Chapter Three
Nick surfaced slowly, like his mind was packed in cotton. A steady beep tugged at his attention first then the cool drag of air against his nose. He blinked, vision swimming until the room settled into muted hospital colors—soft gray curtain, the pale wall, the stiff blanket pulled to his waist.
Feeling like he was in some bizarre dream, Nick glanced around the room. Then his gaze lowered. Logan was seated next to his bed, elbows resting on his knees, forehead pressed against his folded hands.
A weight settled in Nick’s chest at the sight of him. Logan shouldn’t be there. Had no reason to be there. Why is the looming thundercloud of a man keeping vigil at my bedside?
As if sensing Nick’s gaze, Logan slowly lifted his head. Something almost worried sat in his gaze, like he was anchored to his chair, refusing to move until Nick had woken up.
They just gazed at each other. Nick’s mind scrambled to catch up.
His body felt heavy, limbs filled with sand.
The faint hum of fluorescent lights pressed against his ears, and somewhere down the hall, a cart rattled over uneven tile.
The smell of antiseptic threaded through the air, not overpowering, just there.
Another reminder he wasn’t home, wasn’t anywhere he wanted to be.
Nick tried to speak but only managed a dry rasp. Clearing his throat, he tried again. “Why are you here?”
They barely knew each other. One brief conversation at a bar didn’t warrant this level of concern from a virtual stranger.
Logan’s attention stayed locked on him, making Nick’s stomach clench. Not from pain this time but from uncertainty. He wanted to pull the blanket tighter, hide under it, but ended up just twisting a handful in his fist.
“Didn’t want you to wake up alone.” His voice had a rumble to it, in a tone that could melt steel.
That hadn’t been the answer he was expecting. Nick wasn’t used to anyone caring. He studied the white sheet covering his legs and picked at the edge.
“How are you feeling?” Logan asked, leaning forward slightly.
Nick stared at the ceiling, avoiding those concerned eyes.
Why had this man stayed? Most people ran for the hills when Nick had an episode.
Even Myron, kind as he was, kept his distance during the worst of it.
Yet here sat Logan, rumpled and tired, like he’d been keeping vigil for hours. It wasn’t like Logan owed him anything.
“Like I got sideswiped by a garbage truck.” Nick attempted a smile that probably looked more like a grimace.
“You scared the hell out of everyone,” Logan said, voice dropping lower. “Especially me.”
The admission hung in the air between them. Nick didn’t know what to do with it, this concern from someone who had no reason to care. “Sorry about the drama.”
The door swung open as a doctor entered, her white coat pristine, electronic tablet in hand.
“Mr. Costa, how are we feeling?” She continued without waiting for a response.
“Your test results show low iron levels, but we couldn’t find anything else wrong with you.
Blood work came back normal aside from the anemia. ”
Normal. Nick wanted to throw the word at the wall and watch it shatter like a cheap plate.
“We’d like to keep you overnight for observation,” she continued, not looking up from her tablet. “Just to be safe.”
“No.” Nick pushed himself upright, ignoring the dizziness that followed. “I’m not staying.”
“Mr. Costa, I strongly recommend—”
“I said no.” His voice trembled despite his efforts to steady it. What was the point? Years of doctors, specialists, tests, and no one had ever found anything conclusive. Just more shrugs, more iron supplements, more suggestions that maybe it was all in his head.
The doctor’s expression tightened, but she nodded. “I’ll have the discharge papers prepared. Against medical advice, of course.”
Whatever. After the doctor walked out, Logan leaned forward, concern etched across his features. “Why are you so determined to leave?”
Something in his voice—genuine worry with zero judgment and about six tons of care—cracked Nick’s defenses. He curled deeper into himself, suddenly cold despite the warmth of the room.
“Because no one ever finds anything,” Nick admitted quietly. “I’ve been dealing with these episodes since I was a kid. Every doctor, every test, they all end the same way. I’m not wasting my time for another round of 'we don't know what’s wrong with you.'”
Logan’s brows furrowed, the vinyl chair creaking beneath him. “You’ve been dealing with this alone all this time?”
The question hit harder than it should’ve.
Yes, he’d been dealing with it alone. His mom had tried, back when she was alive, but after she died, his stepdad had made it clear that Nick’s “attention-seeking episodes” were an inconvenience.
Then his stepdad had remarried, but Bev had been more concerned with her cheating husband than her sick stepson.
Myron tried to help, but he couldn’t understand what it felt like to have your own body betray you while everyone told you it was all in your head.
“I manage,” Nick whispered.
