Page 135 of Spies Don’t Fall for Their Best Friend

“Reese.”

I look up and meet his eyes.

“You got me home. You can go.”

I just stare at him.

He must see something in my face because his expression changes. “You’ve already been at the hospital with me for hours. It’s getting late—you should go home and sleep. I’ll be fine.”

I cock my head. Is he really saying that I shouldn’t rearrange things because he needs help? Interesting. Very interesting. I fold the discharge paperwork once and set it neatly on the counter. Then I set an alarm on my phone for the next time he’ll need medicine before pulling two glasses from his cupboard to get us both water. Then I get out a lemon, a knife, and a cutting board, cut the lemon, and squeeze some into his water.

Miles watches. “What are you doing?”

“Staying to take care of you.” He opens his mouth to say something, but I just point at him. “Do not make me quote your own relationship philosophy at you while you’re holding a urine strainer.”

His mouth closes. Good. Miles Lancaster is extremely good at taking care of everyone else. He’s had considerably less experience letting others take care of him.

That sounds like a him problem.

I’m staying.

CHAPTER 23

OPERATION TINY ROCK

MILES

Having a stone try to make its way to your bladder isn’t the most dignified feeling in the world. My instinct is not to let anyone witness it. But Reese is right—I can’t exactly tell her that helping someone isn’t a tax you pay for loving them, and then not let her help me when I need it.

Plus, I do like having her here, even if I’m feeling way too pampered. She’s already got me comfortable on the couch, organized my medication, given me lemon water, started heating soup, and declared that we need to name my kidney stone.

“What about Kidney Spears?” she says.

I hurt, but the pain isn’t crushing right now. And this helps. “Or Mick Jagger, since this thing making its way through my body is literally a rolling stone.”

She tilts her head. “I don’t know—it feels more like a Keith Richards to me. Oh! Or Urethra Frankstone.”

I chuckle a little, even though it hurts. “What about Dwayne ‘The Kidney Rock’ Johnson? Or Stony Stark.”

“I’ve got it,” Reese says. “The Rock Ness Monster.”

I grin. Reese really does make every bad situation better.

“Chuck Norris once had a kidney stone,” Reese says. “The stone went to the ER.”

I shake my head. “Chuck Norris doesn’t get kidney stones. His kidneys grow ammunition.” I think for a moment, then say, “Maybe we really should name it Chuck. Because it’s been roundhouse-kicking my ureter all day.”

Reese laughs, and I swear the sound makes my body hurt less. “We should definitely name it Chuck. Anything capable of taking down Miles Lancaster deserves the respect.”

And now it’s named Chuck.

I bolt upright when another wave of pain hits, and Reese is immediately at my side, offering her hand. I take it without hesitation, and she keeps me breathing through the pain. I keep thinking that when another wave hits, it won’t be as bad as the last, but every time, it is.

I am good at being injured. I’ve stitched cuts in places where medical assistance wasn’t available. I’ve finished operations with fractured ribs. I once spent nine hours pretending that I hadn’t dislocated my finger because the man I was negotiating with would’ve considered it a weakness.

I know what to do with pain. I’ve gotten through so much of it without her. But facing pain with Reese at my side is different. It’s... I don’t know. Manageable. Better.

When this round of body-wracking pain subsides, I collapse back into the couch. Reese suggests I take a sip of lemon water, so I do.