by Danah Logan
The hospital entrance is a madhouse. I count seven news vans. As soon as we pull up, we're swarmed from all sides. It reminds me of the day the cheerleaders noticed a cafeteria attendant add fat-free yogurt to the lunch line. The poor woman couldn't get out of the way fast enough.
Dad leads Mom and me through without acknowledging the press, and even Mom looks like she's on her way to court. Both my parents have their professional fronts up. I channel the quarterback and follow their lead, ignoring the microphones that are shoved in my face.
A local FBI agent greets us and the two suits that accompanied us from Virginia as we pass the double doors.
"Where is she?" My mom drops her calm facade as soon as we're in the privacy of the elevator and reaches for my hand, eyes glistening over.
I squeeze her fingers in return, needing the physical contact just as much. Dad, standing behind us, places both hands on Mom's shoulders, and all of us wait for the local dude to answer.
"She's in a private room on the third floor. We have security staff posted in front of her door because a member of the press was able to sneak in about an hour ago and tried to corner Miss McGuire."
Mom's other hand flies to her mouth, and I swallow a curse. We knew this could happen, but I assured George that I would be with her to face the media. I hope Lilly has been able to stick to the plan. I have no clue how out of it she is.
We exit the elevator, and I immediately spot the two wannabe cops down the hallway. Without thinking, I take off. Dad shouts after me, but I don't stop. The two guards close ranks when I reach the door, but before I can say anything, someone behind me calls, "Let him through."
I shoulder past them and burst through the door. As soon as I’m past the threshold, every muscle in my body locks. I skid to a halt in the middle of the room, unable to move. Heart beating in my throat—if from the sprint or nervousness, I don’t know—my eyes zero in on Lilly. I suddenly have a hard time comprehending that she’s here, in front of me. It’s like I’m watching the scene from the outside. It doesn’t feel real.
Lilly sits cross-legged on top of the covers in the bed. She's wearing a green hospital gown up top and blue scrubs at the bottom. Her head snaps up at the sound of my entrance, and her eyes widen. Her lips part, and she blinks a couple of times as if to ensure that I'm really here.
Our eyes lock, and everything snaps into place. It’s been only two weeks, but it feels like I haven’t seen her in years. My need to touch her, to feel her, propels me forward. I'm at her side in two strides, yet not fast enough. Moving up to a kneeling position, Lilly wraps her arms around my neck and buries her face in the crook right underneath my ear. Her shuddered exhale sends goosebumps down my spine, and my arms encircle her midsection. I hold on as tight as I can without causing her physical pain—I hope. My fingers want to dig into her skin, make contact in every way possible. I can't get close enough. The whole thing is somewhat awkward as she has multiple drips going into both arms, but my girl doesn't seem to care. She clings to me as if her life depends on it—in a way, it does.
"I missed you so much," I whisper, letting my lips graze the top of her ear.
Knowing Mom and Dad will walk through the door any second, it’s the only slip I allow myself from the script the four of us agreed upon.
I pull back to get a better look at Lilly’s face, and my heart skips a beat. The corners of my mouth turn down as I study her. The cut on her forehead looks like it reopened recently. What happened? Apart from the head wound and being paler than her already fair complexion, she looks fine. Her eyes, however, convey her actual state of mind. She’s as scared as I am. Lilly is torn between two worlds and has to navigate them alone, for the most part. I will do my damndest to protect her, but even I know a time will come when I can’t be there.
By their own volition, my hands move to either side of her face. My thumb moves along her cheekbone, and she turns into the caress. Finally close to her again, being able to touch her, instinct takes over. I lean in and press my mouth to hers. Lilly immediately opens up for me like I'm the oxygen she needs to survive. God, how I have missed these lips, not to mention the feel of her tongue tangling with mine. It’s like I’ve touched a live wire; every nerve ending in my body buzzes with the need to feel her.
The clearing of a throat makes us break apart. I reluctantly pull away, but instead of letting go, I interlace my left hand with her right.
So much for the script.
