Chapter Eighteen #2
After five days of the suffocating, silent hell of the ICU, hearing Kinsley complain about the thread count of the hospital sheets, the temperature of the room, and the viscosity of the gelatin was a soothing, soul-saving grace.
Every eye-roll, every dramatic sigh, was a beautiful reminder that she was alive.
"The doctor said clear liquids and soft foods until the digestive tract fully recovers from the antibiotics, my love," Cruz replied mildly, unfazed by her glaring. "Eat your despair-jello."
Kinsley dropped the plastic spoon onto the tray with a theatrical clatter. She leaned back against her pillows, crossing her arm over her stomach.
"I am a captive," Kinsley declared to the room at large. "I am a political prisoner of the legacy families. You are all suffocating me with your hovering. It is excessive."
Marcy, who was sitting gracefully on the plush velvet sofa beneath the window, didn't even look up from the book she was reading. "You love the hovering, Kins. Don't lie."
"I absolutely do not!" Kinsley argued, though the faint, pleased blush on her cheeks betrayed her. She turned her chaotic gaze back to Cruz, lifting her right hand and beginning to dramatically tick off names on her fingers.
"Let’s review the guard rotation, shall we?
" Kinsley demanded, tapping her index finger.
"First, there is you. You literally sleep in that leather chair and glare at any intern who walks in with a needle.
Then there is Marcy, who acts as my personal warden.
" She tapped her middle finger. "Then Kade, who uses his terrifying CEO voice to demand extra pillows for me from trembling nurses. "
Cruz chuckled softly, closing his laptop and setting it aside, giving her his full, undivided attention.
"Then there are Connor and Leon," Kinsley continued, ticking off two more fingers.
"Who sneak in here to eat the good fruit baskets the board members send me.
And if the brothers aren't here, it’s the parents!
Your mother, Amelia, sat here for four hours yesterday reading me nineteenth-century poetry.
Sherry Lancaster brushed my hair. Edward Lancaster paced the hallway like a secret service agent, and your father, Bern Tate, spent an hour explaining the stock market to me while I was on morphine! "
Kinsley dropped her hand onto her lap, looking at Cruz with an expression of exasperated amusement.
"At any given time of day or night, there are at least two billionaires hovering over this bed.
It is like a clown car of generational wealth in here, Cruz!
I cannot breathe without someone asking me if I need a cashmere blanket! "
Cruz leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. The dark, intense devotion in his eyes made Kinsley’s breath hitch, despite her rant. He reached out, his large hands gently capturing hers.
"You terrified us, Kinsley," Cruz said softly, his voice vibrating with a raw, honest vulnerability.
"My mother’s knees buckled when she saw you in the ICU.
Sherry hasn't stopped praying. My father, who hasn't shown emotion in three decades, cried in the hallway.
You are the center of this family. We almost lost you. "
Cruz lifted her hand, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the center of her palm. "So, yes. We are going to hover. We are going to bury you in cashmere and poetry and fruit baskets. You are just going to have to suffer through our adoration."
Kinsley stared at him, the sarcasm completely melting away under the intense, beautiful heat of his love. Her chaotic heart fluttered wildly against her ribs. She offered a small, watery smile, squeezing his fingers.
"Fine," Kinsley whispered. "But I still want a cheeseburger."
***
The final five days of her mandatory hospital stay were a test of endurance for everyone involved.
Kinsley’s strength was returning rapidly.
She had successfully bullied the nursing staff into allowing her to shed the dreary, drafty hospital gown.
She was currently wearing a pair of soft, loose sweatpants and one of Cruz’s dark grey cashmere sweaters, the neck pulled wide to accommodate the bandaging on her left shoulder.
She was officially mobile. And she was using that mobility to drive Cruz to the brink of insanity.
The VIP hospital room was resembling a high-end hotel suite rather than a medical facility, complete with hardwood floors, modern art, and a small kitchenette.
