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He was a Dufort.
Dufort’s didn’t lay down and lose.
Fuck this.
Suddenly he stood. Then wobbled. “I’ve got to go get her.”
Blake dropped his phone, reached for it, hit his head on the coffee table, cursed, then felt himself pushed down onto the sofa and his legs lifted.
His head spun.
Oh, God, I feel sick.
“I wasn’t that bad,” Hunter chortled.
“Debatable,” Daniel piped out in the fuzzy distance.
“Let’s give him a few hours,” Fletcher suggested, shoving a bottle of water against his chest. “Let’s go through this while he sleeps it off.”
Can’t sleep. Have to get Bella.
His eyes began drifting. The last thing he heard was Daniel saying, “Whatever it takes. We are not letting one of ours fail.”
Family.
If he was a crying kinda guy, he would have shed a tear.
Maybe Blake would if he lost the woman he loved.
––––––––
AFEW HOURS LATER,Blake woke to the sound of three timbre voices speaking nearby. Then a loud hammering started. Which he thought was weird because wasn’t he in...
Oh shit.
Blake lifted his head.
“Ow, fuck.” Blake’s hand flying to his forehead.
“Welcome back, sleeping beauty.” Fletcher smirked. “There’s Tylenol on the table in front of you. And a bottle of electrolytes and cold pizza.”
“Wow. It’s like you’ve done this before.” He groaned, sitting up.
“Have you not met the Playboy of Manhattan?” Hunter laughed.
“That’s not my name anymore.” Fletcher shot his brother a dark look. “And do not mention it around my wife and kids.”
“See. Marriage. You have to lie,” Hunter stated.
“It’s called love douche-canoe. And caring.” Fletcher rolled his eyes.
Love.
God, his head hurt.
Blake dropped the tablet into the water and watched the bubbles as the effervescent table dissolved.
Bella.
