Page 152 of Delirium
“Yes, they’re okay.” He hummed, his arms not once moving away from me. “I’ll take you to see them, but the doctor needs to give an okay first.”
“But, Storm.” I pouted. “It’s not fair.”
“I know,” he answered with a somber look on his face. “None of this is fair, and I’m sorry, Sunshine,” he whispered. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.”
“No,” I stopped him. “I’m sorry for not being more careful, for being so reckless, so relaxed. I’m sorry you had to go through this.”
“It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Phee.” His hands enveloped my face, pulling my head up to look at him. “The most important thing is that you’re alive and okay. That’s all I care about, nothing else. I couldn’t care less how we got here as long as you and the twins are alive.”
“Did you see them?” I asked, realizing I’d been out for longer than just one night. “How long was I out?”
“Two days,” he said. “Two excruciating days, Sunshine, and I’m gonna spank you next time if you decide not to wake up for two days.” He laughed. “I think I died at least three times.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No, no,” he murmured. “It’s okay. I’m glad you’re alive, that’s all. I’m glad I can hold you like this.”
“I didn’t know we got one more patient,” somebody said from the other side of the room. I turned toward the source, my eyes zeroed in on a man wearing a white coat, kindly smiling at us. But it was the man behind him whose eyes spoke of torment that I wanted to see.
“Kill!” I exclaimed, trying to keep still, but his eyes didn’t answer with the same light I was feeling at seeing him. “Oh, Cillian.”
He shook his head, lowering his head, but I could see the shaking of his shoulders, the anguish emanating from his body.
Storm slowly got up, moving as the doctor came to my side to check my pulse and my vitals, but my eyes were firmly plastered to the man still standing at the door.
“Cillian,” I rumbled, needing him to look at me. “Come here.”
“I can’t,” he mumbled, still looking at the floor.
“Kill, come on. Come here. Please.”
It felt as if an eternity passed before he looked up at me, his eyes filled with tears I hadn’t seen so often on his face, and misery written all over his features.
“I’m sorry, Birdy,” he murmured, slowly stepping inside. “I didn’t know. I—”
“Kill,” I stopped him from rambling more. I could see that he blamed himself, that he wanted to apologize. “This wasn’t your fault.”
“But Tristan and Ava—”
“Are two grown-ass adults who did this because they wanted to, not because you made them.”
The doctor harrumphed from my left, and I could see the small smile playing on his face.
“She’s right, you know,” he added, looking at Cillian. “No one can make another person do something, so it’s futile feeling bad over it.”
“He’s right,” Storm agreed, walking toward Cillian. “We know this wasn’t your fault. We know this wasn’t you, Kill. Come on, now. Go to her. Let her hug you.”
It was as if Storm’s words penetrated through his thick, stubborn skull, and within seconds, he was hovering over me, hugging my upper body, avoiding my stomach.
“I could never be angry at you over this,” I murmured. “This wasn’t your fault.”
“I’ll try to remember that.”
“You better.”
