38. Halliday
38
HALLIDAY
My body feels like it’s gone ten rounds with a heavyweight boxer as my senses start to swim into focus. There’s a gentle murmur of voices around me. My throat’s thick and dry, and my head’s foggy. I remember people helping me—hands, voices, Sterling by my side—before exhaustion won over.
“Sterling?” I croak.
Warmth against my hand intensifies and my fingers tingle, the life easing back into them.
“I’m here, Hallie. You’re safe.”
I peel my eyes open and blink. Everything is bright and blurry. I seek out his voice and my vision clears slowly. Warm blue is waiting to find me.
We look at one another for a few seconds and I note the bloodshot whites of his eyes, and the deepened lines etched into their corners. It’s the worst I’ve ever seen him, yet he still looks handsome to me.
I reach up and clumsily feel at my face.
“It’s an oxygen tube,” he explains as I touch the object beneath my nose. “You’re in the hospital, remember?”
Lowering my hand, I stare at the back of my palm. It’s dirty but looks like someone’s tried to clean it.
“There was a fire… I was in your office.” My voice comes out hoarse and I force a swallow, wincing at the scratchiness there.
“Not what I meant when I said to wait on my desk for me.” Sterling’s eyes soften.
“What happened?”
“Dad saved your life. Strode in there thinking he’s invincible and carried you out himself.”
I look into Sullivan’s hardened gaze where he’s standing near the end of the bed. His expression melts as he looks from me and then to Sterling and lets out a deep sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Thank God you’re both okay.”
“The cops say it was arson,” Denver says from his position next to the door.
“Arson? But…” I try to take in a breath, but it turns into a wheezy cough.
“You need to rest, Hallie. Don’t try and talk. We’ll find out who did this.”
Sterling’s tone changes to one that’s icy as his eyes track to Denver and the two exchange a knowing look.
“You think it was Rory, don’t you?” I ask.
“Don’t think about it now.” Sterling sighs, taking my other hand in his.
I allow my gaze to rake over him. His suit is ruined and covered in soot and dirt, and his shirt is open at the top with buttons missing. A dusting of silver chest hair peeks out, made dull by the smoke residue coating it.
His scars are just visible on his left side beneath the ruined fabric.
“The building was on fire, and you came in anyway,” I whisper.
“You were inside,” he replies simply.
I look into his pained eyes as the hospital room door bursts open.
“Oh my god!” Sinclair rushes over and the mattress dips next to me as she sinks into it and leans down, hugging me. There are tears in her eyes as she pulls back and then grabs Sterling in a hug across me.
“We’re all right, Sweetheart,” Sterling soothes her.
“I got here as quick as I could.” Her lower lip is trembling as her eyes volley between the two of us like she’s assessing us for damage. She blinks hard and then turns to Sullivan.
“Where’s Molly?”
“Gone with Killian and Jenson to find the coffee machine.”
“Uncle Mal and Trudy?”
“On their way,” Sullivan replies.
She nods and smooths her hair back over her shoulder, taking a slow breath. “I can’t believe it. A fire ,” she says the last words like a haunted whisper.
I look at her, dressed in a sparkling silk bodycon dress. Even in a crisis, she looks incredible.
“I was out last night and ended up staying with a friend,” she explains as she sees me looking at her outfit.
“Who?” The single barked syllable flies across the room like a bullet.
Sinclair turns, acknowledging Denver for the first time.
“Mind your own business.”
“Your family is my business. Give me their name and I’ll run a check,” Denver growls.
“I’m not giving you his name!” She snorts.
Denver’s chest expands and his eyes flick to Sterling’s. “It’s protocol,” he grits.
“Whatever.” Sinclair turns away from him.
“Give Denver the guy’s name, Sinclair. He’s just doing his job,” Sullivan says.
Sterling nods. “Do it please, Sweetheart.”
Sinclair purses her lips. “Fine. But I don’t know his full name. I only know where he lives.”
Sullivan mutters something with a huff, and Denver’s expression darkens like he’s about to lose it any second.