Kinsley was currently pacing the length of the room, her right hand gripping the metal pole of her IV stand, dragging the wheeled contraption behind her like a reluctant dance partner.
"I am perfectly fine," Kinsley ranted, turning sharply on her heel and pacing back toward the window.
"The stitches are itching, which means they are healing.
The antibiotics are almost done. There is absolutely no medical reason for me to be trapped in this sterile box for another forty-eight hours.
We have a Sanctuary! We built a fortress on the cliffs! I want to go home!"
Cruz Tate was following a step behind her, his hands hovering anxiously on either side of her waist, terrified she was going to trip over the IV tubing or jar her injured shoulder.
"Kinsley, please," Cruz pleaded, trying and failing to corral her toward the hospital bed. "The doctor said you need to rest. You have a bullet wound in your chest. Stop doing laps around the coffee table."
"It is a flesh wound!" Kinsley argued, waving her free hand dismissively, narrowly avoiding hitting Cruz in the face with the IV line. "I feel spectacular. I could run a marathon. Or at least a brisk 5K. Stop hovering your hands like I’m made of glass, Cruz, I’m not going to break!"
"You are going to pop a stitch, and then I am going to have a heart attack," Cruz muttered, stepping in front of her to block her path, his dark eyes practically begging her to sit down.
On the plush velvet sofa across the room, Marcy Dane sat with one leg tucked gracefully beneath her.
She held a silver paring knife in one hand and a ripe pear in the other, serenely, methodically peeling the fruit into a perfect, unbroken spiral.
She didn't look the least bit concerned by her soul-sister’s chaotic pacing.
In fact, her dark eyes danced with unadulterated amusement.
Beside her, Kade Lancaster had one arm draped casually along the back of the sofa behind Marcy.
He was watching his best friend—the ruthless, ice-cold billionaire who routinely crushed rival corporations—completely fail to manage a five-foot-four woman in an oversized sweater.
Kade pressed his lips tightly together, trying incredibly hard to suppress the joyous smirk threatening to break across his aristocratic face.
Leaning against the wall near the door, holding cups of overpriced hospital cafeteria coffee, Connor and Leon were making no such effort to hide their amusement.
"I give it three minutes before she uses the IV pole as a weapon," Leon chuckled softly, taking a sip of his coffee.
"Cruz looks like he’s trying to defuse a bomb," Connor grinned, watching his brother frantically duck to avoid the swinging IV line as Kinsley executed a sharp turn near the television console.
"I heard that, Connor!" Kinsley snapped, pointing an accusing finger at him. "Do not undermine my rebellion! I am a prisoner of war!"
"You are a menace to my cardiovascular health," Cruz groaned, finally managing to wrap his arms gently but firmly around her waist from behind, effectively trapping her against his chest. "Sit down. Now. Or I will physically pick you up and strap you to the mattress."
"You wouldn't dare," Kinsley gasped, craning her neck to glare at him, though a brilliant, rebellious laugh bubbled up in her throat.
"Try me," Cruz challenged, his voice dropping into a low, devastatingly attractive rumble as he kissed the top of her chaotic head.
Marcy sliced a piece of the pear, popping it into her mouth as she watched Kinsley finally, dramatically sigh in defeat and allow Cruz to guide her toward the armchair.
Kade leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to Marcy’s temple, his chest rumbling with a quiet, contented laugh.
The room was loud. It was chaotic. It was filled with bickering, laughter, and the overwhelming, vibrant energy of a family that had been forged in the darkest of fires.
Looking at Kinsley rolling her eyes at Cruz, watching Connor and Leon laugh by the door, and feeling Kade’s solid, unwavering warmth beside her, Marcy felt a beautiful peace settle permanently into her soul.
The nightmare was over. Gabriela was gone.
The legacy had been dismantled and rebuilt into a sanctuary.
Finally, against all odds, the universe was exactly, perfectly right again.