“I’m not dropping you off and leaving you there on your own.” I squeeze his shoulder. “Besides, Bishop left me with a couple of insulin doses for you just in case.”

“He did?”

“Yup, just take some deep breaths. I’ll be right back.” I leave him in the living room and rush to the kitchen, where I open the drawer with Nolan’s emergency doses. Bishop left them here weeks ago, right after Nolan interrupted the almost-kiss.

I prepare the needle, having done it for my dad plenty of times, and offer to administer it for him since his hands are so shaky. It takes about fifteen minutes before his color starts to come back and for Nolan’s shakes to stop. While we’re waiting, I assemble a sandwich, the kind I used to make for my dad when he’d get busy and forget to take his shot.

“Thanks, Stevie, I really appreciate this,” Nolan says before he takes a giant bite of his sandwich.

“I know you do. How are you feeling now?”

“Much better,” he says through a mouthful of ham, swiss, and bread.

“I’m still going to take you to urgent care after you finish eating,” I tell him.

“You don’t need to do that. I’m fine.” He wipes away some mustard with a napkin.

“Fine or not, we’re going to urgent care to make sure. And we’re going to find your insulin case before we go and replace the dose we used so I have them on hand.” I arch a brow—an invitation to challenge me.

He blows out a breath. “I’ll find it eventually.”

It’s my turn to sigh. “Look, Nolan, I know living with this isn’t easy, but it’s not going to go away, and brushing this off like it’s nothing isn’t helpful either. Bishop worries about you a lot, and when you don’t take your own health seriously, it stresses him out.”

His expression shifts to annoyance. “It’s not his problem; it’s mine.”

“It might be yours to live with, but it affects him too. You’re his best friend. Do you know how hard it is for him when he’s away and he doesn’t know if you’re taking your medication, or if you’re out until whatever time in the morning? What you’re doing and how you treat your body is shortening the time you have here.”

“You’re making a big deal out of nothing. I’m fine.”

“Only because I was here and Bishop left me with doses. What if you couldn’t find the dose and you didn’t make it to urgent care tonight? What if you’d gone into shock, and that’s how he found you when he came home tomorrow night? Your lack of regard for your own health is actually really selfish. Bishop would be absolutely devastated if something happened to you while he was away.”

He drops his head, looking ashamed of himself. “I just want to be normal.”

“I get it, I really do, but you’re a diabetic, and that means you have to treat your body better, and it means that you can’t abuse it. My dad took such good care of himself, and we still lost him when he was in his fifties. It sucks that I don’t have a dad anymore. Don’t leave Bishop without a best friend or a brother because you’re reckless with your life.” I push up off the couch, worried I’m about to get emotional. “Once you’re finished eating, we’re going to check your apartment for your insulin, and then we’re going to urgent care. No arguments.”

“Okay.” Nolan finishes his sandwich and doesn’t put up a fight when I follow him back to his place. I manage to find his insulin pack—in the fridge. Apparently when he got home from his afternoon shift, he had a snack and took his shot, and that’s where the case ended up.

That mystery solved, I drive him to the closest urgent care and wait while the doctor checks him over. He’s fine, which is a relief. By the time we’re done, it’s after ten.

“Sorry if I ruined whatever plans you had this evening,” Nolan says once we’re back on the penthouse floor, heading for our respective apartments.

“I didn’t have any plans.” Apart from watching hockey and thinking about his brother.

Nolan pauses with his hand on the door. “Thanks for helping me out tonight. I’d ask you if you want to hang out, but I’m pretty sure Shippy would murder me.”

“Why would he murder you for hanging out with me?”

Nolan gives me a quizzical look, then shakes his head and laughs. “Have a good night, Stevie.”

He disappears into his apartment without answering my question. He’s kind of an odd guy, but then so is his brother.

I haven’t heard from Bishop since he messaged this morning to let me know the team’s return flight was delayed. I considered calling Lainey to find out when they’d be home, but that could have incited questions I didn’t want to answer, and messaging for an update would have seemed slightly desperate, so all I can do now is look at the weather and wait. Apparently there’s some stupid storm in the Midwest affecting flights.

It’s a quarter after five, and I’m here, at this gala fundraiser, currently dateless. Thanks to Pattie and Jules peer pressuring me out of something simple and black, I’m wearing a dress that conforms to all my curves and shows off a lot more skin than I’m used to beyond workout gear. It’s a dark purple to complement my lavender hair, which I dyed again this week in preparation for the event.