Page 514 of End Game

Fuck.

Apparently I missed him.

Micah takes my bag upstairs while Ronan approaches after Dex lets me go.

His hug is different.

Brief.

Deliberate.

I wrap my arms around his middle and hold on longer than either of us probably expects.

For one second I'm back upstairs with my head full of static and his voice somewhere far away, telling me he's going to poke my finger.

His palm settles between my shoulder blades.

“You scared me,” he says quietly.

My chest clenches. “I know.”

His fingers press once before he lets me go. “And for the record, I am not asking how you are.”

“Thank you.”

“Because you have already threatened us.”

“Also thank you.”

Dex points toward the living room. “We prepared the couch.”

I turn.

There are approximately twelve pillows, three blankets, my heating pad, two bottles of water, crackers, my phone charger, and what appears to be an entire pharmacy arranged on the coffee table.

I stare at it. “Prepared it for what?”

“Recovery.”

“It looks like hospice.”

Micah laughs from the stairs.

Dex puts a hand to his chest. “Fine. Next time you can almost die without ambiance.”

The silence that drops is instant.

Dex's face crumples before anyone says a word.

Griffin goes still behind me.

I watch Dex’s gaze drift to him.

“Bad joke,” Dex mutters.

“Yeah,” Griffin says.

Dex drops his eyes.