Adam

“Are you totally daft? What the bloody hell were you thinking trying to get out of bed? Your Goddamn leg is broken. When you need help, you hit the call button, ya idiot.”

Les rested his head on the pillow. “Didn’t anyone ever tell ya that you aren’t supposed to yell at a man in the hospital?”

I blew out a loud, exaggerated breath and dragged one of the chairs up to his bed. “There’ll be a lot more yelling if you pull another stunt like that. The nurse also told me you aren’t taking meds. What is wrong with ya? You got your arse handed to you Friday. You could have died!”

“Yeah, but I can’t afford any of this.” Les’s green eyes shut, and I lowered my head. I knew he wouldn’t take any handouts—he was as stubborn as they come.

Still, “I’ve got your back,” I promised.

Les shook his head and opened his eyes. “No. Feck that.”

I waved my hand out in front of me. This wasn’t the time for a pissing match with my best friend. “What were you even doing in that ring Friday night? And why didn’t you tell me sooner?” What had he been thinking going against someone who’d been undefeated for two straight years?

“Because you would have tried to talk me out of it.” His swollen and bruised nose captured my attention, and I thought about how Frankie had elbowed him there, again and again. All I wanted to do was break Frankie’s nose—and then some.

“Then why’d you text me at all?”

He shrugged. “Because I needed someone to drag my arse to the hospital if I got hurt.”

I rolled my eyes and fisted my hands, tapping them against my forehead in frustration. “Why in the hell did you agree to fight Frankie?” When he didn’t answer, I lowered my hands and studied him.

Stitches crawled over his cheek and jawline. They speared down in a jagged line across his forehead. Les was a damn good fighter, but Frankie was an animal.

“What is it?” My brows snapped together; concern pulled at me.

“I needed the money. I’m flat broke. Hell, that’s why I put an ad out for a roommate.”

“You could have asked me for help.” I rose to my feet, a slow boil of irritation erupting inside me, putting me on edge. I needed to hit something, dammit. “Speaking of your new roommate, why the hell didn’t you tell me—”

“Is she hot?” He paused and itched at the stitches on his jaw, and I wanted to slap his hand away. “Oh, she’s hot, isn’t she?”

Yeah, she was more than gorgeous . . . and probably too innocent for someone like Les. Or myself, for that matter. “How long am I supposed to keep up with the charade that you’re out of town?”

He huffed. “I can’t tell her where I really am. I don’t want to scare her.”

“She doesn’t want to live with you when you’re back, anyway. She’s not too happy about the idea of living with a guy.”

“Well, the doc says I’ll be in here for a while.”

I squeezed the bridge of my nose with my forefinger and thumb.

“Did you see Donovan Friday night?” Les asked. “Or should I say, did he see you?”

I hung my head, my blood heating at the mention of Donovan’s name. “I didn’t notice him before I got there, but I’m sure he saw me as I dragged your busted arse out.”

“I’m sorry for that, man, I really am. Shit, are you okay?” The crack in his voice got my attention. “I didn’t think about how you showing up at the fight, seeing me like that . . .”

I fidgeted with the band of my watch and cleared the emotion from my throat. “I’m grand,” I lied. “Anyways.” Anna’s thick, reddish blonde hair and green eyes flashed to my mind. “So, uh, Anna is entirely too hot for you. Don’t even bother hitting on her.”

Les laughed and threw the TV remote at me. It bounced off the floor and the back popped off, scattering two batteries. “I knew it.”

“Yup. Way too good for you,” I joked, hoping to lighten his mood. Hell, mine, too.

“Do you have a picture? I didn’t ask her for a photo when we emailed because I didn’t want to come off as creepy.”

I shook my head. “Sure, because letting her think you were a woman isn’t strange.”

“Just tell me what she looks like, man. It’ll help with the pain.”

“No! You should be taking your meds for the pain. Once you’re better, I’ll be kicking your arse myself.” I folded my arms, the muscle in my jaw ticking. My best friend could have died.

“I’ve gotta fight Frankie again. I can’t go out like this.” Les’s voice was deep—determined.

I jumped to my feet, closing in on him. He rolled his neck casually, his eyes on me. “Hell, no!” My hands trembled at my sides. “You’re not fighting again. Especially Frankie. You hear me?” I could be determined, too.

“Are you my coach?” Les snarled through gritted teeth.

“No, but I’m one of the last friends you have, so ya better listen to me. You’re going to get yourself killed if you keep it up. Donovan doesn’t give a damn what happens to you as long as he makes money.” My voice was calm, despite the anger that pierced through me. I knew bloody well he wasn’t going to listen. The need to fight coursed through his veins like a drug addiction.

Les looked away from me, and I wasn’t sure how to interpret his silence.

“I have to go,” I said a few moments later. “I need to get some air.” I’d known when the nurse called me during breakfast, telling me that Les wasn’t taking his meds, that this conversation wouldn’t be a pretty one. But this was much worse than I’d thought.