My parents and three agents stand in the doorway with various expressions. The agents look stunned, Dad's face is expressionless, and Mom has a smug smile on her face. At that moment, I'm sure she's been aware of us the entire time; I'm just not sure how she figured it out—home security feed or, well, our inability to hide our feelings.
A tear slowly runs down Lilly’s cheek, and she reaches her other hand out. "Mom?"
With that one word, Mom bursts into violent sobs and launches herself at her daughter. Lilly lets go of my hand and wraps herself around our mother.
I glance at Dad, trying to gauge his level of anger about our show of affection, but instead of the expected disapproval, I see my father tear up. Not once, in eighteen years, have I seen the man cry, and it shocks me to the core.
His gaze meets mine, and he gives me a small nod. I have no clue what it means—for us, or Lilly and me.
Time will tell.
The attending physician comes in and gives my parents a thorough rundown of Lilly's bloodwork and physical well-being. The agents moved toward the corner of the room but keep taking notes on their tablets and phones. It's a lot of medical blah blah, but my parents both keep nodding in understanding. Mom hasn't left Lilly's side, her right hand in her daughter's left and the other permanently attached to a spot right under her throat, while she listens intently. Lilly's free hand finds mine again, and I squeeze it. We don't make eye contact.
When the doctor concludes his report, everyone turns to Lilly as if they expect her to say something. Her eyes widen, and her hand becomes a vice around mine.
Fuuuck, that hurts.
One of the agents is about to say something, but Dad holds up a hand.
"When can we take her home?" My father wants to know. His entire person emanates I'm in charge, and the other man snaps his mouth closed.
The local agent, however, has no clue who my father is. "We need to finish questioning Miss McGuire before, uh…" He trails off when he looks up from his tablet and meets Dad's glare. There is a reason my father is one of the best in his profession. No one tells him what to do, and I hide a snicker by coughing into my fist. Mom gives me a disapproving look, and I mouth, "Sorry."
For the first time since Lilly’s attending physician entered the room, our eyes meet, and I can see the slight tuck at the corner of her mouth. This ghost of a smile results in a flutter within my chest equal to a level seven earthquake. Still standing next to her bed, I smirk down at her before letting go of her hand and lowering myself to sit on the edge of the bed. I drape my arm around her shoulder, and she stiffens for a fraction of a second but then melts into my side. Neither Mom nor Dad give any indication that our behavior is unusual.
Our family is damn good at pretending.
"As I was saying," my father begins again, "when can we take her home?" Turning to the authorities, who hold zero authority, he adds, "You can ask all your questions when my daughter is back in her regular environment."
The doctor clears his throat. "The repeat tox screen shows that her body is responding to the treatment, and the drugs she had in her system will have cleared in about twenty-four to forty-eight hours. I want to repeat the test in twelve hours. If Miss McGuire keeps improving at the same rate she has since she was brought in, I am willing to release her into your custody by the end of the day tomorrow." He pauses. "However, I will advise you to keep her under observation by your family doctor to make sure there are no permanent side effects of the sedative."
Permanent side effects? What the fuck—
> George didn't say anything about this shit causing long-term damage. As if she is reading my mind, Lilly places her palm on my thigh—her way of reassuring me that she’s okay. I need to get her alone—and soon. I have way too many questions I want answers to.
A nurse brings in a second recliner and two more chairs, though the agents excuse themselves to the hallway once they realize they won’t be questioning Lilly—not here. Mom keeps fussing over her, constantly asking if she needs something, fluffing her pillows, and patting her hair—reassuring herself that her daughter is really in front of her. Reading Lilly like an open book, I see how exhausted she is, but she takes it in stride. She won't tell Mom to stop.
After the agents leave, Dad makes his way over. I slide off the bed and take a step back, giving him space. His eyes briefly flick to mine then down to our once again joined hands before he places his hand on Lilly's leg.
"How are you, sweetheart?" It’s the first time he’s addressed her directly. His tone is gentle.
Lilly smiles weakly. "I’m fine, Dad. Just really tired."
My father’s throat bobs. She hasn’t called him "Dad" in forever. He peers down at his phone and nods. "It’s late. Why don’t we all get some rest?"