Logan leaned closer, hands loose on his knees. The man’s whole body was one big offer of comfort, but Nick didn’t know how to take it. All that muscle, all that patience. Why was this guy wasting time on him?
Nick tried swinging his legs off the bed.
They barely reached the linoleum. Hospital air pricked at the hair on his thighs.
Logan was already in motion. His hand settled at Nick’s elbow, supporting but not coddling.
Nick sucked in a breath. Warmth radiated up through Logan’s palm, solid and real and a little overwhelming.
He glanced up and met Logan’s gaze. Those eyes, dark and unreadable, watched him like he was the only thing in the room. Nick’s heartbeat tripped.
“Careful,” Logan murmured.
Nick’s knees went soft. The room spun sideways. Logan’s arm circled his back, holding him upright without effort.
“Easy,” Logan said, the word rumbling low. “Just give it a second.”
The air was too thick, and the gown was riding up. Nick just wanted out of here before the walls closed in.
He tried to jerk his arm away, but that made the dizziness worse.
“Let’s get you dressed,” Logan said.
Nick focused on the bag with his clothes folded at the bottom.
Fumbling with the drawstring, he wrestled out his black jeans and faded tee.
His hands shook. It took two tries to get the pants on right.
Logan steadied him, fingers gentle but strong, lifting the waistband over Nick’s hips and helping him snap the button.
The shirt went easier, but Nick still missed the head hole and nearly poked himself in the eye. Logan made a quiet sound, almost a laugh, and untwisted the fabric before easing it over Nick’s head.
No one had dressed him since he was a kid.
He wanted to say something smart, but nothing came to mind, his brain replaced by static.
Shoving his arms through the sleeves, Nick sat back on the edge of the bed, dizzy again. A nurse passed in the hallway, rolling a cart with supplies, plastic wheels bumping over the divider. Voices echoed from another room, muted and distant.
Logan knelt down and helped Nick slide his shoes on. His fingertips brushed Nick’s ankle. Electricity zipped up Nick’s leg. Warm, not shocking. He curled his toes inside the shoe, his breath catching.
“Thanks,” he managed, voice hoarse. “You really don’t have to do all this.”
Logan rose to his full height, gaze steady. “I want to.”
Something in Nick melted and crumpled all at once.
“Ready?”
A wild laugh built in Nick’s chest. “You even have to ask?”
But he didn’t want to go home alone. He didn’t want Logan to leave, though saying that out loud felt like too much. Too fast. Too needy. Instead, he mumbled, “Will you stay with me tonight?”
Logan’s hand tightened just slightly then relaxed. “Yeah. I’ll stay.”
They set out into the hallway, Nick using Logan as a crutch. Past the nurses’ station, where a nurse handed over a folder of paperwork. “Sign here,” she said. The pen was cold in Nick’s hand, his signature barely legible.
Logan navigated the maze of hallways, Nick tucked close under his arm. Out the doors into the night. Summer heat wrapped around them, thick and welcome. The smell of trees, cut grass, and car exhaust replaced the sterile hospital stink.
Nick’s knees went slack again. He sagged, but Logan caught him. He didn’t even look bothered. He just gripped Nick tight and steered them through the lot.
A truck sat at the far end, gleaming blue under the parking lights.
Logan helped him into the passenger seat of his truck, fingers lingering on Nick’s thigh as he made sure the belt clicked right.
Nick’s pulse hammered. It was almost too much, that tenderness.
Nobody stayed. Nobody waited out the bad parts.
The closing of the door made the truck feel like a cocoon.
Logan circled to the driver’s side and climbed in, his hands steady on the wheel.
Nick gave his address as the engine came to life.
In the quiet between them, Nick watched the streetlights spin away, the truck bouncing over potholes as they left the lot.
Wind slipped through the cracked window, sticky with night air. Logan didn’t say much. He just drove, one hand loose on the wheel, the other reaching over to steady Nick’s knee whenever he swayed in his seat.
The world slowed down. Logan’s scent filled the cab, familiar now. Nick relaxed for the first time since waking. His head thudded back against the rest. The last of the pain ebbed, replaced by exhaustion so heavy he might have slept right there.
“So,” Logan said, words barely above a murmur, “you ever gonna let someone take care of you?”
It threw Nick off. In a good way.
He shrugged, eyelids drifting shut. “Not used to it.” He kept his voice soft. “Usually, people get tired of the drama before the second round.”
Logan’s grip tightened, thumb stroking the inside of Nick’s knee. “Almost home.”
“Think you can help me up the stairs?” Nick’s voice sounded thin, even to him.
“Count on it. I won’t let you fall.”
The words buzzed through Nick like warm honey. He almost laughed. Man, he was getting mushy. But it felt good, being wanted, being looked after, even if only for a night.
