CHAPTER THIRTEEN
1698 Words
“Use this,” the nurse inside Nathaniel’s room said, handing Wes a small black device that looked like an old-school walkie-talkie.
Wes stared at it like it was an alien artifact. “What’s this?”
“That’s connected to Mr. Hawthorne’s device. If that rings, it means he needs something from you.”
Wes narrowed his eyes. “So, you’re telling me… this guy’s just gonna ring me up like some damn bellhop?”
“Would you rather I yell at you like a dog?”
Wes didn’t even need to turn around to know who had just rolled into the room. The sarcasm was thick enough to cut with a knife.
Nathaniel sat in his wheelchair with that insufferable smirk on his face, arms crossed, looking like he was enjoying this way too much.
Wes’s eyes twitched. “You know what? If I wasn’t such a mature person, I’d smack you upside the head right now.”
Nathaniel let out a low chuckle. “You could try. But I doubt you’d get paid enough to cover your hospital bills.”
“Oh, don’t worry. I’d make it look like an accident.” Wes shot back.
The nurse sighed, clearly done with their nonsense. “Mr. Pierce, just keep the device on you and respond when needed. Mr. Hawthorne, try not to abuse it.”
“No promises,” Nathaniel muttered, examining his nails.
Wes groaned but clipped the device onto his belt. “Fine. Whatever. What do you need now, Your Majesty?”
Nathaniel raised a brow. “Your job is to wait until I call you, not pester me with questions.”
Wes clenched his jaw so hard he thought his teeth might crack. “You know what? I take back my earlier thought. I don’t feel bad for you anymore.”
Nathaniel just smiled. “Oh? You felt bad for me? How sweet. Maybe later you can tuck me in, too.”
Wes exhaled through his nose, counted to ten, and reminded himself that violence was frowned upon in hospice care.
“I’ll be outside if you need me,” he gritted out, turning on his heel.
“Oh, don’t worry, I will need you,” Nathaniel called after him. “Hope you don’t mind a lot of requests!”
Wes slammed the door on his way out.
But before he could even sit down at the lounge, the device beeped. Wes stared at it, contemplating whether to ignore it, but when he noticed the nurse at the corner watching him like a hawk, he sighed heavily and got up.
Dragging his feet back to the room, he pushed the door open with a little more force than necessary. “Missed me already?” he deadpanned.
Nathaniel smirked from his wheelchair. “How could I miss? I wasn’t shooting at you.”
Wes rolled his eyes. “Real funny. What the f**k do you need?”
Nathaniel stretched his arms over his head lazily. “Carry me to the bed.”
Wes blinked. “Oh. So you were serious about me tucking you in?”
Nathaniel’s smirk only widened. “Well, I could get one of my actual nurses to do it, but then you’d be out of a job.”
Wes clenched his fists. “Man, I swear to God, if you keep talking—” He cut himself off, knowing damn well that if he finished that sentence, he’d be out of here and straight back to jail.
Nathaniel tilted his head. “If I keep talking, what? You gonna rough me up, tough guy?” He gestured to his legs. “Because I hate to break it to you, but I wouldn’t even feel it.”
Wes pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why did it have to be you of all people?”
Nathaniel grinned. “Fate works in mysterious ways. Now, less complaining, more lifting.”
“I hate you.” Wes stomped over, gripping the wheelchair’s handles before bending down.
“You’re just saying that because I make your life interesting.”
“You make my life miserable.” Wes carefully hoisted Nathaniel out of his chair. To his surprise, the guy was lighter than he expected. “Do you even eat?”
“I have a refined diet.” Nathaniel grinned. “And by that, I mean I enjoy watching people suffer. It’s very fulfilling.”
Wes grumbled something under his breath before dropping Nathaniel onto the bed with minimal care.
Nathaniel let out a small “oof” but otherwise looked perfectly comfortable. “Not bad. You could work on your bedside manner, though.”
“Shut up.” Wes reached for the blanket and half-heartedly threw it over him.
Nathaniel gasped dramatically. “Where’s the care? Where’s the love? You’re supposed to tuck me in, not throw a blanket at me like I’m a corpse in a morgue!”
Wes gave him a flat look. “You keep talking, and I will make sure that’s your future.”
Nathaniel chuckled. “Damn. And here I thought you liked me.”
Wes scoffed. “Yeah, right. Keep dreaming.”
