Giles

Tia didn’t come to me last night or the night before, and in a way, I’m glad because I feel like complete shit. My arm has been healing fine. I almost have full use of it now. But my leg hurts like the devil himself pissed on it.

And I’m so sick and tired of Banks treating me like a fucking invalid.

Normally I’m pretty even-tempered, but I feel like I could match Fallon in moodiness. For the past couple of days, I’ve been snapping at everyone, including Tia.

I limp to my bathroom and stare at my reflection. A fresh bead of sweat dots my brow, and my skin looks pasty and clammy, my eyes dark and sunken. I’d say it was because I toss and turn all night, but it’s more than that.

Turning on the tap, I splash some water on my face, trying to wake up. But I can’t push past the fatigue that weighs on me.

There’s a knock on my door.

“What?”

Banks comes in, carrying fresh bandages and disinfectant spray. “You’ve been moving around too much.”

“I’m fine.” I use the crutches he got from the hospital and make it back to my bed.

He raises a brow at me, then orders, “I want to take a look at the leg again. It looked like it might be getting infected yesterday.”

“Said, I’m fine.” I limp back to the bed. “I can dress my own damn wounds.”

“I really think-”

“You want to help me, then get me something stronger than acetaminophen and codeine.”

“Anything stronger and you run the risk of getting hooked. The pain should be subsiding by now.”

I take the bandages from him and toss them beside me on the bed. “It’s not.”

“Let me take a look-”

“Shouldn’t you be at work?”

He sighs and nods. “I’ll check on you when I get back. But you need to let me know if there’s any sign of infection.”

I glare at the door when it shuts. My heart feels like it’s beating a hundred beats per minute, and no matter how hard I try to calm it, it doesn’t stop.

Unbuckling my belt, I start to take my pants off to clean the wounds on my leg when there’s another knock on the door.

“I’m busy.”

“Giles?” Tia says on the other side, and I can hear the concern in her voice. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah,” I mutter, and she pushes open the door. She looks fucking gorgeous, bright-eyed like she got plenty of beauty sleep. Or maybe it’s more than that, maybe one of her husbands satisfied her all night long.

I’m not jealous, at least that’s what I tell myself. And I know I’m in no position to sleep with Tia right now. I’m glad she doesn't have to be alone, and that the other men can meet her needs.

Still, it’s a tough pill to swallow and it’s going to take some getting used to. And being stuck in this room is only making me think the worst of everyone in this house. If Tia isn’t who she says she is, who else is lying?

“Are you hungry?” she asks, walking to my bed with fresh sheets in her arms.

“I’m fine.” I run a hand over my beard and try not to think about her with anyone else.

Fallon is supposed to be the jealous one, not me.

She stands here in a tight white sweater, so tight I see her nipples on display. She has on dark jeans that hug her ass. Her fingernails are painted a neutral shade, but I glance down and see her toes are bright red.

Damn, she looks sexy as fuck.

“You look uncomfortable,” she says, concern flashing in her eyes.

I try to adjust my growing cock without drawing attention, but it’s useless. She sees my hard on and the corner of her mouth lifts.

“I was coming in to change the sheets, but maybe we should play a bit first?”

The idea sounds fucking glorious, but my body is a wreck right now. I didn’t think it was possible to feel worse than that first day, but I do now. And it takes all my strength to fall back on the bed and groan in agony.  

“Rain check,” I say, embarrassed that I can’t give my wife what she needs. My body feels flushed and I have the urge to just close my eyes, sleep the day away, and hopefully the pain.

“Oh,” she says with surprise. “Okay. No, that’s fine. I just thought.” She shakes her head, smiling at me. “Never mind.”

“Never mind what?”

She tilts her head to the side. “Nothing. I just want to make you feel better. Can I help move you to the armchair, so I can change the bedding?”

“I got it.” I swing my good leg over the edge of the bed, then lift my other leg slowly, lowering it to the floor. The movement is simple but a sharp slice of pain rushes through me.

