Choosing You (Gravity Hill #3)

60. Chapter 57

B reathing is painful, and I have to try a few times to open my eyes. They feel so heavy. My body hurts, but I’m alive.

Every moment I was unconscious, I felt trapped in my body, unable to crawl my way back to Henry. Helpless to the things he and I never got to experience. I have so many things I want to do with him. So many memories yet to share with him.

Moving hurts, and something weighs my hand down. Turning my head, I catch the sight of curly black hair.

Henry.

He’s here.

“Hey,” I croak.

His head pops up, but he’s blurry. I can’t make out his features, but I know it’s him from his intoxicating scent alone.

“Banks?” His voice is soft and tentative, as if he’s worried he’s dreaming.

“I’m here… I think.” The use of my voice makes me cough, and fuck me, my throat hurts.

“I love you, Banks Rossi. I love you so goddamn much.” He’s standing now, pressing his lips to mine so gently it’s like a butterfly’s wings. Pressing against the tubes still connected to my arms, I firmly seal my lips to his before the pain causes me to fall back to the pillow. Henry lifts away from me and whispers, “I thought I’d never get the chance to say it again.”

“I’d kick the reaper's ass to come back to you.”

He laughs, resting his forehead against mine. Nurses come in, followed by Luca and Creed. Dad stands from a chair near the window and taps my leg.

“Welcome back.”

After spending over a month in the hospital due to complications , they finally let me go home. Fuckers said it would only be a few days, and every chance I got, I grumbled about it. Everyone is apparently waiting for me at the house. I missed Christmas, but Fern left everything decorated the way it was.

Henry spent every day in the hospital with me until our dads pulled him out. I haven’t seen him for a few days since the hospital told my dad they would be discharging me soon.

Healing from a bullet that tore through my body is a bitch, and what makes it worse is after all the planning, Romero still got away. Dad hits any bump in the road, it jostles me, and I groan. The fucker snickers from the driver’s seat, knowing firsthand how fun healing from wounds like this can be. I only scowl at him.

“I’m glad to see the bullet didn’t ruin your winning attitude,” he laughs, glancing my way before turning back to look at the road.

“If you weren’t aiming for every fucking pothole on the road, I wouldn’t have to scowl at your poor driving, old man.” I lob back at him, and he laughs. Pulling up to the gates, he stops to let them roll open and turns to face me.

Placing his hand on my shoulder, he squeezes and sighs. “I thought… For a while there, I thought that we’d lost you.” He looks out the windshield, wiping his other hand over his face, “I thought I’d lost you, and it’s my fault. I never, ever want you to jump in front of a bullet for me, B, do you hear me?” His dark eyes are locked on mine as he repeats himself. “Never. Again.”

I nod, keeping my eyes on his.

“I’m the one that’s supposed to protect you, not the other way around.” Two tears roll down his face, something I haven’t seen since my mother’s funeral. “I can’t lose you, not in this life.”

“I can’t lose you either, and I’m not sorry. That bullet would have killed you.” I take another gulp of air because what I have to say might shock him. “I am sorry for taking so long to wake up, for making you wait in dread wondering, and for the multiple complications . I know that’s not my fault, it’s just my body’s way of healing. But I know that couldn’t have been easy.”

He nods, removing his hand from my shoulder and slowly driving up the hill toward home.

Everyone’s here, standing on the stairs as if they don’t have anything better to do than congratulate me on not dying.

“They love you too, son, let them.”

With his parting words, the cab of the truck is silent after he steps out and comes over to help me out. The surgeon told me I’d be sore for a while and not to overdo any strenuous activity until my follow-up appointments and physical therapy.

With Dad’s help, I get out of the truck and gain my footing. Looking up, my eyes are met with Henry’s. He’s smiling and crying, but our eyes are fixed on each other. I couldn’t look away even if I wanted to.

He steps down, his feet crunching in the gravel as he meets me in the middle. His hand cups my face, leaning in, his lips gently brush mine. “Welcome home.”