Tank (Moonshine Task Force Book 2)(10)

“You comfortable?”

“I’m fucking tired,” I yawn, putting my arm up over my eyes. “Tired, sore, and damn sorry you have to wait on me hand and foot.”

That’s the crux of this whole situation. When I was in the hospital, I was so thankful to be alive, I didn’t think about being an almost invalid when I got out. I know I’m being overly dramatic too, but the first day, it was a hard thing for me to go take a piss by myself. For someone who prides themselves on being independent, this has been a shock.

“Hey,” Blaze covers me up with a sheet. It’s all I’ve been able to tolerate. “I’ll not have you talking about the man I love like that. I know you’re in a bad mood, but I’m hoping a nap will knock you right out of it.”

My mouth goes dry when she tells me she loves me. I don’t think I’ll ever get sick of hearing it. Knowing she does is what got me through everything going on while I was in the hospital, but it’s hard to be grateful for things out here when I’m so frustrated.

“C’mon in here with me,” I pull her down for a kiss. When she bends over, her shirt dips, allowing me to see the lacy bra she wears underneath it. My finger catches in the material as she makes to straighten up.

“Trevor,” her voice is a warning.

“I need to feel you next to me,” I admit, costing me some of my male pride. “Take off the clothes and cuddle up,” I give her my best puppy dog look. “Please.”

She looks like she wants to say no, but she doesn’t. Instead she gets rid of everything but the scrap of panties she prefers to wear and crawls in next to me.

“I don’t know how you stand just a sheet,” she shivers as she arranges herself beside me, thankfully on the opposite side of my bum leg.

“C’mere, I’ll warm you up.”

Using my arm, I pull her closer, resting her head on my shoulder, cheek on my pec. Her arm goes around my waist, caressing the bruises that are now starting to change color.

“Do these still hurt? We can ice them if you need to.”

“No,” I trap her hand in mine, entwining our fingers together before bringing them up to my lips for a kiss. “You’ve taken excellent care of me, and I love you for it.”

The deep sigh she makes every time I tell her I love her makes me feel like a bastard. I didn’t know what I had before. Obviously I didn’t know what the fuck I was giving up.

My eyes are getting heavy and I can feel the effects of the medication as I try to fight against it. I don’t want to lose more days in a drug-induced fog, but I also don’t want to increase my downtime, which I know I’m in danger of doing if I don’t get my shit together.

“Go to sleep,” she kisses my jawline, snuggling in deeper, and then I don’t remember anything as blessed darkness takes over.

Blaze

I can tell the second Trevor succumbs to the drug-induced sleep. His body, which has been tense for days finally relaxes and goes completely loose. His jaw, which has been clenched, releases and his breathing evens out. It’s not the quick pants of someone trying to measure breaths to keep from hurting themselves either. It’s long, easy breaths of someone who’s sleeping deeply.

The tension lines in his face are gone, making him look all of eighteen years old. The only thing proving he’s older is the leanness of his face, the dense muscle packed onto his frame, and the maturity of his beard.

I try to keep the yawn I feel coming on from cracking my jaw, but it does and I realize quickly just how tired I am. Part of me has been scared to death since we came home, and the other part wants to make things as perfect for him as they can be. In the end, I’ve all but run myself ragged. Not because he’s asked me to, but because I’ve wanted to.

And that’s the most honest I’ve been with myself in a long time.

*

I’m not sure what time it is when I open my eyes again. It takes me a minute to adjust to the darkness of the room and I wonder how long Trevor and I have slept. I can see him slightly in the waning light, so it must be close to evening.

Beside me, he’s lightly snoring, his face turned toward me, mouth slightly open. He was right about only needing a sheet, the amount of body heat he’s throwing off is enough to keep us warm in a snow storm. Light sweat has broken out on his chest and I take a moment to lazily map the skin with the tips of my fingers.

Trevor Trumbolt has always been the hottest man I’ve ever seen. The first thing that attracted me to him were his eyes, then it was the sensual curve of his mouth. Those almost too-red lips always look like he’s spent a lot of time kissing a woman senseless. Moving my eyes from his mouth, I take in the rest of what he has to offer. Earlier I couldn’t peruse my fill without him seeing. Now his body is a visual buffet and the motherfucker is all you can eat.

Like most of the guys our age, he’s got tattoos. In fact he’s got an impressive chest piece of an eagle. One night when he’d been drunk, he’d admitted he got it right before he went to war. Something they could identify him by if things went tits up. I’d wanted to tell him that’s what his dog tags were for, but he’d been so serious about it, I didn’t want to break his heart.

Not to say that I don’t like it. It’s one of the hottest things about him. The way he wears it like a badge of honor. When he’s shirtless, like he is now, like he has been for days, I want to lick it and claim it as mine.