Chapter 94
Piper
I hear beeping, and for a while I think that’s all there is.
The sound is loud.
Too loud, if you ask me.
Everything hurts, yet somehow my body feels numb, and how those two things can possibly coexist is beyond me.
I try to move my hand and realise someone is holding it because the grip around my fingers tightens.
The beeping keeps going in the background, and part of me wishes it would stop, though the thought barely forms before another follows, because that sound might very well be my heart and if that’s the case then perhaps it should keep going.
The sterile scent of antiseptic finally reaches me, and with it comes the growing awareness that I’m in a hospital.
I try to open my eyes, but nothing happens.
My eyelids feel heavy, but I try again, and then once more.
“Love.”
The gruff voice reaches me through the haze.
And hearing it stirs something inside me because I know that voice.
I know it well.
I focus every ounce of energy I have on opening my eyes. And when they finally part, the light is so bright it burns.
Instinctively, I squeeze them shut again before trying once more, and this time I manage to keep them open long enough for the blur to slowly recede and the room to begin taking shape around me.
Yes, there is no mistaking it, I’m in a hospital.
A squeeze around my hand brings my attention to it, and I blink down at the tangle of wires attached to my arm, noticing the hand wrapped around mine.
I follow it upward, until amber eyes meet mine.
Hunter.
“Love, can you hear me?”
He’s standing over the bed, looking down at me. His expression is full of worry and a softness I can’t explain.
That can’t be right. Hunter is practically allergic to emotions, and the last time he saw me...
I swallow and instantly regret it.
“Water,” I croak.
Or at least I try to.
He understands anyway.
Without taking his eyes off me, he adjusts the bed with a remote, raising me into a more upright position before bringing a straw to my lips.
I drink greedily.
He sets the glass down and backs towards the door without taking his eyes off me for even a second.
“I need a doctor.”
The room fills with doctors and nurses within minutes.
They check the monitors, shine lights into my eyes, ask me questions while muttering things to one another that I don’t quite catch.
Eventually, they seem satisfied.
After assuring me that everything looks good and that I’m recovering as expected, they leave.
Leaving me alone with him.
Hunter.
“What happened?” I ask.
My eyes find his, but he doesn’t answer, he just stares at me.
“Hunter,” I say again, my voice small.
He clears his throat.
“Are you in any pain?”
“The medication is working.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“How long have I been here?” I ask instead.
He looks worn out.
There are dark circles beneath his eyes, his beard is longer than usual and his hair looks as if he has run his hands through it a hundred times.
He’s clean, so I assume he’s been showering somewhere, but everything about him appears slightly dishevelled… unkempt.
Which, for Hunter Wardgrave, is almost alarming.
The man is usually immaculate.
Every hair in place, every item of clothing perfectly tailored.
“A few days.”
“How much is a few?”
“Just over two weeks.”
I stare at him, my mouth open. “Really?”
He grunts.
“How... what happened?”
His jaw tightens. “He hurt you.”
“I know that, but how do you—”
“I came back for you after I realised I’d fucked up.”
The words are rough.
“I realised I’d made a mistake leaving you with him. I was too angry in the heat of the moment, and by the time I came back for you, it was already too fucking late.”
His fingers tighten around mine.
For the briefest second, I could swear his eyes are glistening. But that has to be the lingering haze from the medication.
Because Hunter Wardgrave crying?
Impossible.
I attempt to push myself further upright.
The pain that explodes through my ribs immediately puts an end to that idea.
“Don’t.”
He’s beside me in an instant, one hand finds my shoulder.
“You have several broken ribs.”
I blink at him.
No wonder the pain is still so bad, even with whatever drugs they’ve pumped me full of.
“You suffered a severe concussion. You were in surgery for several hours because of internal bleeding, you had a punctured lung and needed to be intubated, and at one point your heart stopped on the operating table.”
My breath catches.
He says it all with such detachment that someone who doesn’t know him would probably believe he feels nothing at all.
But I know he’s trying to keep his temper under control.
A tear rolls down my cheek, and before it can fall any further, Hunter reaches out and wipes it away with his thumb.
The sight of it seems to cause him actual pain.
The muscles in his jaw tighten and his eyes darken.
“Stop. I can’t bear to see you cry.”
“Am I really okay?”
“Yes.”
“What day is today?” I ask suddenly.
He leans forward and presses a kiss to my forehead.
“A bloody Christmas miracle. That’s what you are, love.”