“How much?” he whispers, squeezing my hand with his. I’m surprised that his grip is as strong as it is, considering the circumstances. If he was bleeding from his neck the way he’s describing, then he probably came damn close to dying, too. I’m almost glad I passed out, so I didn’t have to ride that wave of uncertainty the way I did with Grainger. But only because both men are still here. If one of them had died without me, I’m not sure what sort of psychological break I’d have suffered.
I always get up; I always forge on.
But things are never the same. Nothing is ever as bright. Laughter is never as loud. Smiles are never as wide.
“Enough that I thought he was going to shoot me instead of Gaz,” I murmur, looking up at a slight knock on the door. It opens and Crown steps in, looking glorious as always, even with the fluorescent lights casting their awful glow on his beautiful face.
“Sin,” Crown says, moving over to stand on the opposite side of the bed. “I’m glad to see you’re awake.” He studies his friend with an assessing gaze, as if a single once-over is enough to determine the state he’s in. “You did well today.”
The look Sin offers his vice president is less than pleasant.
“And where were you when we could’ve used another body? Gidget could’ve been killed, Crown.”
DBD’s vice president doesn’t shy away from the question. He doesn’t flinch. He also doesn’t answer, which is telling for both me and Sin.
“Get some rest. They’re saying you can come home by the end of the week.” Crown turns to look at me, his expression an impossible puzzle that I don’t have the energy to figure out. “Let’s get you back to the compound; I brought a car this time. It’ll be safer that way.”
I just stare at him, but as much as I’d love to argue right about now, demand answers from him, I know that I’m fading quickly. I need to be checked out by the club’s doctor and then left alone to sleep for an eternity. Holding Grainger’s hand while he teetered between staying with me and dropping away into the unknown, that was a lot.
“Will you be okay here by yourself?” I ask, and Sin gives me a look.
“What do you take me for?” he asks, reaching up to touch the back of my head. He brings our mouths together for another kiss, one that rewrites parts of my DNA in ways that I can’t explain. Things will be different after all of this, that much I know for damn sure. “But your concern is sexy as fuck. As soon as I get out of this hospital bed …” he starts, sweeping his tongue in a hot arc against the length of mine. A moan escapes me, and I shift toward him, only to hear Crown clear his throat.
Sin scowls at him, but I look up with a challenge in my gaze, one that he won’t meet. Instead, Crown turns away and heads for the door like he expects me to follow him. It fucking kills me to leave Sin and Grainger here, but I have to organize my priorities the same way I did in the immediate aftermath.
Rest, deal with Grey, let the medical staff do their work here so the boys can come home.
I look back at Sin, and the words get caught in my throat. I’ve said them once, but in here, in this weird, sterile place, it feels more raw than it did in that dark bedroom with a roaring fireplace and a gathering of shadows for comfort.
“I love you, Colton,” I tell him, offering up another kiss and biting his lower lip enough that he groans.
“Fuck, you’re going to kill me yet,” he murmurs, drawing away from me and running his hand over his glossy mouth in a dramatic fashion. “I love you, too, Gidge. Get some sleep. Please. Don’t be a stubborn ass about this.”
I give him a pair of raised brows in response but refuse to commit to anything.
Because I’m still Gidget, and I’m still an asshole.
I close the door behind me only to find Crown waiting there with that dark, heavy frown of his.
“I can’t get a read on Cat’s motivations for the life of me,” he says, surprising me. I almost thought he was going to say something about me kissing Sin or about us saying that we loved each other. I must be delusional. Of course that doesn’t matter right this second.
“You’ve seen him since?” I ask, and Crown gives a slow, tired nod.
“I have. He’s addressing the situation as if it’s a mafia problem, and not something internal. There weren’t enough coherent people anywhere near the clubhouse to say otherwise; nobody knows that Sin was having a shoot-out with our own men.” Crown looks down at me, bruised and swollen and swathed in an oversized cream-colored pullover that I can’t for the life of me fathom Beast wearing, and then he offers up an arm.
