by J. R. Ward
She hurt all over, her body aching in places she hadn’t even known she had. And she wished, more than anything, that she had someone to call, somebody who could come and tell her, even though she wouldn’t have believed it, that everything was going to be all right.
She’d decided not to get in touch with her parents. Not yet. Even if they were in the country, she wouldn’t have wanted them to come rushing east with their manic prayers and Bible verses. She wasn’t as angry with them as she’d always been, but she wasn’t up to all that, either. And she couldn’t call Teresa. God, no … she’d shot the woman’s favorite singer dead, for godsakes.
Then again, knowing her old roommate? The fact that G.B. had turned out to be a homicidal maniac was going to change her opinion pretty damn fast.
For all Cait knew, she was going to be hero in the woman’s eyes when they saw each other next: Teresa liked Dirty Harry movies even more than she liked heavy metal from the Reagan decade—
Some kind of shouting lit off out in the hall, and suddenly, all the normally quiet sounds went total-chaos, people yelling, running, the focus getting louder and louder as if a hurricane were closing in on her room—
Her door opened, some big shape pushing it wide.
“Duke!” She sat up so fast, her stomach nearly revolted from the pain. “Oh, my God! Duke, what are you—”
“Sir, I have to ask you to go back to your—”
“You were just operated on, sir, you need to—”
“Mr. Phillips! Please at least sit down—”
In spite of the fact that he was white as a ghost and weaving like a drunk and surrounded by hysterical medical staff, Duke ignored the drama, shuffling in with his hospital johnny and his compression stockings, leaning on his IV pole for support.
“Hi,” he said in a hoarse voice.
Cait burst into tears and broke out laughing at the same time, a total emotional overload taking her in both directions until all she could do was reach out to him.
“There room for two up on that thing?” he said with a grunt, still ignoring the swarm of people in scrubs and name tags.
“For you, yes.” She wiped her face but didn’t get far clearing her eyesight. And she continued to laugh and cry as she pushed herself over.
It was a hard thing to watch, him stretching out. Clearly he was in tremendous pain, his body moving like an old man’s, his coloring becoming worse—if that was possible.
But then he shoved away the hands that grabbed for him. “What. You wanted me to sit down, I did you one better. Now, leave me the hell alone.”
Well, looked like her bouncer was prepared to start swinging if he had to—and no one needed that, did they.
“Give us a minute,” she said to everyone. “He’ll leave as soon as we get a chance to talk, okay? I promise. Please.”
Lot of grumbling. Some threats to call various doctors as well as security if Mr. Phillips wasn’t in his own room in another five minutes. But they did leave.
When the door eased shut, she touched his face, reassuring herself that he was real. “I thought I’d lost you.”
“I’m too stubborn to die like that.”
“I’m so glad … to see you.”
Even though his hand was shaking, probably because he had all the blood pressure of a deflated balloon, he brought her in for a kiss.
His lips were still soft. And his eyes were still blue. And his skin was still warm.
“I thought I was going to lose me, too,” he admitted.
“It killed me to leave you. But I had to get the phone.”
“You saved my life.”
Her brows went down. “Oh, I don’t know—”
He silenced her by putting his forefinger up on her mouth. “You did.”
“Does that mean you owe me some huge debt?”
“Yeah.”
“Good.” She had to smile, even though the gash on her cheek stung. “Will you take me on another date. When my face is back to normal?”
“You’re as beautiful as ever. To me … you’ll always be beautiful.” As he kissed her again, she believed him. Completely. “And I will take you on that date.”
Laying his head down next to hers, he stared at her for the longest time. “You gave me my freedom, too.”
So funny. She had wanted to get out there and live … talk about being careful of what you wished for. And yet she couldn’t think of anything better than having this man next to her. The detective was right: It was going to take a long, long time to get over something like this, and there was a good possibility she was never going to be the same.
But she had Duke. And the sense that neither of them was going anywhere else for the rest of their days … and nights.
For some reason, she thought of the janitor in that church. Thank God she had listened to him and heard Duke out, letting him talk. “I want you to know something.”
“What?” he said.
“I really feel like this was supposed to happen. This whole … crazy thing. I just … you know, it was all supposed to go down exactly as it did.”
“Funny, I was just thinking the same thing.” He smiled even as his eyes fluttered shut. And then in a sleepy voice, like his body had been unwilling to rest until it was beside hers again, he said, “Love you … Cait Douglass. Love you with all my heart.”
Cait stroked his hair, and imagined him drifting off…
“I think I want to go back to college,” he said suddenly, even though his eyes were still closed and she could have sworn he’d fallen asleep. “I want to finish. Maybe apply to medical school. Think it’s time to be respectable.”
“We could drive to Union together if our classes match up.”
He smiled again. “It’s another date.”
Long road to recovery, she thought as she continued to stroke him. But yup, she had the unequivocal sense that they were going to do it together … that they were going to do a lot of things together.
Abruptly, she pictured herself behind the wheel of her car, squinting into the darkness, lost and trying to find her destination.
Where am I … where am I …
Shutting her own eyes, she snuggled into Duke and knew she’d finally gotten where she’d wanted to be. With him, she was home.
Forever more.
Temptation at your fingertips
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