Page 68 of Fully Loaded

Brock swung his feet over the edge of the bed and fought off the waves of dizziness. They assailed him every fucking time he stood up. But they subsided after a few seconds, which was a hell of a lot quicker than last week. He was improving daily, but it would take some time before he was one-hundred-percent.

He grasped the nightstand for balance and then kicked aside the slippers that Dani had left by his bed—he would not turn into some slipper-wearing, unshaven bum over this. A knock sounded at the door of his bedroom and his heart rate kicked up. Instantly, the need to hug a toilet bowl hit him.

Jesus, he’d gotten weak. That or he was about to do the scariest thing he’d ever done in his life. “Come in.”

The door eased open and Milo stood there, a stupid grin on his face. “You’re not nude, are you? Don’t ask me to wipe your ass or help you in the shower, I swear to god, man. That exceeds the boundaries of our friendship.”

Brock scowled. He didn’t have the patience for Milo’s bullshit. “Would you shut up and get in here? Close the door.”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” Milo said, but he obeyed. “Keep sweet-talking me like that and I won’t give you your present.” He swung a small white bag from the tip of his finger. Brock advanced on him. Milo chuckled, shoved the bag into his hands, and backed off with his hands in the air.

“Thanks for picking this up.” The severe concussion from the blow to his head had caused more inconvenience than the bullet wound itself. The other day his doctor had confirmed that he was on the road to healing but stressed that he take it easy for another couple of weeks. Which meant avoiding his usual activities, including driving. At least the bullet graze on his arm had healed, although even that was still a bit sore.

“No problem. Man, you’re easy to poke. Honestly, are you feeling all right? Do you want me to grab some pain pills or anything?” Real concern laced his voice and the playful glint in his eye fled.

Brock dropped onto the bench at the end of the bed. Dani had brought it over from her place. Things had been moving quickly for them. They’d been inseparable the last two weeks, almost as if each feared something would happen to the other if they wandered too far.

He opened the bag and reached for the box inside. “No. I’m fine. I haven’t taken anything for pain since they drugged me up in Paris. Just nervous.” He shrugged, but the admission fell short of the utter terror making his movements clumsy.

Milo moved to the decorative chair in the corner of the room—another addition from Dani that made his bedroom a whole lot cozier—and lowered his elbows to his knees.

“I get it. But this is Dani. You’ve known her for half your life.”

Brock nodded and pried open the box. An emerald-cut diamond stared back at him. The anxiety in his belly sent a searing shot of pain to his chest. It wasn’t cold feet. No. Everything with Dani felt right. Sleeping with her every night, waking up to her every morning, complaining about her cosmetics on the bathroom counter and the long strands of hair dangling from his hairbrush. She belonged with him.

But did she know that?

“She said to tell you she’d bring lunch up in a few minutes, so I won’t stay.”

He rolled his eyes and scoffed. “I wish she’d stop waiting on me. I’m not an invalid.” He hated being catered to. He should be the one serving her breakfast in bed.

Milo stood and clapped Brock on the back. “Relax, dude. She’ll love it almost as much as she loves you.”

He gave his friend a half smirk. “Thanks. How’s Serena feeling?”

“Not bad. The nausea is subsiding. She’s actually happy she’s only puking a few times a week.” Milo chuckled and shook his head. “I’d be on my ass if I puked once. It’s a good thing humanity doesn’t rely on us to birth children.”

“No shit. You wouldn’t last the first week.”

“Nope. And I’m damn proud of that.” He went to the door and turned around. “Call me if you need anything. Really though, you look a lot better. Glad to see you’re getting your strength back.”

Knock, knock, knock

Brock leaped to his feet, the box still in his hand. The door opened and Dani walked in. He shoved his hand behind his back and warmth spread from his head to his toes. The last time he’d blushed with embarrassment was probably the first time they had sex—ten years ago.

“Hey . . .” she said to Milo, but her eyes narrowed on Brock suspiciously. “Uh, I didn’t know you were still here. I can come back.”

“No, no,” they said in unison.

Her scowl deepened.

“I was just leaving.” Milo snuck past Dani and winked at him over her shoulder.

Dani set the tray of food on the bench at the end of the bed and he turned as she approached, keeping the box behind his back. She folded her hands on her hips and shifted her weight.

“You’re acting strange.” A flash of concern darkened her eyes and she jumped toward him. “Are you feeling okay? Is it your head?”

He caught her hands in one of his and lowered them from his face. She searched his eyes and took a step back. “Brock Wyler, tell me what’s going on right now. Oh my god, do you want me to leave? Are you trying to break up with me?” She ran a nervous hand through her hair and the weight on his tongue lifted.