Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
AMES
When I come to, the first thing I’m aware of is a blip, blip, blip , like a truck backing up somewhere in the distance.
The next thing I’m aware of is pain—sharp, immediate, all-consuming pain that someone should really do something about.
But when I suck in a breath to say so, it feels like the truck’s backed up onto my chest.
“Who,” I manage, “is driving the fucking truck?”
There’s a familiar huff, and then a voice I know better than my own says, “Easy, Amesie. You’re okay. Shallow breaths, yeah?”
“Mmm.” I force my eyes open despite the protest in my throbbing skull, and Robbie’s face is the first and only thing I see.
Beautiful.
“Hey,” I croak.
“Hey, yourself.” His face cycles through a bunch of emotions—fear, relief, and something else I don’t catch—before settling into neutral concern. “How’re you feeling? ”
Robbie looks like he hasn’t slept in years. His dark hair’s sticking up, his jaw’s covered in stubble, and he smells like he rolled in a bonfire. But just seeing him—so fucking gorgeous, so mouthwatering, so here —makes me suck in another breath, and?—
“ Oh, fuuuuuuck ,” I groan as the stabbing intensifies. “Ow, ow, ow. I’ve gotta stop doing that.”
Robbie reaches for the call button. “You want the nurse? They started dialing back your pain meds so they can do some cognitive tests, but if it’s bad, I’ll call?—”
This might get worse? Jesus .
“No.” I lick my dry lips and taste blood and dirt. “Water, please?”
He grabs a cup and pitcher from my rolling table and helps me take a sip through a straw. It’s the fucking nectar of the gods.
As I sip, memories crash through me. Vague impressions, mostly. The fire. The wind. And… oh, fuck, Greene .
“Is Greene—” I manage, when Robbie pulls the cup away. “—okay?”
“He’s alive. Hugh got him out. I haven’t gotten a full report yet. I know his leg’s pretty banged up, but he’s expected to make a full recovery. In fact…” His jaw tightens. “He’s doing better than you are.”
“Yeah?” I glance down at myself and wish I hadn’t.
Every part of me’s lit up with varying degrees of ouch , though my chest is by far the worst. I’m propped in the bed, wearing a hospital gown and covered by a blanket.
My right arm’s strapped to my chest in a sling, and my left rests on a bunch of pillows.
One of my ankles is encased in some kind of medical bubble wrap, and there are a million wires attached to me, which is where those blips are coming from.
I can only imagine what the bits of me I can’t see look like.
“What’s the verdict, Doc?” I demand weakly.
“Let’s see.” Robbie rattles off the list like he’s memorized it, his voice getting tighter with every word.
“Collarbone fracture. Bruised ribs. Mild concussion. Swollen ankle—not broken. About a billion contusions and abrasions. And they were worried you had some smoke inhalation, so they had you on oxygen for a while just in case.”
“Oh.” I try to smile, but my head swims, so I have to close my eyes for a second. “So barely a scratch, then? Just gimme, like, ten more minutes, and I’ll get up.”
Robbie’s mouth tightens. “It’s not funny, Ames. You could’ve—” He clamps his lips shut and shakes his head.
“Rob.” I move my fingers in a gimme motion without moving my left arm. Robbie rolls his eyes but obediently lays his hand in mine, even though he has to hunch over to do it. “I’m okay.”
“Yeah,” he agrees gruffly. But when he scrubs his other hand over his face, I see it’s shaking.
“Hey. Are you okay? How long have you been here?”
“Dunno.” Big shoulders shrug. “Since they brought you in.”
Full daylight’s shining in the window now, so… all night.
“Jesus, Rob. Go home. Get some sleep. Eat something. There’s no way you were comfortable in that tiny chair?—”
Green eyes sear into mine. “I’m not going anywhere, Ames.” He turns his hand over so he’s gripping me . “Don’t give me any shit about how I’m not your person anymore or how our friendship’s changing either. I could be engaged to five billion people, and I’d still be right here with you. Got it?”
I blink, startled by his fierceness, and for once in my life, it doesn’t occur to me to argue. “Y-yeah. Whatever you want.” Then, after a pause, “Five billion?”
Robbie huffs out a breath, but his lips twitch. “Fuck off. It’s been the longest night of my life.”
His attention catches on my right arm. As we both watch, he reaches out a single finger and traces a deliberate pattern on my biceps. Though it’s a ghost of a touch—he’s being careful of my bruises and the sling—I know he’s outlining my tattoo.
It’s like last week at my apartment. Like he’s leaning into me, and I’m helpless to stop him—hell, it’s like I’m pulling him closer with the tractor beam of my mind. Come on. Come on.
Despite feeling like death warmed over, his proximity makes my stomach flutter and my heart monitor blip-blip-blip frantically.
