Chapter 84
CHAPTER EIGHTY-FOUR
Ace
I can remember patches of waking up.
I remember the spaghetti. The peach. I remember telling a doctor I was in heaven, which, given the company my soul keeps, was optimistic.
Mostly, I remember my Harper.
She's alive.
And now I'm watching her sleep in the chair beside me, folded over the edge of the bed, her hand still in mine. I doubt she let go once. Her face is bruised down one side. Stitches near her hairline. She's been through a war, and she's spent it in a plastic chair, holding my hand.
I could watch her like this forever. But I need to know she's real. That I ain't hallucinating or some shit. Because I should be in a lot more pain than I am.
Then again, fuck knows what drugs I'm on. I got stabbed. I suppose I've earned them.
I'm already itching to get the hell out of here, though. White walls, beeping machines, the smell of antiseptic. This ain't where Sterlings heal. I want dirt and horses and sky.
I want to go home.
"Hey, sweetheart," I whisper.
I feel bad for waking her. But not bad enough not to do it.
She yawns, lifting her head, hair stuck to one cheek, and when her eyes lock onto mine, she smiles. That earth-shattering smile. The one that's been knocking me sideways since I was sixteen years old. My chest aches, and for once it ain't the broken ribs.
"How are you feeling, Acey?" Her voice is all cute and half asleep.
"High. Kinda good. Just making sure this is real life."
She giggles and reaches for the water on the side table. When she stands, my breath catches.
The swell of her stomach. Right there. My girl, carrying my baby. She holds the glass to my lips so I can drink. Cold water down a throat that feels like I gargled the desert. It's fuckin' incredible.
"Good boy," she says.
My eyes snap to hers.
"I don't know the rules here, but I don't think you're meant to make my dick hard right now. Although I can't feel a thing, so I probably could, and we'd never know."
She arches an eyebrow. "Ace Sterling. You cannot be serious."
"I don't know. Maybe? I've missed you. Wait… Did they take my piercings out?"
Her eyes go wide. “I… don’t know. I didn’t ask. Want me to check?”
I run my tongue along my teeth. “I would never say no to that.”
She laughs, shaking her head. "Maybe let’s wait. You’ve only just come back to me."
"Missed you the whole time. Ask the doctor. Probably showed up on the machines."
She sets the water down, shaking her head, fighting the smile and losing, and then she leans over and presses her lips to mine. Careful at first. I ain't careful. My good hand finds the back of her head, and I kiss her deeper, because careful is for men who didn't almost lose this.
"Hmmm," I murmur against her mouth. "Now that is how you bring a man back from the dead."
"I thought I'd lost you," her whisper breaks in the middle. "I didn't know what to do."
"I thought I lost you, too." The pictures come whether I want them or not. "All I remember is seeing you in the car. Hanging there. The fire. Shit." I squeeze my eyes shut against it. "I was two feet away, Goldie. Two feet. I'm sorry I couldn't get to you."
Her thumb rubs against my cheek, slow, over the stubble and the bruising.
"You did get to me. You flew into a city that wanted you dead, and you got me. Two feet at the end doesn't undo three hundred and seventy miles, Ace."
I open my eyes. She's right there. Right where she will always be now, by my side. Exactly how the stars wrote it for us.
"I love you, Ace. I love you so damn much."
Her forehead rests against mine.
"I love you more, Goldie."
"Not possible."
"Wanna bet? I died a little and came back just for you two. That's commitment."
"You did not die, you dramatic cowboy."
"Felt like it. Ask the peach."
We stay there. Foreheads together. Just breathing each other in, her hand resting over my chest, her finger tapping the same rhythm as my heartbeat.
"So," I say eventually. "When can you break me out of here?"
She pulls back, and there it is—that beautiful glint in her eyes. The one that means trouble. The one I'd ride through fire for.
"Tomorrow. But you're on strict bed rest, sir. You hear me? Doctor's orders. My orders."
"Bed rest." I run my finger along my bottom lip, slow, watching her track it. "With you in the bed?"
"That is not what bed rest means."
"Sounds like a negotiation."
"It's really not."
"Everything's a negotiation, baby. I'm in the mafia."
She laughs, this time really laughs, head tipped back, the sound filling up the sterile little room and turning it into someplace worth being. Then she settles back into her chair, pulls the blanket around her shoulders, and laces her fingers through mine.
"Sleep, Ace."
"Yes, ma'am."
I close my eyes. Her thumb traces circles on the back of my hand. The peach is the size of a peach. The woman I love is breathing beside me.
Tomorrow, I go home.
And this time, I'm taking everything that matters with me.