Logan pulled into the lot, parking in the closest spot. He killed the engine and slid out, moving around to Nick’s side before he could even reach for the door handle.
“Let’s get you upstairs,” Logan said, offering an arm.
Nick nodded and took it, his hands shaky again.
Streetlights hummed overhead, bugs spinning frantically under each one.
The walk to the front door felt like moving through molasses.
Logan didn’t rush. He just moved at Nick’s pace, matching every one of his faltering steps.
By the time they reached the second floor, Nick’s legs shook so badly he had to lean in, both hands braced on Logan’s thick forearm.
“Last flight,” Logan murmured. “Almost there.”
Once inside the apartment, Nick collapsed onto the couch. Sweat prickled everywhere, but this was his space, his things. Boots by the door. Plant still alive on the sill.
He breathed easier knowing he was finally home.
* * * *
After his roller-skating date with Jamie then a late dinner at Hash It Out, Sloane was beyond ready to head home. At least this time he hadn’t fallen a dozen times on his hip. Only four times.
Jamie slid into the passenger seat of the Charger, a yawn stretching across his face as he settled against the leather.
Movement in Sloane’s peripheral made every muscle lock. Footsteps approached from the alley between buildings. Sloane closed the passenger door with a soft click, sealing Jamie inside, then turned to face the approaching figure.
He recognized the silhouette.
Mack.
The wolf emerged from shadow like oil sliding across water. Same angular face, same calculating eyes that had made family gatherings a minefield since they were pups. Same swagger, too, like the world owed him something and he’d come to collect.
“Sloane.” His cousin’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. It never did. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
Every instinct within him sharpened to a knife’s edge. Having Mack this close to Jamie made every protective instinct inside Sloane flare. His wolf wanted to bare teeth, establish dominance, make it clear his mate was off-limits. But revealing Jamie’s importance would paint a target on his back.
“Could say the same. What’re you doing in town, Mack?”
“Can’t a guy visit?” His gaze slid past him to the car. “Making new friends?”
That wasn’t curiosity. That was the first poke of a predator looking for weakness.
One wrong twitch and not even your memory will survive me. Sloane angled his body to block the view of Jamie, who’d dozed off to sleep. “Answer the question.”
“Business.” Mack shrugged, studying Sloane with an intensity that made his skin crawl. “Nothing that concerns you.”
Bullshit. Business meant trouble, always had with Mack. The family had severed ties years ago, but he had a way of resurfacing, a wound that still bled poison.
“How’s Logan?” Mack asked. Bringing up Sloane’s brother was like dropping a match near gasoline. For his cousin, this wasn’t concern, conversation, or even curiosity. It was a pressure point. A wolf nosing a fresh wound just to see the reaction.
Sloane catalogued the distance between them, the empty street, the way Mack’s jacket hung loose enough to hide weapons. He didn’t ask. Years of experience had taught him that Mack fed on reactions. He grew bolder with every flinch or snarl. It was better to be stone than give him ammunition.
“Give him my regards.” Mack’s smile widened, all teeth and no warmth. “Tell him I said hello.”
Like hell. Logan would lose his mind if he knew Mack was sniffing around town. Last time their cousin showed up, it had taken three pack members to pull Logan off him.
“You should go.” Not a suggestion. Sloane’s voice carried the kind of calm that preceded violence.
Mack raised both hands in mock surrender. “No need for hostility. Just passing through.” His gaze flicked once more to the car. “Cute passenger. Anyone special?”
The question slithered through the air. Sloane’s wolf snarled silently, his hackles rising at the threat, because that was what this was. His cousin didn’t do innocent questions.
“Nobody you need to concern yourself with.”
“If you say so.” Mack stepped backward, melting into shadow, like he’d never been there at all. “See you around, cousin.”
Sloane waited until he no longer heard footsteps before pulling out his phone. Logan picked up on the second ring.
“Let me guess. You need a wingman to close a deal.” He tsked. “Sorry, bro. Tonight you’re on your own.”
“Mack’s in town.” Sloane kept his voice low, eyes scanning the empty street. “Just ran into him outside Frothy Pine.”
Silence stretched across the line. Then Logan’s voice came back, harder than granite. “The fuck is he doing here?”
“Said he’s here on business, but you know how reliable his explanations are.”
“Get your ass home now.” The line went dead.
Sloane slid behind the wheel, and then the engine purred to life. He pulled away, Jamie’s soft breathing the only sound in the car. His wolf settled slightly, content at their mate right next to them.
Whatever had brought Mack to town, it wouldn’t touch Jamie. Sloane would make damn sure of it.