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If I was meant to spend today dealing with bad news, I might as well get it all out on the table now.
Yasmeen straightened. “I did, yes. Kingston, ah…”
Her voice trailed off as her gaze wandered to the door.
“Kingston, what?” Kingston snipped from the doorway.
He rolled into the room in his wheelchair. His beard was thick and wild, his dark gold brows set into a scowl. He wore the same Red Sox T-shirt he’d been wearing when we watched them win the World Series, its fabric now threadbare and riddled with holes. His lucky shirt, he used to call it.
He looked like a man clinging to whatever luck he could get.
When my eyes trailed down to the blanket across his lap, he was quick to pull it down over his knees, hiding his dressings and the place where his left calf had once been.
“Nice to see you all. The horrified staring? It really does it for me, you know.” He gripped his wheels and pushed himself farther into the room. “So, gang, what are we talking about? Geopolitics?Love Island? Weird how I’m not invited to meetings anymore.”
“It was impromptu.” I gestured at the table. “I’m just listening to all the ways I’ve been fucking up lately. Unless you want to add to the pile, you’re not missing much.”
“You should be resting.” Yasmeen’s face went pale as Kingston tilted his chair back, popping an irreverent wheelie. “Mr. Miller, please—”
“Oh, I’m fine. I lost my leg, not my head.” He scoffed as he lowered the chair back into a safer position. “Not that it seems to matter to any of you. Ignore the cripple, right? What could he possibly bring to the table now? You folks have fun without me. I won’t bother you any more than I already have.”
“Stop,” I snapped when he wheeled the chair around and rolled back toward the door.
“Fuckin’ make me,” he called over his shoulder, flipping me the bird on the way out.
My eyes met Yasmeen’s. Exhaustion and worry mingled in her gaze.
“He’s been refusing his pain medication and skipping physical therapy,” she said quickly. “It’s making him… disagreeable.”
Fuck. He was barely forty-eight hours out of the operating room. Shifters healed fast, but not that fast, and wolves still felt pain.
“That’s not what’s making him disagreeable.” I shoved my chair out of the way and headed for the door. “Anything else you need, tell Dylan. Dylan, we’ll finish this conversation later.”
With stiff muscles and aching bones, I jogged for the door.
If Kingston wanted me to fucking make him stop, I was more than happy to oblige.
I caught him halfway down the hall and grabbed the handles of his wheelchair. We were right outside the scorched doors to the manor’s fire-damaged ballroom. Two months ago, Kingston had been by my side, running into that fire without hesitation.
Now, his grip tightened at his wheels as he strained to pull away.
“Let me go,” he growled through his teeth. “You don’t need me for anything, anyway.”
“Wanna fuckin’ bet?” I reached down and pulled the lever to slam on his brakes. “Dodging therapy? Refusing your meds? What I need is for you to recover, you little shit.”
“What’s it matter?” He snarled at me as I walked around his chair to speak with him face to face. “I’m never gonna walk again.”
“Not if you’re avoiding anything that will help you, you won’t,” I pointed out.
“Never gonna run, either,” he said, ignoring me. “Face it, Xan. You need a one-legged brother about as much you need a three-legged wolf.” He sneered as he lowered his gaze to the rug beneath us. “Not even worth making into a wheelchair general, am I?”
“That meeting wasn’t planned. You wanna know what you missed? Literally fuck all. We have nothing. We know nothing. We’re short on resources, shorter on time, the pack back home is sinking without us, and we’re all stuck here sitting on our hands and licking our wounds.” Frustration boomed through my voice. I hadn’t meant to yell, but when we’re angry, we do plenty of things we don’t mean. “There. Happy? I just saved you an hour.”
He glowered up at me defiantly. “If shit’s that bad then let me help. Just because I lost my leg—”
“And I’ve lost my children.” I glowered right back at him. If he wanted to start tallying up losses, I’d meet him point for point. I shook my head. “You’re fucking benched, King. You wanna help? Start taking your meds and doing your exercises. Take care of yourself. Then, we’ll talk—but not before that.”
“Benched. Just like that, huh?”