“I think there are more important things happening right now than who I was with,” she snaps at Sullivan before bringing her worried eyes back to me. Her voice drops low and soft. “Are you okay?”
“I’m okay.” I give her a small, reassuring smile, and her shoulders loosen.
“Dad?”
“I’m fine. Hallie’s the one who took in the most smoke,” Sterling says, a heaviness in his voice that makes my heart crack.
“I’m okay. Because of you,” I add, looking at him.
His eyes hold mine, but they’re still brimming with concern.
“What did the doctor say?” Sinclair asks.
“That rest is needed. Time to let the lungs recover.” Sterling strokes the back of my hand, his eyes trained on my face.
“That goes for you too,” I say.
“They’re waiting on extra tests. But all being clear, we should be out of here soon,” Sullivan says, pushing his hands into his pant pockets.
“I’ll stay with them both today. I’ll head home and change and fetch Monty from Zoey’s place.” Sinclair’s attention flicks to Denver in question.
“I’ll drive you,” he clips.
She nods, then looks back at Sullivan.
“I’ll take care of everything at the club with Mal when he arrives. And I’ll head over tonight and switch with you,” he says.
A fuzzy warmth fills my chest as I watch them plan out our care package.
“We’ll be fine,” Sterling says.
“Don’t argue, Dad. You two are getting us whether you like it or not.”
“Fine.” His lips curl a little at Sinclair’s scolding tone, and the twinkle in his bloodshot eyes makes my heart soar.
This is what family does. They take care of one another no matter what.
The door to the room opens and a doctor comes in holding a chart.
“Miss Burton, good, you’re awake. We need to discuss some things, but then I’m happy to discharge you.”
“Thank you.” I smile gratefully at the him as he walks to the side of my bed and stops.
I just want to get out of here and go home.
Have a bath and lie in Sterling’s arms.
And try to block out the heat, the smell, the fear, the?—
“I’m going to put you in touch with someone you can talk to,” the doctor says kindly, studying my expression.
I nod and squeeze Sterling’s hand. It’s a good idea. Maybe Sterling will go too. Or come with me. My eyes dart to his face, but he’s looking at the doctor, listening intently.
“Your tests came back normal…” The doctor pauses, taking in Sinclair, Sullivan, and Denver.
“Go on,” Sterling urges, a muscle in his neck tensing like he’s preparing himself for bad news.
The doctor looks at him, then me.
I nod. “They’re family. You can say whatever it is in front of them.”
My stomach rolls with nausea at the way his brows furrow. I feel fine, but maybe the smoke inhalation has caused complications, or maybe?—
“Miss Burton, were you aware you’re pregnant?”
No one speaks. I’m not sure any of us even breathe.
The entire room is silent.
Maybe my hearing was damaged in the fire. I can’t have heard him correctly.
“Your HCG levels indicate you’re a few weeks along. We’ll have a better idea once we perform an ultrasound,” the doctor continues.
“Pregnant? Are you sure?” I try to swallow but my tongue is too big for my mouth, and my throat has joined my ears and stopped working properly.
“Yes. It showed up in your blood test.”
I whip my gaze to Sterling’s. “I-I had no idea.”
His brow creases. “Hall?—”
“She inhaled a lot of smoke. Could it…?”
Sinclair’s words hang in the air.
The doctor gives me a reassuring smile. “I’d like to take you to for a scan and not delay.”
I turn to Sterling, fear dripping into my veins and replacing my blood with ice. “What if?—?”
Haunted blue stares back at me before warm hands cup my cheeks.
My breath catches as I stare at him. “I didn’t know. We didn’t… How did..?”
Tears course down my cheeks, over his thumbs as he places his forehead to mine.
“I love you,” he whispers.
“I love you too,” I mumble. “But all the smoke… What if?”
He kisses my forehead. “It’ll be okay,” he soothes.
I recognize his voice. It’s the one he uses when I’m anxious. Like before we saw my parents. And when we landed back in New York to that sea of reporters.
But those times there wasn’t a sliver of doubt tainting it.
Not like there is now.
I fist his shirt, needing something to cling on to.
Because as much as I want to cling on to his voice, this time, I’m not sure I believe him.