by Elle Aycart
Poor Alec. Delirium was the worst. Not for her—she wasn’t herself during those moments. But for him it must be horrible. Alec, though, hadn’t complained, not once. He’d say, “You’re back? Good. Next time you don’t recognize me but recognize other people, I’ll spank you.” He never did, though. He just kissed her on the forehead and hugged her.
All and all, he’d been a trooper. Nothing fazed him, or if it did, he didn’t let it show.
“Right.” She chuckled. “And since when do you give a flying flip about the norms of the hospital?” She had yet to see a nurse who could stop him.
“Marry me?” he asked. “That would solve many issues.”
There he went again. “Why do you want to marry me? You itching to be a widower? I hear they’re very popular among older women. You can’t be after my life insurance, because I don’t have any. Or have I inherited from some rich aunt and you’re keeping it from me?”
“Shut up, Meg,” he warned her, his tone forbidding. He’d told her several times he didn’t appreciate morbid humor. Boy, he should hear the other patients; she was nothing in comparison to them.
“What? If I can’t joke about kicking the bucket, what am I supposed to do?”
“Watch a K-drama? Read a romance?”
“I’m saturated with dramas.” Besides, watching them in the hospital without Jess by her side, commenting and throwing pillows at the TV, just wasn’t the same. “And I finished the novel yesterday. I’ll check around the ward and see if someone wants to trade with me.”
“You want me to ask?”
“No, thank you.” Having her boyfriend stroll around the rooms, asking about smut literature, had already caused one too many commotions. Jess would had loved that so much. She’d have sneak-attacked him and jumped on his back. The thought made Megan giggle.
“What?”
“You’d have loved Jess, Bonehead. You guys would have hit it off right away.”
“You miss her, don’t you?”
She nodded. Being in the hospital brought back all the memories. “She never would have let me run out of smut to read.”
“I know you don’t like them, but for everyone’s sake, I got you an e-reader. I asked Shayna to download books. Pick one—I’ll read it to you.”
Okay, some concessions should be made, she guessed. The list of books Shayna had ordered was pretty good. Some she’d read; others were on her to-be-read list. “How’s Shayna doing, by the way?”
“She’s having a ball now that she’s in charge of the drills.”
Although Megan had only lived a handful of weeks in NoName, she missed those preppers so much. She and Alec had left several days after the biathlon. They even took part in it, but her shooting had been horrendous, and they had gotten a bunch of time penalties. Alec was a fast skier, just not that fast. Still, she’d had a ball.
“What about the rest—Sean, your crew, Carol, Heather?”
“Everyone is pretty much the same. Heather is still choosing clients from Craigslist. Carol is testing new oxygen masks. Sean is busy as hell with the tours, and my crew is working hard on their stuff. They all send you their regards.”
“I know.” Many people had wanted to come visit, but she hadn’t wanted anyone there.
“So, which book?” he asked.
“This one.”
It probably took ten minutes for her to feel drowsy. His voice did it; it put her in some kind of trance. When she’d been exhausted from the vomiting and pain, he’d gotten her to relax by reading. Her skin had broken out in horrible rashes, and the itching had driven her insane. Listening to him had helped that too. She really didn’t know what she would have done without him.
When she opened her eyes, Alec was looking at her—tenderly, like he always did. Except for when he decided she needed some ass-kicking. He didn’t have issues doing that either, especially during the moments she despaired at how slowly the clinical trial was going.
“You know, the tattoo bothers me,” he whispered.
“The tattoo? A normal guy would be more bothered by the lack of boobs.”
He ignored that jab, like always. “I want that inscription gone.”
It took her a second before she realized what he was talking about. “I already signed the papers. It’s marked in my chart too. I’m not a DNR patient.”
“Still. It bothers the fuck out of me.”
“What? Afraid things will go to shit and someone might not resuscitate me? They don’t actually take orders from tattoos, you know.” In ten months of being in and out of hospital—more in than out—they’d had two scares.
Alec’s chuckle was dry and his gaze dangerously serious. “I’ll trample over anyone who dares not to resuscitate you.” She totally believed that.
She cupped his face. His stubble was already a beard. “Let’s make a deal, Bonehead. If in two years I’m alive, I’ll remove the inscription.”
“Nope. When, and not if, you’re alive a year from now, you’ll marry me. The inscription will go the second you’re discharged.”
Jeez, her man drove a hard bargain.
About the Author
After a colorful array of jobs all over Europe ranging from translator to chocolatier to travel agent to sushi chef to flight dispatcher, Elle Aycart is certain of one thing and one thing only: aside from writing romances, she has abso-frigging-lutely no clue what she wants to do when she grows up. Not that it stops her from trying all sorts of crazy stuff. While she is probably now thinking of a new profession, her head never stops churning new plots for her romances.
Keep in touch with Elle by visiting her at
elleaycart.blogspot.com
Also by Elle Aycart
The Bowen Series:
More than Meets the Ink
Heavy Issues
Inked Ever After
To the Max
Heavy Secrets
Jacked Up
Hard Limits
The OGs Series:
Deep Down
Doomsday Preppers:
Starting Point
Sky’s the Limit