Chapter Nine
SAVEA
The next time I was fully aware, I was half sitting up in a hospital bed.
There had been awareness before then.
Kingston pulling me to his chest again, holding me close until he lowered me onto a bed in an emergency room.
There had been voices, prodding, questions about my head, about my memory, worries about a concussion.
Then I had been wheeled down a long hallway, my eyes closed against the harsh, aching overhead light, though some of the pain was subsiding thanks to a set of pills I had been given, taking them without asking what they were for.
I was lifted onto a cold table, had a lead vest laid over my chest and lady bits, then pictures snapped of my insides.
They didn't have to tell me; I knew there was brokenness.
But the next words preceded more unconsciousness, this time chemical.
Compound fracture.
Surgery.
Normally, the idea of being put under would have filled me with dread. But I was too tired to care.
And, besides, Kingston was there.
I was pretty sure nothing bad could happen to me if Kingston was there.
More wheeling, harsher lights, pokes and prods, blissful unconsciousness.
"Heya, sweetheart," King's voice said, low, soft. It was only then that I realized his hand was holding mine.
My head shifted on the pillow, finding him sitting in a chair off the side of my bed, body curled forward toward me, the large glass windows behind him dark.
Dark?
"How long was I out?"
"You woke up after your surgery for a while. In recovery. But I don't think you were fully awake. You were out when they brought you up here, only mumbling and grumbling when they moved you. I think that head wound—and the migraine after it—really did a number on your system."
"Do I have stitches?" I asked, not bothering to reach up.
"Sixteen," he told me, knowing it was cruel to try to sugarcoat the truth when I was only going to learn it eventually.
"Are they hideous?"
"They're badass," another voice broke in, familiar, making my head turn to find Peyton standing there in a skater dress covered in a print of little poison bottles, her tattoos on her bare arms and chest so much brighter in the harsh fluorescent light.
"And my leg?" I asked.
"You have pins now. You're part cyborg now. Which is also badass. How are you feeling?"
"Numb," I told her, feeling tingly all over. "Numb is good," I decided.
"What time is it?" I asked, looking back at Kingston.
"Just after eleven."
"Did you find Harry?"
"Harry has tried to get up here six times… and counting," Peyton explained. "Brought you a balloon and everything. But he has been thwarted by seven Mallicks and three Rivers."
"Three? Has Atlas finally climbed out from underneath whatever woman he's been under for the past few weeks?"
"Apparently, your near-death experience outweighed easy pussy," Peyton declared. "Shocking, I know. I thought it would take the Rapture."
"Have you been here all day?"
"Mmhmm. Where else would I be? Jamie was here for a while too, but just ran out to help Sugar with Padfoot and Hannibal. We're doggy sitting for a few days. Since I know there is no way this strapping man here is leaving your side."
"I'm not going to be in here a few days, am I?" I asked, horrified at the idea.
"Don't worry about the animals," Kingston assured me, giving my hand a squeeze. "Harry is under strict orders to give them the care they deserve until you are well enough to come back."
"I'm gonna be on crutches for a while, huh?" I asked, feeling the foreign heaviness of my leg, knowing that a cast was hidden under my blankets.
"Yep. And all the pain in the ass stuff that entails," Peyton told me. She was always a straight, no chaser kind of person. But she added, "Lucky for you, though, you have someone to wait on your hand and foot."
I didn't need the reminder to know he was there. His hand was still holding mine, squeezing almost to the point of pain. Like maybe he needed to prove to himself that I was there, safe, a little banged up, but not too much worse for the wear.
My gaze slid back to him, still seeing tension in his shoulders, jaw, around his eyes. My hand turned under his, lacing my fingers between, giving him a squeeze this time.
"On that note, I am going to let the worried masses know that you are awake and blessedly numb. I imagine I can hold them off for, oh, twenty minutes. Enjoy your alone time," she said, giving me a finger wiggle on her way out the door.
"I'm so fucking sorry, Savvy." His voice sounded wrenched from somewhere deep inside, somewhere raw and aching.
"Sorry? You didn't do anything. You saved me," I reminded him."
"Not quickly enough."
"There was no way you could have known that..."
"I should have known," he cut me off, voice rough. "I should have protected you. And I should have seen men lingering around, waiting to catch you alone. That is my job. And I failed. And you paid for it."
"One of them paid a little bit. Well, a lot a bit once you got a hold of them, I guess."
