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“Oh my God,” I growled, following them as Bear picked Wick back up and toted him toward his bedroom. “Yes, I fucked up last night. If I could take it back, I would. I never meant for Wick to get hurt, and that will haunt me forever. But that is that, and this is this. So tell me how to deal with this.”
Scowling, J.J. scratched at his head as he watched Bear gently tuck Wick into his bed.
“Rest,” he finally grumbled. “Just make sure to wake him every few hours so he doesn’t fall into a coma.”
“Coma?!” I yelped. “Is that a possibility?”
J.J. shrugged. “Not sure. But I’ve never seen anyone handle a concussion quite as badly as he is.”
“That does not reassure me,” I seethed.
J.J.’s gaze went dark as he met mine. “Me neither.”
Wick’s friends abandoned me soon thereafter, J.J. merely saying, “Call if you need anything,” as he went.
Right. Thanks. I shook my head, ignoring the leap of fear in my stomach as I returned to Wick after cleaning up the floor in the front room. He was already asleep, so I touched his arm to wake him and make sure no comas had already commenced.
“Wick?” I said softly.
“Mmm?” He opened his eyes blearily but couldn’t really seem to focus on me.
“I just wanted to make sure you would wake up,” I murmured, feeling foolish for even admitting that. “I’ll let you go back to sleep now.”
“’Kay.” His extra-hot hand slid over, and his fingers curled loosely around my wrist. Then he slurred, “Stay.”
There was nowhere else I’d rather be, so I crawled under the covers with him and let him rest his face on my chest as he immediatel
y fell back to sleep.
I stroked his hair and lay with him in the evening-darkened room, thinking about Topher and wishing I’d been able to do something to really—like really—hurt him and pound him down enough that he would’ve left Wick alone forever.
“I’m so sorry,” I whispered, stroking his head. “I’m going to make this right for you, I swear.”
Wick slept on, his body accumulating more heat until I was sweating from it all.
I began to play with his hair, apologizing some more, telling him how I wished I’d listened to him when he’d tried to talk me out of going to Topher’s party.
Because now, he was paying for my sin.
Huffing out a breath, I eased from the bed and stepped into the hallway where I called home with tears in my ears.
“Wick came home from football practice with a concussion,” I told my parents when they answered, putting me on speakerphone. “I’m not sure what I need to do.”
“Let him rest,” Dad answered in his ever-logical voice.
I rolled my eyes. “His friend said to wake him up every few hours to make sure he didn’t fall into a coma.”
“That’s a bit extreme,” Mom murmured, “but it couldn’t hurt. Just to be safe.”
So I set the timer on my phone to go off every three hours. At the first check, I woke him up, causing him to grumble moodily but open unfocussed eyes and frown at me before falling back to sleep again.
It reminded me of how he’d promised to give me an orgasm every hour on the hour when he got home tonight. Shaking my head, I covered my mouth with my hand and tried to breathe through the worry.
At the midnight check-in, I was so worn out, I just curled up next to him after waking him and laid my hand on his chest, feeling each of his breaths so I could fall asleep that way.
At the 3 a.m. timer, I groaned and rolled toward him.
“Wick.” All I needed him to do was move a little and mumble something about being okay.