Fuck . Caught.
Robbie blinks and snatches his finger away. “Sorry.”
I keep hold of his other hand so he can’t go far. “No, I’m sorry,” I croak. “I freaked you out, huh?”
He huffs out a laugh. “You have no idea.” His eyes lock on mine. “How much do you remember about last night, Ames?”
“Uh.” I try to think back, but everything’s fuzzy and disjointed. “Greene. I swear, I thought I was right behind him so I could pull him out before he got too far in. But I couldn’t see him—or much of anything—and then… The wall came down, didn’t it? Or the ceiling?”
Robbie’s fingers squeeze mine so hard I wince, and he pulls away quickly. My hand immediately feels cold all by itself.
“Sorry. Yeah, pieces of both came down. Knocked you out.” He clears his throat and finds something fascinating outside the window to stare at.
“I wasn’t knocked out. Not totally.” My head’s pounding, and no matter how hard I try to focus, I can’t make the picture come clear. But I do remember Robbie’s voice—panicked, yelling. “You were there, weren’t you? Inside the building? You came in and got me out.”
He nods once without turning around.
“Ah, shit.” I imagine our roles reversed and how fucked-up I’d feel. “I’m sorry, Rob. You had to come in after me, ignore protocol. I hate that you had to?—”
Robbie whirls around, eyes sparking. “ Had to ? Please finish that thought, Ames. Tell me you wouldn’t have done the same thing. That you wouldn’t have wanted to.”
I shut my mouth, because he’s right, and earn another nod.
“Keep going,” he instructs, pacing a path by the bed. “What else do you remember?”
“I-it’s all bits and pieces. I remember someone taking my mask off.
I remember trying to move my hands, but I couldn’t because I was strapped to the board.
I think I woke up a little when I got here because I remember them going through the concussion protocol—name, date, all that— while they cut my clothes off, which was fucking distracting. ”
“So you remember the important bits, like giving the medical professionals a show?” He snorts. “Then what?”
I roll my eyes, which are maybe the only part of me that doesn’t hurt. “More like I wanted to make sure my sister wasn’t one of those medical professionals, you jerk. And after that… I dunno. A CT scan, I think. Then they gave me the good drugs, and I’ve been asleep since.”
Robbie studies my face, checking whether I’m serious, and I feel a pulse of dread.
“H-haven’t I?” My eyes widen. “Oh, fuck me. Did I make an ass of myself while I was medicated? Was I like those people who sing show tunes after their wisdom teeth are removed?”
He snickers.
That’s not actually an answer, and my panic that I somehow humiliated myself intensifies. Although, frankly, I’d take the shame of an impromptu concert over the other mortifying things I might have done or… or said .
The monitor blip-blip-blips like a tell-tale heart.
“Ah, shit,” I say weakly. “Those poor doctors and nurses. I can’t sing for shit.”
“Well, hello.” A cheerful nurse in pink scrubs and a ponytail bustles in with a laptop on a cart. “How are we feeling, Mr. Axford? Mind if I check your vitals? I’ve got some acetaminophen for you, and I figured you might need to use the restroom.”
She’s not wrong. Unfortunately, getting me upright and walking is a complicated, painful process that requires Robbie to lend an arm… or, to my chagrin, two .
I ignore his eye roll and huff when I insist on him leaving once I’m safely in the bathroom.
By the time the nurse leaves a little while later, all I can do is lie back on my pillow, feeling genuinely fucking exhausted and more than a little sorry for myself.
I pluck at the blanket with the fingers of my left hand. “You know, if I did something bad or embarrassing while under the influence, you’re required to tell me. It’s in the friendship rule book. It’s not fair that I don’t have Hippyottermus here to compel you.”
“Right.” Robbie sinks into the chair. “Because you tell me everything.”
“I… I mean…” I open my mouth, then close it like I’m a very large fish. “Pretty much everything, yeah. Eventually.” With one large exception.
Blip-blip-blip-blip.
He glances at the machine and snorts tiredly. “I pinky promise, Ames, you didn’t do or say anything embarrassing, okay?”
“Okay.” I exhale a little in relief. “Good.”
“Your rendition of ‘Let It Go’ was a musical triumph , and you shouldn’t be embarrassed in the slightest. There wasn’t a dry eye in the whole Emergency Room. They talked about inviting you back for a Christmas Spectacular.”
I gape at him. “What? I don’t even know the words to?—”
Robbie snickers, and when he sees my horror, he laughs harder. I can’t even be mad because there’s so much fatigue and relief in the sound, and it lifts my heart to hear it.
He leans his forehead against my left hip. “Sorry.”
“You’re an asshole,” I inform him, tugging his hair as punishment… though it’s possible that it’s more stroking than tugging, and that I’m grinning while I do it .
The man did save my life, after all.