Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
My memory after that was fuzzy. I vaguely remembered André’s voice and the space getting crowded, but I couldn’t make out any words—from anyone.
The only thing after that was flashing lights, and I was waking up in…
a hospital. My breathing heightened, lungs burning as they tried to remember how to function.
A machine next to me beeped erratically with my increasing heart rate.
No. There was no way it was all a dream. I couldn’t possibly have made it all up—couldn’t have made him up.
A hand brushed my hair back. Pressure on my face secured the annoying mask I was trying to rip free. My gaze shot up, meeting a pair of deep green eyes.
Thank God.
“I’m here, baby,” André whispered. I latched onto his arm with my fingers. He kissed my forehead, my cheeks, and combed through my hair with his fingers.
Slowly—very slowly—my breathing returned to normal and the machine slowed its incessant beeping. Someone else grabbed my free hand. Dylan?
I didn’t have a chance to speak before a doctor rushed in, shining a light in my eyes and making me follow her finger and blah, blah, blah.
All the typical stuff that came after a head injury which apparently I had?
Waking up without a headache was a rarity for me.
When I mentioned that my head hurt, no one was surprised.
She finished the irritating exam and left the room, muttering something about reviewing a scan before I could go home. I tugged the mask from my face so I could speak. “What happened?”
Ow. Talking hurt.
Like he couldn’t get close enough, André moved to the edge of the uncomfortable mattress, keeping a tight grip on my hand.
“You said you needed the bathroom,” he said.
“Mitchell went in behind you and said you fainted. You’ve got a concussion and five stitches on your temple.
They kept you overnight for observation. ”
I scanned the room until I found Dylan, who had clearly made himself right at home in the plastic chair. His golden hair stood in all directions and he was on the verge of dozing off. I couldn’t say I was surprised; he was no stranger to these visits.
“When did you get here?”
“About an hour ago. Did you really think something like this wasn’t going to bring me out here?” He pulled himself from the chair, tossing his hospital-issued blanket aside. “I’m going to find some coffee.”
Once he was gone André’s face turned somber. “There’s something else, baby. Something I didn’t want to say in front of your brother.”
“What is it?” My chest heaved, that beeping picking up once more.
André’s grip tightened on my hand. “Try and relax baby, you don’t need to make your heart rate jump again.” He leaned over and kissed my forehead, instantly soothing me. Damn, he’s getting good at that.
When the panic attack passed, André returned to the chair, giving me space to readjust myself on the bed.
André shifted around in his seat, taking a deep breath and scrubbing his hands over his face. When he spoke, his voice was muffled through his fingers. “They took your blood when you came in, and they found GHB in your system.”
My throat dried out, and I coughed. André hastened to hand me the cup of water on the bedside table.
Regan’s trademark. It wasn’t my first experience with it, but it was definitely my worst. Though it begged the question: how did he do it?
“H-How?” I stammered.
“The bartender. He got about thirty people, including you and Amanda.”
Amanda? “The baby—”
“Charlotte Josephine is here and perfectly healthy.” André smiled. “She went into distress, so they rushed her into a cesarean.”
I let out a sigh of relief. I would have never been able to forgive myself if something happened to anyone else.
Because of course Regan couldn’t leave other people out of it.
No, it would have been too targeted that way.
The bartender was likely someone Regan had bonded out in the past who owed him a favor.
He would turn a blind eye when someone missed a court date or failed a drug test, but he was only building an army for himself.
He was creating people who would do whatever he said so they didn’t have to go back to jail.
André’s squirming distracted me from my thoughts. It was then that I noticed the empty cups next to him. “Have you left that chair at all?”
He bit his cheek. “I sat on your bed a minute ago.”
I tried not to laugh too hard—that hurt too. “Go stretch your legs,” I told him, giving his hand a squeeze. “I’ll be okay.”
“Are you sure? I can wait until Dylan gets back.”
“It’s fine, I promise. I wouldn’t mind a few minutes alone.”
André gave in, kissed me on the cheek, and left the room.
As he did, I noticed someone in a disheveled looking suit standing at the nurse’s station.
Rubbing the back of his neck, he spun and I locked onto dark eyes: Mitchell.
He took the two steps to my doorway and rested against the frame. “Can I come in?”
I sat the oxygen mask down next to me. I knew what to read on the machines by now—my numbers were fine.
“How’s Amanda?” I asked, staving off the inevitable interrogation.
“Resting. She got pretty sick, and then the c-section. She’s tired, understandably.” Mitchell hovered awkwardly at the edge of my bed with his hands shoved in his pockets.
“And the baby?”
He smiled. That baby was the one little light in all of this darkness. “She’s perfect.”
The tone shifted then. Neither of us wanted to address the elephant in the room, but we knew our time to do so was dwindling away. Coffee runs and pee breaks can only take so long.
“You didn’t tell anyone there was someone in the bathroom with me,” I finally said.
Mitchell regarded me for a long moment before he spoke. “I got the sense that you didn’t want me to. Did you know him?”
I shook my head, but Mitchell was no fool. He knew I was lying, but he didn’t call me out on it. Instead, he pulled a small card from his pocket.
“I don’t know you well enough to pry. But one thing I do know is that André loves hard, and it can be a bit much if you’re not used to it. If you ever need anything that stays off the books, this has my personal number on it.”
I took the card from him, tucking it under my leg. The spot where Regan had pressed the blade into me was throbbing, likely bruised. My eyes burned, but I banished the feeling.
“Thank you,” I muttered. “Give the baby a kiss for me.”
Mitchell nodded, skirting around Dylan as he left. My brother rubbernecked to watch the man walk out, then sat a drink next to André’s seat. “Who was that?”
