Page 142 of Just This Once

“And?”

I sent her a hard glance before saying, “Green means dying. And the paler and closer it gets to turning white, the closeryouget to?—”

“Death,” Hope answered quietly. Her gaze slid back to the vial. “So I’m turning into a ghost, huh? How much time does it say I have left?”

I shrugged and closed my hand around the amulet before setting it on the nightstand. “No clue. I’m just making sure it wasn’t lighter than it was the last time I checked.”

Her gaze lifted to mine. “Is it?”

I didn’t want to answer, but she was looking at me with those blue, blue eyes, and I couldn’t fucking lie to her. “A little,” I admitted. “Yeah. Not too much, though.”

She blew out a relieved breath. “Well, that’s good.”

I didn’t answer, just stood from the bed so I could make my way around to the other side and crawl under the covers with her.

Once I had the lamp turned off and the room was shrouded in darkness, I curled up behind her. She gripped my arm and tugged it flush across her chest.

Kissing the back of her shoulder, I said, “I want to get tested.”

“For what? Do you think you have an STD?”

I huffed out an amused breath. “No. I want to test my liver. See if I’m capable of donating some of mine to you.”

Her fingers tightened on my arm. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I know I don’t have to. Iwantto.”

She was quiet for a moment, and I thought she was going to be stubborn and argue with me but then she sniffled to clear her nose and rasped, “Okay,” letting me know she’d started tocry. “I’ll call Dr. Kepler on Monday.” After another moment, she whispered, “Thank you.”

I tucked her closer to me. “How’re you feeling now? Better than earlier?”

“Yeah. Lots.”

“You sure?” My hand went to her brow. Still no fever. “Do you need anything else?”

She murmured a sound of pleasure before wiggling her ass against my lap. “You’re sexy as hell when you worry about me. Do you know that?”

“Jesus, Langston,” I muttered, gripping her hip to keep her from getting me hard. “Cut it out, or I really will start demanding another round from you tonight.”

She laughed, assuring me that her drugs had definitely started to kick in, thank God.

Then she let out a sigh and mumbled, “You can go back to the bar to hang out with the others now, if you want.”

“Right,” I snorted. “Like I’m just going to leave you here alone at my place.” Nudging her hip, I teased, “You might steal my favorite bourbons.”

“Yeah,” she scoffed. “Becausebourbonis what I’m all about.” Shaking her head, she asked, “Isn’t it ironic thatyou’rethe one who drinks like a fish, but I’m the one dying of liver failure? I’ve never even been drunk once in my life. Ooh, hey.” She slugged my arm. “We should add that to my bucket list.”

“I think not,” I told her in no uncertain terms. We weren’t doing shit to harm her liver further.

“Yeah,” she agreed sadly. “Probably not a good idea. I bet I’d drop dead on the spot if I got drunk.”

“Dammit,” I rasped roughly, feeling loaded down by the weight of that sentiment. “I’m sorry, Trouble. I’m so fucking sorry you have to go through this.”

“Oh, it’s okay,” she assured me easily. “I deserve it.”

My eyebrows lifted over the blasé way she spoke. “You think so, huh? Why’s that?”

She shrugged, then said, “Because I killed my dad.”

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