Chapter 12
Twelve
Faye
I wake up with my cheek vibrating.
Considering I’ve fallen asleep with my face pressed to my phone on more than one occasion, I don’t really think as I blearily reach a hand up, searching for the button on the side of it, trying to stop the incessant buzzing.
But my hand doesn’t encounter the rubber edge of my phone case.
Instead, it encounters something hard and warm and…rumbling.
My senses finally catch up with me and my eyes fly open, the last of sleep disappearing in an instant.
Because I’m in the crappy hospital bed…and I feel more rested than I have in years.
Gray is on his back, one arm around my shoulders, wrapped tight so I’m on my side, snuggled tightly against him so his other arm can settle on my waist, long fingers resting on my hip, drawing nonsensical patterns over the thin material of the hospital gown I’m wearing.
And the vibrating?
It’s from him speaking quietly to the doctor.
I don’t move, don’t dare to lift my head. Hell, I barely even breathe.
“All of her vitals from last night look good,” the doctor is saying.
“I’ll finish my rounds and come back, do a quick exam for—which, I’m sad to say, you’ll have to vacate the bed.
” I hear the smile in her voice. “Then we do our best to get her out of here. Medically, if the exam is good, she’ll be fine to go home, but make sure someone hangs close.
These things can change and it’s better she has someone nearby, just in case.
” A pause. “Also, you should be aware there may be other long-term outcomes of the event.”
Gray’s body goes tense. “Like what?”
“Nightmares,” the doctor says and it takes everything in me to remain still. “PTSD. She’ll need someone watching out for her.”
“We’ll have her covered.”
I wish I could see Gray’s face when he says those words because there’s something in them that has my pulse speeding, my heart rolling over in my chest…and the insane urge to roll closer, to cling tighter to him.
To trust in that promise.
But how can I when everyone I’ve ever cared about has—
“I know you’re awake, Red.”
I jerk in his hold.
Which, for the record, is completely the wrong thing to do when it comes to trying to pretend to be asleep in my hot hockey-playing neighbor’s arms.
He slides his hand along my side, fingertips drifting over my forearm, lifting goose bumps on my skin. Up, up they travel—over my elbow, the outside of my arm, lightly trailing over my shoulder. There he stops.
Or doesn’t stop.
He just doesn’t move any higher as he winds a lock of my hair around his finger.
“Can’t imagine too many women would spend the day in the hospital, after barely escaping a house fire, and have hair that feels like silk,” he murmurs.
“The nurse helped me shower yesterday.”
He bends, presses his nose to my head, and inhales. “Apples,” he murmurs.
“It’s all they had.”
“I like it.”
“Oh,” I murmur.
Why did I just vow to only buy hair products that smell like apples from now on?
“Sleep okay?” he asks softly.
I nod, and as I do it, I realize I’m still pressed to his chest.
Which has me going stiff again.
But his finger keep twirling, and he doesn’t unwrap his other arm. “You’re quieter in the morning.”
I’m quiet most of the time.
I just…last night was an anomaly.
Like the universe had turned upside down and I was a different person. But today the sun is shining through the windows and I’m…me.
And Gray is…Gray.
“You heard what the doctor said?” he asks, still softly.
“Yes,” I say quietly, pushing lightly against his chest. The question reminding me where I am and what I’m doing and what’s destined to happen.
He doesn’t budge.
“Which means you heard what I said.”
Not a question.
It doesn’t matter, though.
The words are ringing through my head.
We’ll have her covered.
First, who’s we?
Second…what the heck does he mean by covered?
Because I know it definitely can’t be something like what I’d write in one of my books, can’t be what that secret place in my heart wants, can’t mean what it sounds like.
I push at his chest again.
Spoiler alert: he still doesn’t move.
“Gray,” I protest softly.
He releases the strand of my hair, and even as disappointment is coursing through me because he’s not twirling it any longer, my breath squeezes out of my lungs.
Because he’s sliding his hand up, cupping my jaw, diving his fingers into my hair and murmuring, “I like the sound of my name on your lips, Red.”
“I—” But that’s as far as I get.
Mostly because I don’t know what to say to that.
“You feeling okay?”
“Y-yeah,” I murmur.
Even though I’m far from okay.
I’m sad and raw and worried about what I’m going to do next.
I’m confused as to why Gray is still here, nervous about what he meant when he said We’ll have her covered, and…
I’m lying in bed next to him.
So there’s that.
His mouth hitches up. “You’re not okay.”
“I’m fine,” I whisper.
Then his hand is dipping further into my hair, tilting my head down, and pressing his lips to my forehead. “You’re not okay, and that’s okay, baby. It’s okay to not be okay.”
My heart skips a beat at the gentle way he calls me baby, but I know better than to put too much stock into the endearment. Likely, some part of his brain needs to see me out of the hospital and on my two feet. I’ll give him that.
And maybe it’s also me giving myself just a little more time to bask in the warmth of his attention.
“That’s a lot of okays,” I murmur.
He chuckles, the laughter a warm puff of air along my scalp. “Author brain coming out?” he teases.
Oh, my author brain is out.
As in out, alert, clocking every bit of this interaction, of the last day.
Because this is the stuff of fantasies…
And heartbreak.
That has me closing my eyes, taking a long, slow breath.
Then I gently push against his chest.
To my relief—and it has to be said, disappointment—he releases me.
“It’s a gift and a curse,” I say, forcing my lips to curve when he dips his face down again, green eyes coming to mine, holding, searching.
Eventually, he slips his hand from my hair and gently touches his finger to the tip of my nose. “I bet it is.”
My lips part, my exhale shaky.
And—oh, my God, am I clocking this, committing it to memory.
Because I also don’t miss what my shuddering breath does to his eyes.
How they heat and shift, how his hand splayed on the middle of my back presses lightly, bringing our bodies even closer together.
I don’t miss how his head bends further, his mouth coming close enough that I know exactly where this next moment is going…
And how much I want it to go there.
For his lips to find mine.
For him to kiss me hot and sweet and long.
Maybe I misread—
There’s a knock at the door.
He curses softly, glances over his shoulder, and I follow his gaze, see a woman in a lab coat standing there.
Her eyes come to mine and she asks, “Ready to get out of here?”
Out of the hospital? Yes.
Out of Gray’s arms?
No.
Unfortunately, I don’t think I’ll ever want that.