Chapter 15 #3
“Any other options?” Lyle asks.
“I forgot the skull cap,” Dr. Walsh sighs, getting up. “I want you to close your eyes and relax while you have that on. I’ll head out to get you my secret weapon.”
“One of us can go,” Easton says, but Dr. Walsh makes a rude noise and keeps walking. “Damn. Fine then.”
My lips curl up and I kind of drift until the ice cold skull cap is pulled over my head and a heating pad is placed against my stomach. My moan of gratitude is audible, and Lyle rubs my back until I drift into a half sleep.
I’m only vaguely aware of what’s happening, but by the time I open my eyes, I feel hungover. My whimper gets Lyle to pull the cap off and three alphas gaze anxiously down at me.
“You made little noises for the past couple of hours,” Easton says.
“Ugh. I didn’t mean to sleep for so long,” I groan.
“It’s better that you did. Easton started pacing. No one needs to see that,” Silas says.
“I can’t kill what’s hurting you, and I don’t like it,” Easton grumbles. “Dr. Walsh should be back soon with your fries and coke.”
My stomach loudly growls to support how excited it is for that and I chuckle weakly.
“My head doesn’t hurt anymore,” I rasp.
“I don’t want to stall the call you need to make, but I think you should wait till tomorrow morning,” Lyle says, frowning as I glance up at him. “I’m sorry to say that you still sound terrible.”
“Ugh, okay. I’ve been trying to hype myself into doing it,” I reply.
“We’ll hype you tomorrow,” Lyle says, crossing his eyes at me to get me to smile at him. “When people are in pain, it clouds their tone. You’ve waited a long time to speak to your brothers. I want you to be at your best.”
Resigning myself to this, I remind myself that everything he says is true.
“We have Caleb’s number to call him,” Silas says, his head moving toward the front door as it opens and closes. “It’s me,” Dr. Walsh calls out, continuing to the kitchen.
“Between Rosalia’s home and ours, I doubt he spends much time at his own house,” East says under his breath. “I’m not complaining though. The man is a godsend.”
“Here are your fries and coke,” Dr. Walsh says, entering the room. I move to shift positions and Lyle groans in complaint.
“I claim snuggles for the game,” Easton says, smirking as I glance over at him. “Is that alright with you?”
“Ah, yes,” I say, taking the plate from the doctor. Lyle puts the straw into my cup for me, and Silas lays a napkin in my lap.
“Enjoy. I’ll be working in the room upstairs if anyone needs me,” the doctor says, walking out of the room.
“Did he tell anyone about that?” East hisses.
“Nope,” Silas chuckles. “He moved in without telling us. Rosalia is healing well, I suppose he decided he wanted to be closer to you, Alisa.”
“He’s not as grumpy with you,” Lyle shrugs.
I begin to eat tentatively, taking small sips of coke as I do. God, it’s sinfully cold. I moan as I eat, because I can’t tell you the last time I’ve eaten French fries and a coke. Likely when I was a silly teenager enjoying my life.
“This is so good,” I mumble. The brain fog slowly lifts as I eat, and my body relaxes as the last of my migraine drifts away.
“The color is coming back into your cheeks,” East observes. They turned on a lamp while I was sleeping and it’s not bothering me the way it would have when my head first began to hurt.
“The doc mentioned while you were sleeping that system overload can lead to a migraine,” Lyle says. “Today was a big day.”
“Baby’s first murders,” Silas coos, holding his hand over his chest.
“Hush,” I giggle. “And you said I didn’t have any firsts to give me.”
“No, we said the firsts we could give you probably wouldn’t be anything your brothers would want to hear about,” Lyle replies.
I must be punch drunk because I can’t stop giggling about that. I manage to polish off the food Dr. Walsh brought me, and then I’m snuggling with Easton to begin watching the hockey game.
“People say the hockey stretches players do before the game are their favorite part of it,” Lyle smirks as we watch.
“Now I want to go to a game,” I pout, enjoying their growls. “Only to watch Troy stretch though.”
“I’m sure he would give you a private stretching session on the ice,” Lyle says. “He practically lives there once the season starts. Thankfully, his coach has no problems giving us special passes to see him. We needed to convince him to date us.”
“Things seem good now,” I say, breathing in Easton’s scent. “You smell like a coffee drink I’ve never had before.”
“I can rectify this whenever you want,” East murmurs. He’s sprawled on the couch with me on top of him, with one arm keeping the heating pad pressed against my stomach and the other pillowing his head.
He’s watching the television as he speaks, and his lips curl as he inclines his head toward it.
“Our boy is coming out now,” he says. “His number is twenty-six. Let’s teach you how hockey works, shall we?”
Nodding, I watch the television and Silas turns up the volume. I’ll gladly learn hockey to keep my mind off tomorrow.
I’m lucky enough to get one, but that doesn’t mean I can tell the future. Lars and Caleb had a reputation for being hot heads, and I doubt this has changed in the last eleven years.
Finnegan men run toward fiery tempers, it’s simply in their blood.