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“What do you remember?” He dropped the remote on the side table and crossed his arms, giving me his attention.
“I don’t…” Lavender and lemon. The strong smell weaved through my mind as I attempted to remember something. I was grasping at straws. I whispered, “Lavender and lemon. And woods. I remember lavender and lemon and woods.”
“So you got stabbed in a Yankee Candle?” Roan raised a brow, finding way too much amusement in the situation. I wanted to wipe that smirk off his fucking face. “Did you lose a fight to a housewife? Get your ass kicked by a Karen? Was she old? Oh my God. Did you get your ass kicked by a grandma?”
“I’m going to kill you,” I grumbled. “Dead. You’re dead.”
“Please,” he scoffed. “I could beat your ass with a candle right now.”
I laughed because what the fuck else was I supposed to do. The moron. Except it fucking ached. Non-fatal, sure. Non-painful would’ve been fucking nice. Granted, we wolves healed faster, meaning it wouldn’t be an issue for long.
“Can I check out?” I asked. He shrugged.
“I mean, you probably should,” Roan said. “At some point, someone’s going to check on your furry ass and realize you’re healing way faster than usual.”
“That’s what I’m worried about,” I muttered. I threw off the blanket and immediately regretted it as Roan laughed. Jesus fuck. Why the fuck did they put grippy socks on me? It wasn’t necessary. I scowled at Roan while he pushed my leg with his boot. “Dick.”
“Grandpa.” He pulled out his phone with a wicked grin. I had no hope of stopping him as he took a picture. “Putting that one up in the bar. I’m going to call it Grandpa Killian. It’s a hell of a look on you.”
“Remind me again why you’re my emergency contact.”
“Because you love me.”
I snorted. Fat chance of that. Okay, I owed Roan my life, and he was one of my best friends. The man had been there for me at some of my lowest points and helped me back on my feet when I thought I’d never stand again. I just didn’t need to feed his fucking ego.
Moving slowly, I climbed out of bed. It knocked the wind out of me, but it could’ve been worse. Hell, I’d been through worse. A notion my mom never needed to know about. My job was dangerous. There was no hiding that from her. I’d gone from small-town cop to a bounty hunter. One quick internet search would’ve told her—and Mom loved googling the shit she didn’t know. I didn’t need her to know just how dangerous my job was. She’d lock me in a room and throw away the fucking key if she knew.
Not giving a fuck about who the hell might walk in, I fumbled through untying my hospital gown—who the fuck tied this thing? No knot should’ve been this fucking difficult to get undone. Shit. I didn’t need this crap.
“Where’s my knife?”
“It’s a hospital. You can’t bring weapons into the hospital.”
“Where’s your knife?” I glared at him, knowing full well the fucker had a pocket knife on him. “Don’t fuck with me, Roan. I know you’ve got one. You’ve always got one.”
“Don’t tell the hot nurse I’m sneaking you weapons,” he said with that stupid grin of his and pulled out his pocket knife.
“I don’t even know who the hot nurse is.” I cut myself out of the gown because fuck that shit. As a wolf, I didn’t have a shred of modesty. It came with the territory. Shifting in clothes wasn’t an option. Well, it wasn’t if I didn’t want to buy new clothes every time I shifted. Which I didn’t. I’d lived with Roan on and off for three years, and I’d grown up with him. There weren’t a hell of a lot of secrets between the two of us—including having spent quite a bit of time around each other naked.
Naked? Yes.
Naked in Grandpa grippy socks? No.
Fuck, I hadn’t thought this through. Roan fucking lost it, his head tipping back while he laughed his ass off at me. I scowled as he grabbed his phone.
“You take a picture of my dick and I’ll fucking fight you, Ironwood,” I growled, the sound vibrating in my chest. “Naked. Right here. Just fucking try me.”
I’d do it too. He knew.
“Buzz kill,” he retorted, feigning his upset over the whole thing. I knew him too well for that shit.
My clothes and boots were in a bag on the chair. What was left of them anyway, which consisted of my jeans, belt, boxers, socks, and boots. Made sense since I was stabbed and all.
“Do you have a shirt I can have?” I glanced at him as I pulled on clothes.
“Not one that’ll show off your nipples.”
“Fucker.”