Grimacing, I refuse to ask Tia for anything more. She’s already done everything.

I reach for the crutches, but they fall over as my hand touches them. “Fuck,” I groan.

“It’s fine, Giles, I’m right here.” Tia walks to my side of the bed and leans over, picking them up.

“It’s not fucking fine. I can do it myself.”

“No, you can’t,” she huffs. “You need help.”

“What if I don’t want help?”

As she bends, I can see straight down her sweater. My wife isn’t wearing a bra. Fucking-A, is she trying to kill me?

Her tits look so full and delicious, and all I can picture is me straddling her, running my cock between her two perfect breasts. Pushing them together as I ride her tits until I come all over them.

God, I need a cold fucking shower, except I can’t have one, nothing but a damn sponge bath until this wound heals. Both Banks and Tia have already given me hell for having showers, and I wonder if they’re right, if I didn’t make my wounds worse by soaking them in water.

“I’m just trying to help.” She stands and hands me the crutches and her scowl is the cold shower I was thinking of. “And you’re being kind of a jerk to everyone. I heard you with Banks earlier. You aren’t being very grateful.”

“Grateful? God, give me a minute to be upset.” I use the crutches to move to the armchair. I sink into it, exhausted from the few steps it took to move. I pull my leg up onto the ottoman in front of it, and grunt as the bandage rubs against my wound. I know it shouldn’t hurt as much as it does.

“It’s been two weeks. And at first everyone was giving you space, but you insist on being irritated with all the men. I wish you’d try, Giles.”

I scoff. “I’m pissed at them for being pissed at you.”

“I didn’t ask you to fight my battles.”

“Oh really?” I snort.

Her face turns stony. She’s pissed at me, and that’s not something I’ve experienced before. I watched her fume over Fallon’s commands and roll her eyes in irritation at Banks’ lack of empathy but she has never been upset with me.

She’s only ever seen me as her protector, her comforter, her lover. But not her enemy.

“I never asked you to save my life,” she says coldly. “I’d trade places with you in a heartbeat.”

“Don’t you dare talk like that.”

Her eyes well up with tears. “How do you want me to talk? You know I feel awful about what happened. You think I like coming in here and seeing the wounds on your body that my choices caused? Do you have any idea how terrible I feel over that?”

“Not so awful that you won’t fuck your other husbands instead of facing me.” It’s a cheap shot, and I feel like shit for letting the words fall from my mouth. But I’m not thinking straight right now. I’m taking all my anger out on her and it’s not fair for a thousand reasons. But I do it anyways, hating myself as I do.

“Damn it, Giles. I’m facing you right now. Right. Now. I’m here. And you’re not my only husband. I have to make sure five other men are all right; make sure five other men have their sexual needs met. That five other men feel like they have a wife.”

I clench my jaw. “Then you should go. God knows I don’t want to keep you from your duties.”

Her outrage is palpable.

“How dare you,” she says, her face filled with disappointment. Disappointment in me.

I ball a hand into a fist and punch my palm, so angry with myself. For the way I’m treating her, for the pain I’m in, for the mess our entire family is in. We’re all trying so hard to keep Tia sheltered from the reality of the situation, but she’s smart. She understands what’s going to happen if the police knock on our door.

But God knows, I won’t let the police take my wife.

The Lottery already took the life of one woman I loved.

She shakes her head, tears spilling on her cheeks. “Why are you being like this?”

“You should go,” I tell her flatly, unable to look in her wounded eyes. I don’t deserve her in my arms right now, not after I’ve lashed out at her.

She deserves a different man to console her, God knows she has plenty of them.

“I don’t know why you’re being so mean to me.” Her voice is quiet and fragile.

I did that to her.

Just add it to the list of ways I’ve hurt her today.

She stifles a sob and drops the sheets on the bed, turning away, leaving my room.

I want to call for her. To apologize. To fix what I broke.

But she’s gone and I’m not the man she thought I was.

The man I wanted to be.

I’m wounded. And sick. And if trouble comes, I won’t be able to protect my wife.