Chapter 11
ELEVEN
Beast threatens to bind my arms and legs with zip ties.
“You are not to accost anyone,” he warns as the three of us stride toward the glass doors at the hospital’s emergency entrance.
Truck grabs my arm as soon as we walk inside. “Hey, come here.”
He drags me toward the restroom. “Wash your damned face. She does not need to see you like that.”
Arguing is pointless. The reality is that if the two of them wanted to shove my face in the toilet, they could.
I’m six-foot-five and two-seventy-five, but the two of them together are trouble.
So, I avoid a brawl that will get us kicked out and do what’s right, so I can see Rosalie.
Because if I have to wait another fucking minute, I’m going to break something.
Tunnel-vision propels me toward the bathroom door. It bangs loudly when I shove it open and head for the sink.
The water runs cold, but not as icy as my gut when I get a look at my face.
Jesus. If ever a man looked wrecked, it’s me.
Only washing my face isn’t going to fix what’s wrong. This is the face of a haunted man.
The bastard in the mirror isn’t a rescuer.
I’m a monster who almost let her die. Because I was fucking distracted.
What happened is inexcusable.
She deserved to have someone competent protecting her.
Slamming the water spigot off, I snatch a paper towel.
The door swings open behind me. A man wearing a cardigan shuffles in, using a cane, stopping my arm mid air. Where it was cocked and loaded to punch the mirror.
Fuck.
Breathe.
Don’t fuck up more.
I shake out my hand, shoving it into my pocket.
Keep your shit together, Justice.
They’re still waiting on me when I tear the door open and stalk past them. Neither of them stop me when I double-time to the reception desk.
“Sir, how can I help you?” the woman working asks nervously, visibly recoiling.
“Rosalie. Baxter.”
I’m like a tuning fork every time I say her name.
Rosalie.
It vibrates through my teeth, my bones. Stirring all my electrons.
The frequency is wrong and right at the same time.
“Let me check.” The woman reaches for her keyboard, keeping far, far away from where I’m looming over her desk.
“He’s on a leash,” Beast assures, taking up a stance with folded arms next to me.
She looks between us, concern tightening her mouth. After scooting further away on her rolling chair, she nods stiffly. “I’ll let the nurses know you’re here.”
Right. She’s calling security.
I pivot on my heel and stride to the metal door adjacent to her desk. Beyond the door, through the glass window, the emergency room stretches far into the distance.
For a beat, I consider the keypad. A well-placed boot strike would take care of that.
It would be messy and noisy as fuck.
“Don’t,” Beast says one word, and I catch sight of Truck hovering close enough to block me.
They’re here to keep me from self-destruction. Both of them know what this kind of thing does to a man. I’ve watched them from the other side of the fence.
I’m grateful for them. That they’ve survived the fire, but I want them out of the damned way.
“Do this the right way,” Beast grumbles.
Right is relative.
As luck would have it, the door happens to open when I get close.
Amen. I slide in behind the person exiting and feel Beast fast on my heels. “Fucker,” he mutters under his breath. “You’re going to get us all locked up.”
Schooling my face into the most pleasant state I can conjure given that I’m not human right now, I stride to the nurses’ station.
There’s a flurry of activity all around, but no one greets us.
Machines beep. Phones ring. People cluster in small groups talking, not noticing us.
More good luck.
It’s like there’s an angel sitting on my shoulder, smoothing the way. Has been since we pulled out of Westerly’s complex.
Traffic was nonexistent.
When we got close to the hospital, every light turned green as we approached.
So much alignment that even Truck commented on it.
Now, here behind the desk, is a whiteboard with patient’s last names and ages written in blue ink. There are also some initials and numbers, but the only intel I need is, Room 14.
No one even looks at us as we round the corner, laser-focused on the door keeping me from Rosalie.
My hand is on the metal door plate when a guard intercepts us. “You got a visitor’s badge?”
Fuck off is on my lips along with a snarl when Beast starts patting his pockets.
“Man, I did. I was supposed to hold onto them, but I must have dropped them when I was taking a leak.”
Damn.
Dude is lying like a pro for me.
Tipping his chin up, the older man eyes both of us. “What branch of service, gentlemen?”