“One of André’s business partners; just wanted to check on me.”
Dylan sobered. “Since we have a minute alone, I have to ask—”
“No,” I snapped, knowing exactly where that sentence was going. I knew if I told Dylan, everything would unravel—including the new life I’d been building. “It wasn’t Regan. I don’t think I’d be sitting up talking to you if it was.”
Nothing good would ever come to me admitting it. Dylan was too protective, and Regan too good.
Dylan would offer to move, which would mean quitting his job and leaving his life behind—again. Besides, Regan was too good. If he got to me through André, there was no telling what lengths he would go to. Even if it meant risking my own life, I had to keep my family safe.
“Fair enough.” Dylan brought his cup to his lips and took a sip of his coffee. “You look good—you’ve put on some weight. I can’t see your cheekbones anymore.”
“With the way André feeds me, I won’t see anything with the word ‘bone’ in it for a long time.”
André returned then with the doctor trailing behind him. “Great news,” she said. “You don’t have any bleeding or swelling, so we don’t see any reason you can’t recover from home.”
My brother and my boyfriend shared a look, and I knew that fierce look of determination in Dylan’s eyes. “I’m staying here,” I declared before either of them could start arguing. “Dylan, I know that you just want to protect me, but I promise you that I’m safe here.”
I wasn’t sure whether I was trying to convince them or myself, but I did know that I didn’t want to go back to Georgia—back to all of those memories. Besides, Dylan was only twenty-one. He had his own life to build; one that didn’t revolve around taking care of his big brother.
“I’d go to the ends of the earth to protect your brother, Dylan,” André added from his seat.
Dylan looked between us both. I held my breath, certain that he was about to argue, but he must have seen something in André's eyes—or mine. “Are you sure?” he asked, looking directly at me.
I nodded, lacing my fingers through André’s. “I need to stay here, Dylan. I’m happy here.”
“You’re more than welcome to stay with us as long as you like,” André added.
Dylan thanked him for the offer, and I was brought a thick packet of discharge papers.
I still needed to be careful because of the concussion, and I needed to see a doctor in a couple of weeks to get the stitches out.
With prescriptions for antibiotics and painkillers, I was finally allowed to go home.
Since my suit had to be cut off, I was given a pair of hospital scrubs to change into. I repeatedly apologized to André, who in turn told me to cut it out every time.
André held onto me tight as we left the emergency room. Still wobbly, I elected to lay down in the back seat. The thought of riding in the car made me nauseous all over again. Dylan nearly exploded when he saw the Aston Martin, and I wasn’t surprised that he asked to drive.
That didn’t bode well for my motion sickness.
Exhausted, André was happy to hand the keys over and thankfully, Dylan took it easy on me.
André let me and Dylan into the building while he parked. My brother stood next to me with his neck craned like a kid in a movie. “Whoa,” was all he said.
“You ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”
Dylan reached for the door, jumping back when Charles opened it for us. With a weak laugh, I stepped in ahead of him. I’d quickly grown accustomed to it.
André found us by the elevators, where I’d found a comfy spot on the floor to sit down. My legs felt like jelly, quivering if I dared to stand for more than thirty seconds. The only thing that had me leaping to my feet was André offering to carry me..
Once inside the apartment, André led Dylan to the guest room while I went to André’s and collapsed onto the bed, shoes and all.
My eyes were shut, but I heard the moment André entered the room. I braced myself for the light, but it didn’t come. Instead, André flipped on the lamp next to his side of the bed.
“Is Dylan okay?” I mumbled, already on my way to being asleep.
“Passed out as soon as his head hit the pillow.”
I pried my eyes open. André tugged his tie loose and started on the buttons of his shirt. His eyes were ready to close as he lazily undressed. “Can I help you get changed?”
I rolled onto my back and forced myself to sit up. “I wouldn’t mind if you helped me out of these scrubs.”
With a smile, André undid his watch and set it on his nightstand. He kicked his pants to the floor, leaving them there. He tickled under the hem of my shirt, making me squirm before he tugged it off. Pressing his lips to my cheek, he worked the pants off my hips and tossed them aside.
When he finally climbed into bed, I rolled over to lay on his bare chest. His heartbeat in my ear was the only thing to give me the courage to say what I did. “I could go,” I whispered, with tears gathering in the corners of my eyes.
“What?”
“I could go home with Dylan. Y-You’ve never done this before, and I’m not exactly ideal to be someone’s first relationship.
I’ve been nothing but trouble, and I’m afraid that it won’t get any easier.
So if you want me to, I could go back to Georgia and leave us at that night on Bourbon Street—before you knew about all my demons. ”
André rose onto one elbow. “Look at me,” he demanded in a stern tone. Reluctantly, I lifted my gaze to his. “I love you.”
My breath whooshed out of me. I don’t know what I expected but it sure as hell wasn’t that.
André continued. “I know it’s fast but it’s true.
I was scared to death last night, but I’ve told you before and I’ll tell you a thousand times if that’s what you need: I’m all in, and nothing is going to take that away.
Now, if you want to go home, I can’t stop you, but I love you, David.
All I want is for you to be happy and safe” He tipped my face to his, brushing the tear from my cheek as he did so. “I don’t use that word lightly.”
“So, I’ve heard.” My voice broke, my throat was tight. When I spoke, it was nothing more than a whisper. “I love you, too.”
After a promise of washing my hair for me the next day in a way that wouldn’t compromise my stitches, André let me drift off to sleep.
Just before I fell into unconsciousness, I whimpered a quiet, “Thank you.”
“What for?”
“Not giving up on me.”