52. Chapter 52
fifty-two
Boston
Iwake to an unfamiliar voice—low and muddled—and my right hand still wrapped in soft warmth.
I don’t open my eyes right away, unwilling to let go of that dream in which I confessed to Skye… and she stayed. Kissed me, even. Best dream I’ve ever had, and one I’m not ready to let go of yet.
“Mr. Rawlings? Boston?” the voice jackhammers into my consciousness.
Fine. I force my eyes open, vision blurry with sleep, but not so distorted that I don’t immediately recognize the literal angel sitting there, my hand securely held in hers.
So, not a dream. It all happened.
The shooting.
The hospital.
Jake.
Skye.
I’m not dead. And they’re still here.
“…to see you awake, Mr. Rawlings. Shoulder looks good,” that unfamiliar voice says. “We’ll determine range of motion once you’re more recovered, but structurally everything looks good.”
Doctor.
Right.
I turn my head slightly, wincing when my shoulder protests, and catch sight of him next to my bed, tapping on a tablet. But he and his words aren’t all that important.
What’s important is Skye sitting in that chair right next to me. I wonder if she’s even moved or if she just let me confess my deepest, darkest secret, then watched me sleep.
Jake’s still here, too, leaning against the wall, arms crossed. He looks worn out.
“Hi,” Skye whispers, a smile making her eyes twinkle, even with the exhaustion lining her beautiful face.
“Hey,” I croak, trying to match her smile, but I swear my body hurts worse now than it did earlier. Maybe the anesthesia’s wearing off.
“…blood loss was significant,” the doctor continues, glancing up at me now that I’m clearly awake. “But you’re stable. We’ll keep you on IV antibiotics for a couple days, monitor for infection. If everything continues like this, we can send you home in a couple of days.”
I want to go now!
“Okay.” I sound like shit. Feel like it, too.
“Any questions?”
I shake my head.
He gives me one last look, then a nod. “Get some rest.”
The door clicks shut behind him and I refocus my attention on Skye.
I glance down at our hands, at her thumb gliding over my knuckles in a way that makes me think she’s been doing it for a while. It feels automatic.
“You’re still here.”
Her smile widens. “Told you I would be,” she says with a decisive nod. “I’m not going anywhere, Boss. Not until you tell me to.”
“So… never, then,” I say, and manage a raspy chuckle. “Jesus, if I had known getting shot would get you to dump Archer, I’d have pissed him off months ago.”
Skye gasps. “Boston Steel Rawlings.”
“Too soon?”
“Way too soon.”
Jake snorts. “Oh, you did. He just needed confirmation that you were messing around with Skye to really make him see red.”
“I didn’t confirm shit,” I say.
“Maybe not with words. But your silence was loud, man.” He pushes off the wall, steps toward me, and gives my good shoulder a gentle squeeze. “I’m going to go and check on things at home.” His eyes soften. “I’m sorry this happened to you, Boss. I’m sorry my mom—”
He breaks off.
I nod. “I’m sorry, too, Jake.”
Skye stands, and I hate the loss of her hand on mine.
“Where are you going? I thought you’re not leaving?” I sound decidedly like Bronx whenever I had to drop them back off with their foster parents.
She giggles. “I’m going to run home, change, and check on Cassie and Bronx, then I’ll come back with something better than hospital food to eat, okay?”
Her voice turns tender. “And I’ll stay. Right there on that extremely comfortable-looking sleeper chair.”
My eyes close when she leans down and presses a soft kiss to my lips. “Okay,” I murmur in surrender. “But only if you want to.”
She kisses me again. “I want to.”
She does return.
And she stays.
All night.