Page 28 of Sweet (Chicago Underground 7)
“Can I see him?”
She eyed me kindly. “He’s very groggy from the pain meds, but visitation is open for half an hour. And you’ll have to go one at a time.”
Philip put his hand on my arm.
I turned back, sending him my fiercest glare. “Don’t.”
A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “You won’t win this.”
Shaking him off, I followed the nurse, and thankfully, he didn’t try to stop me this time. He had enough presence and bribe money to ensure he could speak to Drew first or even bar me completely, but ours was a strange and heartrending crossfire.
The nurse opened the door and gestured me inside. Apprehension seized my next step, as if seeing him in there would make it real. As if I could keep him—and myself—safe from harm with my ignorance alone.
Shaking it off, I pushed into the dark room and heard the door swing shut behind me.
He was folded into a white hospital bed and hooked up to machinery. His eyes opened a few seconds later. My heart thudded painfully, the sound of my own blood rushing over the beeping in the room.
“Rose?” His voice was hoarse, almost a croak.
I rushed to him. “Drew, I’m sorry I didn’t… I couldn’t…” Couldn’t reach you, couldn’t help.
He smiled faintly, though it felt sad. “It’s okay, Rose. I’m okay.”
It was like he’d heard every unanswered question: Is he okay? Are you okay? And he answered with more than his words—with the sharp glint of intelligence and humor in his bruised eyes. With the steady rise and fall of the white knit blanket over his chest.
I sat in the chair at his side, taking hold of his hand. His skin was paler than usual, almost white under the harsh yellow lamp above his bed. It reassured me that his grip was firm where he squeezed my fingers.
Not too late.
Tentatively, I curved my hands around his, gratified to feel him warm and solid, even more when he gently squeezed in response.
“Is there anything I can get you? Anything I can do to make you more comfortable?”
“Yes,” he sighed.
His eyes slid shut, and after a minute, I realized he had fallen asleep. I perched my hip on the side of the bed, not breaking contact with my hands wrapped up in his, my gaze on his face—my heart filled with an urgent, overwhelming emotion. Too acute for love, really. Too painful.
The glass was inside me now, shards cutting into my heart—but far worse than this would be having him removed. Losing him to an accident, to my brother’s obsessive need for control.
I wanted to lie beside him, curled up all the way inside him, even, but I couldn’t risk hurting him. I released his hand only long enough to drag a plastic folding chair over to the bedside. I curled my arm around his hand, protectively, possessively, just before sleep overtook me.
Chapter Eleven
The sound of male voices washed over me, a babbling brook, a rush of cool water that soothed my racing heart before I came fully awake. A smile curved my lips. I loved to hear them, the pleasant sounds of their plotting, the gentle affection of friends who pretended otherwise.
It meant they were safe at home too. I worried whenever they were gone, afraid of unseen enemies. Although I didn’t know why I had fallen asleep near them—that was strange. I didn’t even know where in the house we were, considering my face was smashed against something stiff and crinkly that smelled of rubbing alcohol.
Groggily, I pushed myself up, wincing at the ache in my knees. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes, frowning at the sight in front of me. Drew’s beautiful skin swathed in white sheets and blue-patterned fabric. My brother standing on the opposite side of the bed, looking pissed as hell.
The crash, the hospital—I remembered now. It came back to me in a sudden breathless rush. My heart clenched all over again, my body aching with sympathy pain. Drew didn’t need my horror right now, or my fear, so I forced my shock back.
I suspected it had been longer than the thirty minutes we’d been allotted. And we’d definitely broken the one-at-a-time rule, but I was grateful for more time with Drew however it came. Blearily, I blinked at the clock above his bed. Three o’clock. In the morning? Yeah, we’d gone over visiting hours.
“Are you feeling okay?” My words came out slurred and sleep heavy.
He smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Better now. Philip, can we have a minute?”
My brother nodded and left the room. Suspicion flared at his easy acquiescence. Who knew what horrible things he’d told Drew while I slept.
