Despite the pain in my leg, I push back up to a standing position and hold my arms out to Byron. He moves forward with hopeful eyes, offering the blanket again. But I don’t grab the material. Instead, I wrap him in a hug.

“I don’t need another blanket, but could you make those pancakes I like tomorrow morning?”

“With chocolate chips?” His arms encircle me but stay loose enough to keep from irritating any of my injuries.

“Those are the ones.”

When I step back, he looks more centered. He has a direction. A purpose. Even if it’s something as simple as making me breakfast.

I hobble around the group, giving each of my brothers a hug before returning to the bed.

“Okay, time for some privacy. I need to change.” My T-shirt is torn with splotches of blood all over it.

After final good nights, three of my brothers file out of the room, leaving only Abram, Warner, and me.

“She said privacy,” the eldest Gunner repeats, hard eyes never leaving Warner, who hovers beside my bed.

“Abram.”

The guy barely glances my way. Despite the swell of love I’m still feeling for my family, I am done with this caveman routine.

“Warner has seen me naked.”

I feel more satisfaction than I should when my tough older brother flinches and blushes.

But I push on. “When I said I want Warner here, I meant with me. In my bed.”

“You’re injured, Zoey! You shouldn’t be having …” He trails off, and if I wasn’t so exhausted, I’d find this whole exchange hilarious.

“Don’t worry. Banging is not on the menu tonight.”

Warner lets out a choked noise, and Abram’s face gets a funny shade of red.

Normally, I would enjoy sparring with Abram, assured that I could eventually get my way. But tonight, I’m too exhausted. I plop down on the bed with a groan. Then, I discover that sitting up is too much work. After collapsing back completely, I stare at the ceiling and try to figure out how to convince my brother to go.

“Warner is staying. Go away, Abram. I love you,” is the best I can come up with.

There’s a pause, and then I can practically hear my brother glaring.

“She needs to sleep. No trying anything.” His heavy footfalls alert me that he’s heading out.

I half expect my bedroom door to be slammed shut, but there’s only a gentle click of the latch falling in place.

Warner’s face appears above mine, a worried grimace on his mouth.

“Don’t worry about him,” I mutter. “He’s just being overprotective.”

“I’m not worried about him. I’m worried about you.”

A delicious warmth caresses my face, and I realize Warner has laid his palm on my cheek.

“How are you doing?” he asks.