Claws & Crochet

Part 73

ZOEY

I ache everywhere.

But I'm alive, so there's that. Plus, I have Warner's warm body beside me as I hobble up the front steps.

Really, I'm not that broken. Just a bruised ankle and a broken wrist. All in all, I came out okay. I choose to forget the number of stitches the doctor said he put in me.

"Are you hungry?" Warner holds the door open for me while also keeping an arm outstretched in case I stumble.

Bruce wanders out of the guest bedroom and meanders up to me. I scratch behind his ears, always comforted by the big dog's presence.

"It's two a.m. I just need to sleep." I smile at Warner, softening my rejection of his offer.

"You heard her. Bedtime. We've got this." Abram comes in right behind me, sliding a hand under my elbow to lend his support.

Normally I'd wave him off, but tonight I don't mind having someone to lean on.

"I'll get you ice for your ankle." Carver heads to the refrigerator.

"Did you have enough blankets? I know we commandeered a bunch, but I don't need mine," Byron offers.

Donovan keeps quiet, but his eyes are locked on each one of my movements as if he's ready to lunge forward if I tip over.

"Zoey?" Warner's voice has me glancing his way. "Do you want me to stay?"

Honestly, I'm surprised he'd even want to with the overbearing presence that is my brothers.

"She has us," Abram grumps.

"Stop it," I shush my older brother. "I want Warner here."

Just because Abram wants to take care of me doesn't give him the right to kick Warner out.

I take back my hand, maneuver around the mastiff, and shuffle toward the bedroom. The mattress creaks as I sit down on it and my ankle thanks me for the relief.

Carver comes in, holding a towel filled with ice, and Byron approaches holding his blanket.

"Don't you dare put that on my bed. No way will I be able to sleep knowing you don't have any bedding." I wave a finger at him, but immediately regret how harsh the words came out when I see the lost look on my brother's face.

They all share it.

And for the first time tonight, I take a moment to imagine if it had been one of them who climbed up in the treehouse instead of me.

How would I feel if I had found Abram or Donovan crumbled on the ground? What it would have been like to have to rush Byron or Carver to the emergency room?

My brothers are tough, strong men. Plenty of rugby games have ended with them bleeding from some random gouges.

But to see any of them truly hurt, my heart would break. I would physically ache for them. I would want to do anything in my power to take their pain away.

That's all they're doing now. Trying to ease my pain.

And I love them so much. I get the urge to cry, just like I'm back in the treehouse, discovering the clues to my grandmother's loneliness.

I'm lucky, to be so surrounded by love. Never having to doubt that there's someone who cares for me. Not when my brothers are near.

Despite the pain in my leg, I push back up to a standing position and hold my arms out to Byron. He moves forward with hopeful eyes, offering the blanket again. But I don't grab the material. Instead, I wrap him in a hug.

"I don't need another blanket, but could you make those pancakes I like tomorrow morning?"

"With chocolate chips?" His arms encircle me but stay loose enough to keep from irritating any of my injuries.

"Those are the ones."

When I step back, he looks more centered. He has a direction. A purpose. Even if it's something as simple as making me breakfast.

I hobble around the group, giving each of my brother's a hug before returning to the bed.

"Okay, time for some privacy. I need to change." My T-shirt is torn with splotches of blood all over it.

After final goodnights, three of my brothers file out of the room, leaving only Abram, Warner, and me.

"She said privacy," the eldest Gunner repeats, hard eyes never leaving Warner who hovers beside my bed.

"Abram." The guy barely glances my way. Despite the swell of love I'm still feeling for my family, I am done with this caveman routine. "Warner has seen me naked."

I feel more satisfaction than I should when my tough older brother flinches and blushes.

But I push on. "When I said I want Warner here, I meant with me. In my bed."

"You're injured, Zoey! You shouldn't be having . . ." he trails off, and if I weren't so exhausted, I'd find this whole exchange hilarious.

"Don't worry. Banging is not on the menu tonight."

Warner lets out a choked noise, and Abram's face gets a funny shade of red.

Normally, I would enjoy sparring with Abram, assured that I could eventually get my way. But tonight, I'm too exhausted. I plop down on the bed with a groan. Then I discover that sitting up is too much work. After collapsing back completely, I stare at the ceiling and try to figure out how to convince my brother to go.

"Warner is staying. Go away, Abram. I love you." Is the best I can come up with.

There's a pause, then I can practically hear my brother glaring. "She needs to sleep. No trying anything." His heavy foot falls alert me that he's heading out.

I half expect my bedroom door to be slammed shut, but there's only a gentle click of the latch falling in place.

Warner's face appears above mine, a worried grimace on his mouth.

"Don't worry about him," I mutter. "He's just being overprotective."

"I'm not worried about him. I'm worried about you."