Chapter Sixty-Seven
Parker
The lights hurt my eyes.
There’s something in my nose. Swallowing is…difficult.
I try to call for Eliot, but the only sound that escapes is rough and weak, more breath than speech.
“Hey there, hon.”
Grace.
Tears leak from my eyes, spilling down my temples until Grace takes my hand and squeezes. “You’re okay. I’m here. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”
It’s enough for me to close my eyes against the glare.
Eliot. Fire. Alarms and sirens and people shouting.
“Stay still.”
“We’re taking care of him. Let us take care of you too.”
“They’re lucky.”
Lucky. We’re lucky.
I turn my head, risk lifting my lids again, and meet Grace’s worried gaze.
“Eliot?”
Grace’s eyes soften. “They’ll bring him back soon. Don’t you worry.”
I swallow, wince, and gather enough strength for two words. “How…long?”
“I’m not sure.”
The room starts to shimmer as another round of tears well in my eyes. I brace my elbow against the mattress and push.
“Parker!” Grace stops me, a hand on my shoulder. The gentlest pressure is enough to send me back down to the mattress.
God, I hate anesthesia.
“You’re stayin’ right here and restin’. AJ made everyone in a five-mile radius swear they’d bring Eliot right back to this room when they were done treatin’ him.”
Of course he did. Probably didn’t even raise his voice. AJ can charm the skin off a snake when he needs to. And if that doesn’t work, he rains hellfire down on whoever’s standing in his way of what he wants done.
With a sigh, I let myself drift.
A nurse comes in, asks a few questions, then leaves me with a cup of ice chips, which are the best damn things I’ve ever tasted. Possibly better than my mother’s pecan pie.
For the next little while, Grace stays. She doesn’t ask me to talk or try to fill the silence. She simply holds my hand, the same way I held hers months ago.
By midnight, I’m getting restless. As the clock ticks closer and closer to one with no sign of Eliot, I’m actively plotting ways to remove the IV and make it to the hallway before Grace can stop me.
I’m about to ask her to get me another cup of ice chips as a distraction when the door opens, and Nate slips into the room.
He’s exhausted. There’s a smear of soot over his right eye, his tie is gone, and the top two buttons of his dress shirt are undone.
His gaze locks onto me, and I’m only dimly aware of Grace squeezing my hand and whispering, “Love you,” before she leaves the two of us alone.
A muscle in Nate’s jaw ticks, and he brushes a piece of ash from his sleeve. “Your hair is remarkably less blond than it was this afternoon.”
I blink at him, searching for a comeback, but between the look on his face and the tremor in his hands, all I can think is that something is very wrong.
“No one will tell me anything, Nate.”
His expression goes from worried to nuclear in less than a second. “I told the nurses to update you an hour ago. He’s having an MRI on his knee. He’d be here already if he hadn’t spent a truly impressive amount of time arguing he didn’t need his knee for anything important.”
Arguing. Arguing means he’s conscious. Arguing means he’s still…Eliot.
I swipe at the fresh wave of tears, but only manage to smear soot all over my fingers.
Nate strides into the tiny attached bathroom, grabs a wash cloth, and runs it under the tap for a moment before dropping into the chair next to the bed.
“You’re making it worse.” His voice holds the slightest hint of exasperation.
I try to take the cloth from him, but he shakes his head. His lower lip trembles for a single breath.
“Parker, let me do this,” he whispers.
I drop my hand.
He’s gentle. Careful of the thin tubes delivering oxygen and the cords snaking out the top of the hospital gown. When he’s satisfied my face is mostly soot free, he slides one hand behind my head and skims the cloth over my hair.
“You scared the hell out of me.” His gaze never leaves my hair, but his fingers tremble for a moment.
My cheeks warm, and I stare down at the blanket. “I know.”
He shakes his head. Tears gather at the corners of his eyes. “No, I don’t think you do.”
The light catches one of the larger burn scars on the back of my hand.
Oh, God. Three months ago, Nate caught me inches from the flames after I set Prophet on fire. When we got back to Austin, he stayed with me, putting me back together piece by piece, while I pretended I was fine.
And tonight…he watched me run into a burning building with no water, no oxygen, and no plan.
“You’re right.” I wait for him to meet my gaze. “I didn’t know. Nate, I’m sorry. I’m so goddamn sorry. But I’d do it again. I’d do it a thousand times. For Grace. For Eliot.”
My voice cracks, and I reach for his hand.
“For you.”
He holds on, and we’re both crying now. Silent tears for all the things we never say to one another. For all the things we don’t need to say because we just…know.
“Okay. That’s enough crying.” Nate studies the cuff of his shirt, finds a spot that’s mostly soot-free, and dabs at his cheeks. “I’m starting to feel like we should hug, and neither of us wants that.”
I try for a smile. “No. Of course not.”
Two seconds later, he mutters, “Fuck,” and wraps his arms around me.
“If you tell anyone I cried—”
My laugh sounds like someone’s choking a frog, and hurts like a motherfucker. I don’t care. “Nate? Don’t make it weird.”
“It’s already weird, Parker. Very, very weird.” He lets go, and we’re back on solid ground again. One corner of his mouth twitches. “So…Dines has barricaded himself inside his mega-mansion with his lawyer, and they’re threatening to burn all the evidence.”
It takes me a beat.
“The evidence…we already gave the DA?”
Nate shrugs. “Osgood did fail the bar exam five times.”
I choke out a laugh. “Five?”
“Yep.”
“How the hell did he become a lawyer?”
“Persistence?”
