. “I’ll be right back.”

Where is she going?

“Come back!” I ca

ll after her. “My snake likes you!”

Her answering laughter makes me smile, despite the pounding headache. And she comes back quickly, arranging a covered bowl and a plastic bottle and various boxes on a tray I didn’t even know we had at home.

“What’s all this?”

She waits until I sit up, propping my back against the wall, before placing the tray on my lap. “Eat, drink, take the antibiotics and something to lower that fever. You’ll feel better. But if the fever doesn’t drop by tomorrow, I swear to God I’m dragging you kicking and screaming to a doctor.”

I lift my brows at that image, but I feel too shitty to make a wisecrack about it. My stomach is churning and I have to swallow hard to keep its contents down.

She uncovers the bowl and there’s what looks like a piece of lasagna in it. “Dig in.”

Hoping I won’t puke all over the tray, I take the fork she gives me and get to work. It tastes great, and I tell her so in between bites, until I all but lick the bowl clean. By the time I’m done, I feel better.

And she’s still here. It finally sinks in that she’s brought me all this stuff, that she wants to help me, and I don’t get why.

Well, apart from the fact it was her brother who almost brained me with his rocks. That’s probably the reason. She feels guilty.

I grab the pills and swallow them with the water—antibiotics, painkillers. My stomach’s still unsure about whether it’s gonna turn itself inside out or not, so I lean back against the wall and wait.

“What’s wrong?” she asks.

“Nothing.”

“You keep saying that.” She gives me a critical once-over. “You look a little green.”

I swallow convulsively. Everything seems to be staying down.

“Maybe I should have made you some broth.” She grimaces. “I wasn’t thinking. The hit to your head could have made you nauseous, and with the fever... I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s fine.” I snag her hand, tug until she scoots closer. “That was the best fucking lasagna I’ve ever had.”

She colors and smiles, looking pleased, takes my hand.

It shifts something inside me, I can feel it. Something clicks, and for some reason, everything seems so much brighter all of a sudden, the nightmare dissipating, the sunlight dripping through the windows made of gold.

And then violins will start to play, right? Goddammit. Just how hard did that rock hit me? I’m not one to believe in rainbow-farting unicorns and a bright future.

But I can’t let go, not yet.

“You often cook for your dad and brother?” I ask, surprised to find I really wanna know. “I wouldn’t even know how to start making a lasagna.”

“Nah, Dad usually cooks. He’s a better cook than me, but I want to learn.”

“You like looking after them,” I say quietly.

“I like looking after the people I care for.” Her eyes widen a fraction, as if she hadn’t meant to say that, and color rises to her cheeks.