"I saw that bandage on his hand," Kingston agreed, giving me a small smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "You shouldn't have needed to fight them in the first place."
"You can't protect me from everything."
"I sure as fuck can try."
"I think we can both agree this was a once-in-a-lifetime kind of thing," I told him, pulling his arm up in what felt like slow motion, pressing a kiss to the back of his hand.
"Fair enough," he agreed, giving me a smile that touched his eyes a little.
"How long do I have to be in here?"
"Just the night. They wanted to make sure you were alright when you woke up. I can take you home by noon tomorrow. My home," he clarified. "Where I get to do the waiting-hand-and-foot thing Peyton mentioned."
"You don't have to do that," I assured him, the idea of someone doing that —let alone a man—completely foreign to me.
"I want to, sweetheart. You're going to need some help for a while. Let me be the one to do it."
There was a pleading in his voice, begging me to allow him to cook for me and clean up after me.
If I hadn't heard it with my own ears, I never would have believed it. My mother couldn't even get my father to warm her up a can of chicken noodle soup when she was down with the flu for ten days.
"Okay," I agreed, feeling a bit of stinging in my eyes, knowing I was going to get emotional if I kept thinking about it.
"Okay," he said, leaning down to kiss my hand this time.
"Tell me what happened," I asked.
"You should rest."
"I've spent most of this day unconscious. I can be awake for a little while. I want to know what happened."
He spent the next... eighteen minutes telling me all the details before, as Peyton predicted, we were invaded.
The entire Mallicks clan (minus the kids) visited over the next hour.
How, I wasn't sure, since it was clearly after visiting hours.
But no one batted an eye at their presence.
And since I had a private room somehow—even though I had the shittiest health coverage known to man thanks to the ever-cheap Harry—it wasn't like they were disturbing anyone.
"Okay, she's too nice to say it, so I have to," Nixon declared a while later when all their love got a little loud, making my migraine start to break through the blessed painlessness I had known since waking up.
"She's got a headache, and everyone needs to clear out," he added when everyone gave him their attention.
Helen was the second-to-last to say goodbye, leaning down to kiss my forehead, telling me quietly, "Don't worry. I will keep the hoards away for a day or two so you can settle in at home. But I do expect to see you for Sunday dinner next week."
"We'll be there," I assured her, watching as her smile went knowing, like she had maybe suspected, but I had just confirmed it. And I knew her well enough to know she was happy for me, for us, for the potential we had.
She filed out, leaving only Nixon at the doorway, giving me a long look.
"Thank you."
"Anytime you need someone to be an asshole for you, you know where to find me, kid," he assured me, turning and walking out, leaving me alone with Kingston.
"You should go home so you can sleep."
I knew it was pointless to even suggest it, that he was not going to leave my side.
"There's a chair here, sweetheart. I'll be fine."
"Help me scoot," I demanded, "pressing my hands into the mattress, trying to do it myself, but finding my leg too heavy to move on my own.
"Savvy, no..."
"Yes," I countered, gritting my teeth as I whacked one leg against the other, sending pain through my system.
"Okay okay, I'll help," he said, holding a hand up to stop me from hurting myself again.
With that, he helped me get as far to the edge of the bed as possible, allowing me to pat the space next to me.
It was a very small bed.
But we, well, were a very new couple.
We didn't mind pressing close.
He rolled onto his side, arm draping over my belly, face pressed close to mine.
"Worried I lost you," he told me, voice barely more than a whisper. "Before I really got to have you."
I pressed my head into the side of his, smiling. "If I recall correctly, you certainly had me once."
"Don't remind me," he grumbled, fingers rubbing over my ribs. "I'm gonna have to keep my hands to myself for the next two months."
"I'm sure there are ways to... work around this stupid cast."
"Don't tempt me," he said, voice warm. I didn't have to see him to know there was a smile on his face. A real one.
"Hey, Kingston?" I asked a while later as sleep got heavier on my eyes.
"Yeah?"
"You're sure they took care of the animals?"
"I promise," he told me, releasing my side to grab the button at the side of the bed. I didn't register what he had done until the last twinges of pain disappeared, an urge to sleep overwhelmed my system, taking me under.
--
"You look like that baby giraffe everyone waited months to be born. Then fumbled around on its stupid oversized legs."
This was Nixon informing me that I wasn't quite adept at working crutches.