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Dustin whipped around, stared at Tank. “What?”

Dalton gasped for breath, trying to get any real air.

Tank came over and slid an arm behind his back, lifting him a tiny bit. The pressure eased.

“I said stop giving him pictures and stalkers to worry about.”

“Tank.”Oh Jesus. Jesus.This was his fault. “Sorry.”

“Shh. Hush now. You need to rest. Dustin, can you go get some water? They said he could have sips.”

“I know you’re trying to get rid of me.”

“Uh-huh. Totally.”

Dustin laughed, but bent to kiss Dalton’s forehead. “I’m gonna go to the cafeteria. I’ll tell the tech about the water.”

Tank sat on the edge of the bed as soon as Dustin left, fingers sliding on his arm.

“You-you okay?”

Tank nodded. “My knee is all swole. I jumped a long way into the arena, then carried you out. I was feeling that adrenaline.”

“You ought to see Doc. I’ll rub it for you.” Later, when his body didn’t feel like it weighed a thousand pounds.

“I know you will. Right now it’s all salve and wraps and ibuprofen. Your doc on call here made me let him look.” Tank bent to kiss him gently. “Scared me.”

“Don’t remember it hurting. Just remember being hot, then cold.”

“It was super fast. He paid Chip to let him wear his vest and chaps and hat.”

Sick fucker.Dalton didn’t understand. “He didn’t even want me, Tank.”

“But he didn’t want anyone else to have you.” Tank shrugged. “He’s a fucking nutbar, baby. You had no way to know.”

“Want to go home.” He reached out, touched Tank’s arm. “Let’s go.”

“Soon, baby. They said as long as I could get you to agree to bed rest, you could go home after a few days of breathing therapy.” Tank stroked his forehead. “You want to agree to resting with me?”

“I might could do that. With you.”

“I think I could too. I’m supposed to keep my leg up and just do some water therapy.” Tank was smiling for him, which eased the deep lines in his face.

“Is that code for soaking in the hot tub?”

“Yep. Screw the water aerobics.” Tank raised his eyebrows. “Until you can do some working out.”

“Then we have the pool. Skinny dipping.” He wasn’t sure he’d get it up for weeks, but it would happen eventually, right?

“We’ll get there. Took Jimmy Haines six weeks to finally blow up a balloon.”

Oh man. That was right. He was going to be on balloon duty. Son of a bitch.

Tank stroked his hair back from his head. “You need a shower.”

“God yes. I don’t think they’ll let me yet. Soon.”

“Yeah, not until the oxygen thing is out.”