Ride Wild (Raven Riders 3)

She smiled. “Sure.”

On a bone-deep sigh, Slider sat on the bed’s edge and kicked off his boots, and then he went horizontal still wearing his jeans and T-shirt. Cora laid her cheek against her arm, her face turned away from Slider toward Ben, her blond waves a soft cascade against the white hospital blankets.

And damnit all to hell, but it played with uncomfortable things inside his chest to see her like that. Things he didn’t want played with. Not ever again.

So he closed his eyes. And woke up two and a half hours later when the nurse came into the room to check Ben’s vitals. The kid hardly stirred, but Cora was still awake and making small talk with the woman about how her night was going.

“Your turn to get some sleep,” Slider said when they were alone again.

“Don’t worry about it. Go back to sleep.”

“We had a deal,” he said, his voice like gravel. Years of exhaustion did that to a man.

“Later,” she said, her expression soft with sleepiness. He forced himself into a sitting position, his stiff movements making him feel ancient. “You need it more than I do.”

He shook his head and pushed to his feet. “I’m not hogging the bed all night while you sit up in that hard chair.”

“Don’t be stubborn,” she said. “Sleep.”

He arched a brow. As much as he wanted to lie back down, he wasn’t doing it at her expense. “It’s your turn.”

“Slider—”

“Cora—”

She sighed. “I’m trying to take care of you, too.”

The words were like a sucker punch. Just nearly laid him flat out on the floor. And he had no idea how to reply. So he said the first thing that came to his mouth. “We could share the bed. To sleep.” As if that clarification had been necessary. For. Fuck’s. Sake.

“As opposed to?” Her brow lifted in a taunting little arch.

He scrubbed at his face. “As opposed to nothing. I just meant—”

“Don’t have a coronary, Slider. I was just teasing.” She eased her hand out of Ben’s grip. “You sure?”

“Yeah. Of course.” As she stepped into the little bathroom, he lay down again and made sure his body hugged the edge. And then he tried to remember the last time anyone had teased him. Definitely not since Kim’s death. Man, once upon a time, he’d been teased relentlessly. It was how he’d received his nickname. Slider. He’d been on a ride up on the back roads of South Mountain with a bunch of other Ravens and taken a turn too fast. He’d wiped out, his bike just sliding out from underneath of him right off the road. And he’d walked away without a scratch, earning a new handle now sewn onto the name patch on his club cut.

For freaking ever, it’d seemed at the time, he hadn’t lived that shit down. And, really, all he could do was take it and laugh. Not that he’d really minded.

But he’d lost all the easy rapport he’d once shared with his club brothers. Lost it to his grief and humiliation and shame. Lost it to caring for two brokenhearted, motherless boys—kids Slider wanted to make sure never learned the truth about their parents. Lost it when he’d withdrawn from the world around him rather than hear a million well-meaning but clueless people try to console him by saying how much Kim had loved him and how great a couple they’d been.

Damnit all to hell.

Finally, Cora emerged from the bathroom and toed off her sneakers. As she settled on her side facing him, she let out a little moan that stirred things that had no business stirring. “My back was getting tired, so thanks.”

He tugged the covers up to his stomach. “Don’t thank me when you’re the one going above and beyond.”

“I’m not doing anything more than anyone else would do for people they care about,” she said, her voice trailing off into a yawn. “I’m just glad Ben’s okay.”

The words hung there between them for a long moment, and Slider’s brain swam with possible responses as he stared at the ceiling. She was doing more than others would do. And in saying they were people she cared about, did she include him in that?

I’m trying to take care of you, too.

Her earlier words ping-ponged around in his brain, and he allowed himself to believe. On some level, Cora cared about him.

What the hell was he supposed to do with that? Or with the weird satisfaction it unleashed in his chest?

Finally, he manned up to meet her gaze, and turned his head to the side. “I’m glad you’re in our lives, Cora,” he said, his heart pounding from the unusual admission.

But he was too late. Her eyes were closed. Her breathing was soft and even. Her pretty mouth was slack.

Probably just as well. No matter how true his statement had been, the sentiment still raised complications he was in absolutely no shape to handle.