Page 137 of Spies Don’t Fall for Their Best Friend

“Because something important is happening and your body has chosen now to revolt?”

I give Reese a smile. “You really do know me.”

“Well, I have had five years of field research.”

She settles in beside me with her own bowl of soup, and for a moment, we both just eat. But I can’t keep my mind from running through the Rooke case and everything I’d be handling right now if I were at the agency. “I hate this.”

“The soup?”

I chuckle. “No. Being useless.”

Her spoon stops halfway to her mouth. “You’re not useless.”

“I’m sitting on a couch, hanging out with my favorite person, eating soup, while my team works.”

“You just took a classified phone call.”

“That isn’t the same thing.”

“No, you’re right. Sitting on your couch while helping to catch international criminals is much less impressive than doing it standing up.” I give her a look, and she smiles. “Miles, you’re allowed to need things.”

I look down at my soup. Apparently, I’m better at taking care of people than letting them return the favor. I need to work on that.

Then, another wave of pain comes, and I bolt upright, grabbing the edge of the couch for support as sharp pain tightens through my side. Reese is by my side, holding my hand and walking me through breathing. Ever since Jace compared the pain to labor contractions, that’s all I can think about as Reese coaches me.

The pain moves significantly lower, and I close my eyes, trying not to breathe fast through clenched teeth. Reese’s grip on my hand tightens.

When the worst of it passes, I look at Reese. “I think Chuck is making progress.”

Her eyes widen, and she looks delighted. “Operation Tiny Rock is entering its final phase?”

Forty-three minutes later, I’m standing in my bathroom, holding the plastic strainer and staring at an object so small it’s difficult to reconcile it with the pain of the past twenty-four hours.

From outside the bathroom door, Reese says, “Well? Did you catch Chuck?”

I look down at the little guy. “Yes.”

A cheer erupts from the hallway. An actual cheer.

I wash my hands, and then open the door to a grinning Reese. “Congratulations! You produced a whole rock. I’m so proud of you.”

I laugh, and show her the stone I “produced.” The stone that just made its way through my ureter like a drunk, blind Roomba with sharp edges.

To me, it looks insultingly tiny. Like I shouldn’t have been in so much pain from something so small. But Reese takes one look at it and says, “That kidney stone deserves its own birth certificate.”

Somehow, that makes me feel better.

And I realize I’m actually feeling better. Everything doesn’t hurt as it did. I’m still very sore and exhausted. And there’s the general sense that part of my insides has just finished waging war on another part, with both sides taking heavy damage. But the terrible, gripping pressure is gone.

“Better?” Reese asks.

I nod. “Much.”

Reese’s whole face relaxes. Her whole body, actually. The tightness around her eyes eases, and her shoulders drop like she’s finally letting go of a breath she’s been holding for hours. I hadn’t realized how worried she still was until this moment. She steps forward and wraps both arms around me, and I hold her close, neither of us saying anything.

Then, she murmurs into my chest, “I hated watching you hurt like that.”

I tighten my arms around her. “I know.” And I do. The thought of Reese doubled over in that kind of pain makes my stomach twist. Yes, I know exactly what today cost her.