Page 39 of Reckless Obsession

But my head is splitting open, so I grab the mug and immediately try to gulp it down.

The second the liquid hits my tongue and throat—

“Fuck—!”

I choke and jerk back, slamming the mug onto the counter, my tongue and throat burning as if I just swallowed lava.

Across the counter, Alex gives me an unimpressed look.

“Are you stupid?” he says flatly. “Or just blind? The tea is clearly hot.”

“Well, thank you for the groundbreaking discovery,” I rasp, glaring at him.

He opens his mouth to retort, but then stops himself like he just discovered that I’m just being my bitchy self and nothing but an annoying younger brother.

I sigh and lift the mug again, this time blowing on it like a civilized human being and taking tiny sips that burn less. I close my eyes and pray to whatever deity handles hangovers that this disgusting ginger potion actually works.

When I open them again, Alex is watching me. Not staring exactly, but observing.

That’s the thing about Alex.

He doesn’t look at people the way normal humans do. He studies them as if he’s memorizing every twitch and reaction. He’s the kind of man who can sit in a room full of chaos without raising his voice once. He’s intimidating and hard on others, but never like that with Lucas.

Lucas is the only person who cracks that composure. The only one who turns Alex’s hard edges into something… softer and almost human.

I take another sip of the tea.

It’s still awful.

Alex finally breaks the silence.

“Have you been taking your meds?”

My body goes rigid, and the mug halts halfway to my mouth. He tilts his head at my reaction, and I scowl at him.

“That,” I say flatly, “sounds like a question that isn’t any of your business.”

Alex doesn’t move or blink.

He just watches me with that same calm, unreadable expression. The one that makes you feel as if you’re being quietly dissected. But there’s something else in it now, something softer.

Concern.

Which is honestly worse.

I open my mouth, ready to tell him exactly where he can shove his concern, but a small cough cuts through the kitchen.

I turn.

Lucas stands at the kitchen entrance. His hair is a complete disaster. Soft blond curls going in every direction, and his eyes are still heavy with sleep. He’s wearing a shirt that’s definitely not his, the fabric swallowing his smaller frame, one side slipping off his shoulder.

Alex’s shirt.

Lucas’ gaze lands on me, and he grimaces.

“You look like shit,” he says, his voice quietly teasing as he walks towards the counter.

“Gee, thanks,” I mutter, sighing dramatically. “Your compassion heals me.”