The door opens softly, and my heart leaps into my throat. Eliot’s clutching the arms of the wheelchair so hard, his knuckles are white. An orderly in green scrubs pushes him over to the other bed against the wall, but before he can lock the wheels, Eliot’s on his feet and staggering toward me.
“Mr. Flint, you really should—”
“No.” His voice is about as rough as mine.
“Well, that’s our cue to leave,” Nate says with a pointed stare at the orderly. The young man looks like he wants to argue, but a moment later, rushes from the room. Nate often has that effect on people.
“Parker, one more thing.” Nate reaches into a bag at the foot of the bed, pulls out my cell phone, and slides it onto the table next to me. “You dropped this earlier. You or Eliot need anything, food, clothes, getaway driver…you call.”
By the time the door clicks shut, Eliot has the bedrail down, but he stops short of climbing in next to me. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispers.
I scan his body. Bandages around his wrists, bruises on both arms, a goose egg above his right eye, a brace on his left knee, and a thick piece of gauze covering his cheek.
“Eliot, you got the shit kicked out of you. I’m fine.”
His lips tighten. “You were unconscious.”
“I woke up. And you shouldn’t be standing on that knee. Get in bed with me, please.” I need to hold him. To know that whatever happened to him before I broke down that door didn’t change…us.
I pull black the blankets, and Eliot climbs in next to me. Every movement costs him, but when he’s stretched out with his cheek against my chest, I card my fingers through his hair.
“You were gone a long time,” I whisper.
He tenses, then blows out a breath. “Turns out a medical history that includes almost dying in a fire seven years ago puts you on a special list.”
“Oh?” I pull him closer—as gently as I can—and guide his good leg over my hips. “What kind of list?”
“The ‘let’s order a few more tests just to be safe, because this guy’s lungs are probably a fuckin’ mess’ list.”
I stop stroking his hair, pull back, and wait for him to look at me. My heart pounds hard enough I can feel it in my ears. “And are they?”
Eliot skims a knuckle along my jaw, a weak smile curving his lips. “No more than they were yesterday.”
“Eliot.”
The tremor in my voice sobers him, and he cups the back of my head, careful not to jostle the oxygen tube. “Everything came back clear, Parker. My knee’s gonna be a problem for a while, but as long as you don’t mind bein’ seen with a guy usin’ a cane…”
I shake my head softly, and urge him back down next to me. Holding him isn’t enough. I keep touching his hair, smoothing it back from his forehead, trying to commit everything about this moment to memory. The warmth of his cheek against my chest, the uneven rhythm of his breathing—and mine.
The way he fits his body to mine like we were always meant to be together.
He finds the gap in the hospital gown, and presses his palm to the small of my back. The tremor in his fingers is so slight, I almost miss it.
His eyes are closed, his face slack with exhaustion, and the sight of him like this hurts in a way nothing else in my life ever has.
I almost lost him.
Dipping my head, I press my lips to his forehead. “I love you.”
His breath hitches.
For one terrible second, time stops.
He pulls me tighter against him, turns his face into my chest, and lets out a sob.
My eyes burn. It’s too soon. I should have waited. We’ve barely been together three weeks. Who falls in love in three weeks?
Me, apparently.
He breaks in my arms, tears soaking into my hospital gown. I hold on, pressing kisses to his hair until the part of me that’s always been strong shatters along with him.
I can’t fix what happened to us. I can’t change it. But I can give him this. My arms around him. My heartbeat under his cheek. The promise that if—when—he reaches for me, I’ll be here.
His sobs start to fade. Mine follow. And when he lifts his head, eyes wet, bloodshot, and swollen, I don’t look away.
His jaw works, and he inches higher, touching his forehead to mine. A single, broken breath shudders through him.
“Parker…”
“Don’t. You don’t have to say anything. Just…stay here with me.” My throat aches, still rough with soot. “Don’t let go.”
One last tear spills down his cheek. “Parker, I love you. I love you so damn much.”
I don’t answer him. I can’t. Not right away. So I cup his face in both hands, careful of the bandage, and kiss him.
It’s not gentle. It’s pure and raw and desperate. It’s every moment I spent terrified I’d be too late. Every second I feared I’d lose him forever.
I only pull back when I start to wheeze. Eliot reaches for the call button, but I shake my head. “I’m...okay.”
“Parker—”
For a moment, I focus on my breath. On the oxygen. On Eliot’s warmth. My chest eases. The next breath is quieter. The one after that, almost steady.
“I want…a life…with you, Eliot. One…we build…together.”
He tucks a lock of hair behind my ear, his touch lingering at the pulse point of my neck. “I want that too. More than anything.”
The nurse comes in to check our vitals and turn down the lights. Eliot barely stirs, but I haven’t been able to sleep yet.
She looks at us tangled together, and frowns. “He should be—”
I give her my best glare. The one reserved for criminals who think they’re smarter than I am. “He’s stayin’ right here.”
“Fine. But that knee better not be worse the next time I come in here.” She huffs and mutters something about medical advice and propriety as she stalks back out the door.
Propriety can go fuck itself. Still, I lift the blanket to make sure I’m not putting pressure on his knee. It’s wrapped in a thick brace, and a fresh bruise peeks out from the edges of the straps.
Settling back against the pillows, I look down at Eliot. The cut on his cheek is deep enough to scar. The bruises will fade, but the memories will be with us forever.
This case—what we went through—it did change us. All of us.
Trying to pretend it didn’t? A month ago, I would have committed to that with my whole heart.
But now, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest, a truth settles deep in my soul.
We aren’t broken.
We can’t go back to who we were, but we can choose each other exactly as we are now.
And that’s more than enough.