When he's seated in one of the chairs, his legs propped up on another, he tries to get Mom's attention, but she doesn't look away from Lilly. "Heather? Why don't you take the recliner?" He nods to the one positioned next to his.
Mom glances back and forth between her husband and her daughter until Lilly touches her arm and smiles. "I'm okay." Mom nods hesitantly before she slowly makes her way to the other side of the room.
I pull the second recliner closer, so it's lined up with Lilly's bed, and make myself comfortable. There is no fucking way I am leaving her side. Suddenly, the phone vibrates in the inside pocket of my jacket, and my body involuntarily stiffens. Lilly's head snaps up, sensing the change in my posture. I watch her for several heartbeats before she dips her chin ever so slightly, and I make my way to the private bath attached to her room.
So much for not leaving her side.
Both my parents turn, and I stammer, "Uh… gotta take a piss."
"Language, sweetheart," Mom admonishes, and I hear a chuckle behind me.
With the door securely closed, I pull out the phone.
How is she?
Nate. I want to ask why Lilly, according to the attending physician, could have permanent side effects, but if I start this now, I have no clue how long I will be in this bathroom. One can only pee for so long—even if I’d say I took a dump.
Ok. Tired. Doc said she’ll prob be released tmrw.
Good. Thanks, FBIL. G is close by if you need him.
FBIL? Oh, future brother-in-law.
Ha, this is the friendliest message I've gotten from him, and I can't keep from replying.
NP, PBIL. I’ll take over from here.
Btw you have a stain on the right sleeve of your fancy leather jacket.
Fuck, this guy really is everywhere. Heat creeps up my face, and my eyes dart around in the bathroom before shaking my head. There are no cameras inside the rooms; he saw us walking in earlier.
A knock on the door makes me shove the phone back into my jacket pocket, and I crack the door open. Outside, Mom has an arm wrapped around Lilly while Lilly holds onto the IV pole.
"Lilly needs to use the bathroom as well. Are you done?" Mom asks with raised eyebrows.
"Uh, yeah, sure."
I’m about to squeeze past them when Dad’s voice comes from across the room. "Flush?"
Shit!
I backtrack, flush, and then head back to my recliner without making eye contact with anyone. In my peripheral vision, I see my father staring at me, but I eagerly inspect the stain on my leather jacket.
Thank you, Nate, for giving me a distraction.
Chapter Thirty-Three
I'm slowly emerging from the black void that pulled me under as soon as Heather turned off the overhead light last night. The blinds are lowered, and the room is dark except for the faint glow coming in through the glass window in the door.
I lie still, trying to figure out why I'm awake, when the soft murmurs of Heather and Tristen register in my mind. Heather sounds upset. Quickly closing my eyes again, I don't dare move and alert them to me eavesdropping.
"I’m sorry, honey. I didn’t want you to worry about anything else right now."
"Are you sure?" Heather whisper-shouts, confusion and agitation equally present in her tone.
Tristen draws in a deep breath. "There are some things I haven’t told you. And right now is not the right time to talk about this."
"Since when have you known?" The question sounds more like an accusation.
"A while." I don’t think I’ve ever heard Tristen sound so…uncomfortable?
"What is that supposed to mean? How. Long?" Heather's voice rises, and her husband shushes her.
I hear rustling, followed by footsteps and the door softly opening and closing.
What the—?
Rhys’s hand is still securely in mine. Turning my head, I blink slowly. Instead of his sleeping body, I find green eyes staring back at me.
"You heard that, too, huh?" he whispers with raised eyebrows.
"Yeah, what was that about?" My throat feels like sandpaper, and I add, "Water."
Rhys turns in the recliner, reaching behind him and grabbing a plastic straw cup with water from the nightstand. I take gentle sips. The nurse told me that the stuff they're pumping into me could make me nauseous. As if on cue, my stomach revolts, and I swallow multiple times.
Too much saliva. I cover my mouth with my free hand, closing my eyes again.
I hate you, Nate. No, I don’t, but you will pay for this—somehow.
