Page 49 of Collin: Episodes 7-9
“You’re not here to protect me. I protect you.”
Collin giggled. “Nope.” He rubbed his nose against Mr. Reevesworth’s. Maybe the giddiness of learning he was going to be okay, that he wasn’t going to be poisoned, or permanently scarred, or lose his eyesight, was going to his head, but if so, he didn’t care. “Protection goes both ways, sir. You get to be protected too.”
“You’re mine, Collin. I protect what is mine.” Mr. Reevesworth grasped Collin around the hips, his fingers sinking deep.
If only they were at home and with less clothes on.
Collin groaned softly. “I’m yours, sir. And I’m selfishly glad that I’m not looking down at you right now with your entire face looking like your hand. I’m glad that you could still see, that you handled the police, that you detained our attacker, that you were still functional to do all the things that you did better than I could have. I’m selfishly glad that Mr. Moreau knew what to do to help me so that healing will take a day or two instead of weeks or months like it could have. I’m selfishly glad I didn’t have to talk Damian off the ceiling because I totally heard that.”
Mr. Reevesworth chuckled. “His south side was certainly coming out.”
“If that woman wasn’t already arrested…” Collin laughed ruefully. “We might be bailing Damian out.”
“Damian is a good man. And he cares for you.”
“For both of us.” Collin pressed a kiss to his master’s forehead. Mr. Reevesworth adjusted his arms and pulled Collin closer.
Mr. Moreau slipped into the room a few minutes later. “I brought drinks.”
“You took security with you?” Mr. Reevesworth looked up, eyes dark and bright.
Mr. Moreau huffed. “Yes, Sir Richard. Your armed minions were with me every step of the way. I called a friend. If we want it, we can give an interview of our side events tonight. I didn’t expect a response that fast.” He opened a can of sparkling water and sat down on the side of the bed, his knee close enough to press against his husband’s leg and Collin’s rear.
Collin accepted a bottle of milk. Sparkling water was not on the doctor’s approved list of drinks for the next twenty-four hours. Mr. Reevesworth refused to let Collin leave his lap and accepted his own can of sparkling water from his husband, pre-opened.
There were sounds in the hallway. Someone knocked on the door. “A Damian is here, sirs,” one of the guards said.
Collin almost pinched himself. It was absolutely odd to have a bunch of shock troops running around in black combat fatigues with private security written in white letters across their backs.
“Send him in,” Mr. Moreau said.
Damian was there two seconds later. He had a duffel bag in one hand and his phone in the others. He dropped the bag and shoved his phone in his pocket, making a beeline to Collin.
“Brother, you’re going to be the death of me!” He grabbed Collin by both shoulders, hands cupped and careful but still desperate.
“I’m going to be fine. Mr. Reevesworth is the one with the rash.”
“You’re not untouched.” Damian raised his hand and hovered it above Collin’s face. “You’re a little pink.”
“Pink, not red and raw or bleeding like he was.”
Damian’s eyes turned to Mr. Reevesworth. “Sir!”
Collin held up Mr. Reevesworth’s bandaged hand. “He’s allergic to tea tree oil.”
“Allergic is a strong term,” Mr. Reevesworth remonstrated. “She used straight oil.”
Damian’s lip raised in a disgusted expression. “Expensive. She should have donated that or something.”
Collin scrunched up his face. “I’m afraid to know what causes she would have spent it on.”
“Not hurting you, for one,” Damian barked.
“Agreed,” Mr. Reevesworth said at the same time.
Collin curled up into Mr. Reevesworth’s shoulder. “Okay, okay!”
Damian huffed. “Seriously, Collin, can we keep you out of the ER?”