Nathaniel yawned, resting his head back on the pillow. “I do. And sometimes, you’re in them.”
Wes felt an immediate headache coming on. He turned around and marched toward the door. “I’m leaving before I commit a crime.”
But before he could step out, the device in his pocket beeped again.
Wes froze, slowly turning back around. “You better be dying right now, because if you just rang me for some stupid s**t—”
Nathaniel’s grin was nothing short of devilish. “Fluff my pillows.”
Wes considered throwing himself out the window.
Wes was internally screaming as he fluffed Nathaniel’s damn pillows, grumbling under his breath the entire time.
This was humiliating. This was worse than jail. At least in jail, there was a hierarchy—an unspoken rule that you only did things for people if you either respected them or feared them. Wes had neither respect nor fear for Nathaniel. Just pure, unfiltered annoyance.
Satisfied that the pillows were sufficiently fluffed—not that this spoiled bastard could even tell the difference—Wes straightened up, dusted off his hands, and turned toward the door.
Beep.
He stopped dead in his tracks.
Slowly, he turned his head toward Nathaniel, who was lying comfortably in bed, looking smug as ever.
Wes clenched his teeth. “What?!”
Nathaniel blinked at him, feigning innocence. “You didn’t tuck me in.”
Wes’s eye twitched. “I’m gonna throw you out that window if you don’t—”
“Just tuck me in.” Nathaniel’s voice was smooth, almost amused, as if he were testing Wes just to see how far he could push him.
Wes sucked in a deep breath, his hands balling into fists. He was a grown-ass man. He had been in fights, he had run from cops, he had done time. And yet, here he was, standing in a VIP hospice suite, being bullied into tucking in some rich, sarcastic asshole.
“You know I could smother you with this blanket, right?” Wes muttered as he grabbed the edges of the sheet and yanked them up over Nathaniel’s chest.
“I do.” Nathaniel smirked. “But you won’t.”
Wes glared at him. “And how do you know that?”
Nathaniel’s smirk widened. “Because you’d miss me.”
Wes let out a sharp laugh, shaking his head. “You’ve got jokes, huh? You think you’re cute?”
Nathaniel raised a brow. “Are you saying I’m not?”
Wes opened his mouth, then promptly shut it. He wasn’t going to fall into whatever weird verbal trap this guy was setting. He was not about to argue about this man’s attractiveness, not in the middle of a hospice room at some ungodly hour, and definitely not when he was on probation.
Instead, he yanked the blanket up a little harder, nearly covering Nathaniel’s entire face.
Nathaniel sputtered, pushing the blanket down just enough to reveal his smirking lips. “You tuck people in like an aggressive babysitter.”
“Yeah? And you act like a spoiled brat who never heard the word ‘no’ in his life.”
“I haven’t.”
Wes paused, staring down at him. “Seriously?”
Nathaniel shrugged under the blanket. “Not from people who matter.”
There was something about the way he said it that made Wes hesitate. But before he could even think too much about it, Nathaniel yawned loudly and stretched his arms.
“Well, that was fun. Good night, caretaker.”
Wes groaned and turned to leave. “If you beep that thing one more damn time—”
Beep.
Wes whipped around. “Are you f*****g kidding me?!”
Nathaniel grinned lazily. “Could you dim the lights? It’s too bright.”
Wes stared at him. “You’re not serious.”
Nathaniel blinked. “I literally have a terminal illness. You think I’d joke about something as important as lighting?”
Wes sighed so hard he nearly deflated. He stomped over to the switch, flipped it off with more force than necessary, and turned back. “Happy?”
Nathaniel wiggled deeper under the blanket. “Ecstatic.”
Wes shook his head and stormed toward the door, muttering every curse word he knew under his breath.
Right as he reached for the handle—
Beep.
Wes slowly—very slowly—turned around.
Nathaniel was already grinning, looking way too pleased with himself.
Wes took a deep, deep breath. “Nathaniel.”
“Wesley.”
“I swear to everything holy, if you—”
“I just wanted to say goodnight.”
Wes felt an actual physical headache form in his skull. He didn’t know whether to laugh or strangle him. Maybe both. Instead, he forced a tight, painful smile and flipped him off. “Goodnight— even if it’s literally eight in the morning, Hawthorne.”
Nathaniel chuckled. “Sweet dreams, Pierce.”
Wes slammed the door shut behind him.
- Writer