"Babe? What's wrong?" Rhys sounds panicked, and his grip intensifies. I hold up my pointer finger without removing the other hand from my mouth.
Inhale. Three, two, one. Exhale. Three, two, one. Repeat.
When I'm sure I don't have to make a beeline to the bathroom, I face him. "Sorry...I'm fine. Just got nauseated. They told me that could happen."
"They?" Rhys narrows his eyes at me.
I smile weakly. "The nurse."
He blows out a long breath. I know when he’s trying to rein in his temper. My thumb moves back and forth over his hand, a gesture I know soothes him. "I’m okay," I assure.
Rhys glances toward the door and lowers his tone even more. "What the fuck did George give you?" His nostrils flare. "Why would the doctor assume there could be permanent damage?"
I shrug, trying to play it down. "Any drug could cause long-term effects."
Just take my brother, for example.
Not satisfied with my explanation, his mouth is in a thin line.
I add, "They think I’ve been getting it for the past two weeks, so that's what they treated me for. I. Am. Fine. Nate's plan worked, and that's all that counts."
"I'm going to have a nice chat with my BFF when we get outta here," Rhys growls, and I have to chuckle. Their relationship is so bizarre, even to me who shouldn't say anything given my family situation.
"What time is it?" Subject change.
Rhys glances over to the small alarm clock situated behind us. "Almost six."
I scoot over as far as my IVs allow it. "Come here."
There is no point in keeping up the pretense. Heather and Tristen obviously know about us and, so far, haven't commented one way or another. And I want to be close to Rhys. No, I need to be close to him. Is that appropriate for our current situation or location? Probably not. Okay, definitely not. But from the moment he burst into this room, a low current has been buzzing through my body like an itch I’m unable to scratch. I want him.
His eyebrows almost touch his hairline, and he looks back and forth between me and the door. "I don't know if that's a good idea. We're in a—" Rhys’s eyes widen, and he trails off when I lift the covers.
All I’m wearing is the hospital gown; I rid
myself of the scrubs at some point last night when I got too hot—apparently, another side effect from detoxing.
"Fuuuuuck," he groans and rubs both hands over his face. Glancing at me between his fingers, he mumbles, "Why are you doing this to me?" His chest is rising faster than just a few seconds ago, and I can’t deny that I take great pleasure in the effect I have on him.
Inhibition and fear of getting caught have officially exited. "Because I want to feel you. That's all I could think about for the last two weeks. I need you to hold me."
Rhys blows out a sharp breath and readjusts in his seat. I chuckle, raising my eyebrows.
Clearing his throat, he pushes off the recliner and climbs onto the bed next to me. I drape the covers over his lap, and he motions for me to lift my head so he can place his arm around me. He gently untangles my IVs, making sure he's not cutting off any tubes going into my arms. I curl myself into his side, one leg over his, and nuzzle my face in the crook of his neck.
Home.
A gentle hand tilts my head up, the sensation of his touch sending tingles through my body, and I gaze into the eyes that will always be my undoing.
"I love you so much, Cal. Don't ever do this to me again." His tone is soft, but I can read him like an open book. The concern for my safety and the rage over what Nate has put us through is as visible as his love for me. A vulnerable boy replaces the always strong and confident guy everyone else gets to see. This side of him is usually as sealed as a vault, but I know the combination.
Instead of answering, I reach up and trace the contour of Rhys’s strong, angular jaw, zeroing in on his mouth. My heart rate picks up, and I move my finger over his upper lip, lingering ever so slightly. A sly grin spreads across his face, and he softly bites down on the pad of my thumb. I suck in air between my teeth and let my lids flutter closed. Oh, my God. Heat pools in my core, and in an attempt to press my thighs together—still having his leg between both of mine—I create more friction. My eyes spring open, and a whimper escapes my throat. My hazels find his greens—gone is the little boy. Nostrils flared, it only takes the shortest of moments before he crashes his mouth to mine. There is nothing gentle about this kiss. Rhys invades my mouth with expert movement, forcing me to open up. His tongue frantically stroking against mine, I nip at his bottom lip.