Beast lifts a brow as he looks at me. He can probably see electrical current arcing from my skin. I’m vibrating, ready to knock the wall down to get to Rosalie.
“Navy, both of us,” Beast replies with a grunt, facing the man. “You?”
“Same.” He glances at the nearby nurses’ station—it’s still vacant. “Ten years. I can spot Team guys from a mile away.”
“Good.” My tone is low and lethal.
I push the door open an inch. “I need to get to my girl. She just died, and my teammate and I resuscitated her.”
A knowing look crosses the guard’s face.
He’s seen death. Whatever he did before, and what he does now, has settled in his bones too. Blowing out a slow breath, he gives us the nod.
Yes!
“Let him go in,” he motions to me. “Frog man, you can come with me to get a couple new badges over there at the nurses’ station.”
Luck. Again.
Thank you.
I push open the door. Antiseptic and the scent of laundered cotton float out and I hesitate.
What if?
I shake my head. She’s fine. She’s going to be fine.
But the sight inside the room punches me in the chest.
Wires, lines, harsh fluorescent lights remind a man of how serious this is. A bed sits in the middle of the twelve-by-twelve space. A single window with a closed blind.
In the midst of it all, Rosalie’s small form is on the bed, covered with a pale blue blanket.
Wind rushes out of me. Fear claws up my spine.
She’s too still.
I can’t move, a lump the size of a tank expands in my throat. I’m so focused, searching for signs of life, I don’t even realize a nurse is working on a computer in the corner.
A sound makes me flick my eyes around the room as all my senses tangle.
She says, “Ahhh, there you are. I’d bet a thousand dollars you’re Justice the Hero. She’s been asking for you.”
“Really?” I’m hoarse. And weak.
“We can wake her up.”
“No,” I whisper fiercely, choking out, “She needs to rest.”
Standing, the nurse moves to the bed. “Actually, I need to check one more vital, then I’ll leave you two alone.”
“Is she…?”
Offering me an empathetic look, she nods. “Everything looks perfect. Very lucky woman.”
I fall into the chair, because I suddenly weigh a thousand pounds.
She’s safe.
A possessive current tightens my spine, chased by a dumpster full of regret.
A tremor passes through me, my muscles unwinding after hours of contraction. The stinging is back in my throat. My eyes are a damned mess.
A beam of light slices across me as the door swings open. Beast zeroes in on me—not Rosalie, me.
He silently moves to me, grips my shoulder with force. “Brother, everything good?”
I’m nodding, but that’s it.
The nurse offers a small smile. “That’s the relief hitting him. It’s powerful. He’s going to need sleep soon.”
Scrubbing both hands over my face, I knock my hat off and finally, finally breathe. But quick on the heels of that breath is a flood of tears.
You’d think I’d be empty now.
“Hey, sunshine,” the nurse gently wakes Rosalie. “You’ve got company that would like to see you.”
Rosalie’s eyes immediately find me, as if she senses me. Or maybe she’s as magnetized to me as I am to her.
“You came!” she exclaims. “I wondered if I actually dreamed you.”
I choke for a few seconds. “Yes, of course. I’ll always come.”
But as I say this, I know she’s mine to save, but that’s it. Can't fuck up someone's life if I keep them at arm's length.
“She’s a little loopy,” the nurse laughs gently as she takes Rosalie’s temperature with a gun-looking thing. “She asked me to put on some dance music as soon as she got here.”
What the hell? How is she so damned resilient?
I’m humbled by the woman, and when I didn’t think I could be sliced any other way, I’m hollowed out even more.
Unclenching my fist, I reach for her hand, wrapping the delicate warmth in my cold palm.
“Don’t cry,” I say, words rough.
“These are happy tears. Thank you for saving me.”
The room sways as more pieces of me fall onto the floor around me.
She reaches for my face, her cool fingers brushing like feathers over my jaw.
Every cell in my body lights up, warming after being arctic since the moment the chopper took off with her inside.
“You okay?” she whispers. “You look rough.”
“No.” I swallow and look away, a deep quake rattling my chest, my gut, the column of my spine. “I’m not.”
I’ve already decided what I’m going to do to the men who set that trap. But I doubt even that will make me okay.