Chapter 9 #2
“Trust me when I say she doesn’t want me there. My presence will only do more harm than good.”
He reaches for his glass but doesn’t bring it to his lips. “I wouldn’t be so sure of that. Loneliness can kill, man. Besides, what’s the worst that can happen? She asks you to leave? Stop being a pussy and man the fuck up.”
My head turns toward him, and I rip the glass out of his hand, knocking back the contents before I hand it back to him and push out of my stool.
His brow lifts. “Where are you going?”
“Where the fuck do you think I’m going?” I lean in close, my voice dropping low enough that only he can hear. “To see my wife.”
With that, I make my way toward the front door and exit the clubhouse.
My boots crunch against the gravel as I cross the lot to where my Harley sits.
I swing my leg over and settle into the seat.
The engine roars to life, and I pull out of the compound, the wind whipping at my cut as I hit the open road.
It takes me a little over an hour to get to the hospital, and when I drop my kickstand, I realize I’m fucked. It’s after two in the morning. Visiting hours are long fucking over.
At the old hospital, I had the entire staff terrified of me. They’d let me in at any hour, no questions asked. But here? I’m nobody. Just an absentee husband, showing up after hours, demanding access to a patient.
I climb off the bike and make my way toward the entrance. The automatic doors slide open, and my eyes immediately land on a security guard.
“Sorry, pal, but visiting hours ended at eight.”
“I don’t give a fuck.”
He moves to block me, one hand drifting toward the radio on his shoulder. “Sir?—”
I’m past him before he finishes the sentence, my shoulder clipping his as I stride toward the information desk. He calls after me, but I’m already at the counter, my palm slapping against the laminate.
“Jessica Holland. What room?”
The woman behind the desk blinks up at me, an expression of pure fear flitting across her face.
“Room number,” I growl.
“Sir, you can’t?—”
“Four-twelve,” the security guard says from behind me.
I turn to face him. “Smart,” I praise. “Directions.”
He shuffles from one foot to the other, his eyes looking everywhere but at me. “Fourth floor. Turn left off the elevator.”
I tip my chin toward him, silently offering my thanks and make my way to the bank of elevators. When the doors open on the fourth floor, I turn left as the security guard instructed, and come to a halt right in front of the nurses’s station.
A woman in her mid-forties pushes out of her seat. “You can’t be here. Visiting hours ended at eight.”
I weigh my options. I could try charming her, but I really don’t have the patience, and she doesn’t look like the type to take the bait. The only way I’m getting in to see Jess is by being a menace. Lucky for me, I’m a self-proclaimed expert.
“I don’t give a fuck about visiting hours. My wife is Jessica Holland and I ain’t leaving until I see her.”
Her jaw sets and something I can’t quite decipher flashes in her eyes. “I’m going to call security.”
I open my mouth, ready to lay into her when a scream cuts through the hallway.
Raw and guttural.
A sound that would be terrifying if it weren’t so fucking heartbreaking.
My stomach drops as a second nurse appears and races down the hall, chasing the tortured sound. I don’t have to ask questions. The sickening feeling in the pit of my gut is already confirming it’s Jess who’s screaming.
I go to follow the second nurse when the original one moves in front of me, acting like a fucking blockade.
“Get out of my way,” I snarl. “She’s screaming?—”
“She screams every night,” the nurse hisses. She stares up at me, her eyes unflinching. “But you would know that if you showed your face every once in a while, wouldn’t you?”
The air leaves my lungs, the sound of Jess’s screams still echoing in my ears, and for the first time in my life, I have absolutely nothing to say.
No clipped reply.
No vulgar words meant to incite fear.
Nothing.
I swallow past the lump in my throat. “Get out of my way.”
Another scream tears through the hallway, and it takes everything in me not to shove this woman aside and barge through that door.
“Let him in, Marlene.” The younger nurse reappears in the doorway, her face pale. “It might help to see a familiar face.”
Marlene’s eyes narrow, but she steps aside. I stride past her, my boots eating up the distance to Jess’s room in three strides. I cross the threshold, and the sight that greets me stops me dead in my tracks.
Jess is sitting upright in bed, her chest heaving, her eyes wild and unfocused. The sheets are tangled around her legs, and her hands are gripping the bedrails so hard her knuckles have gone white. A thin sheen of sweat covers her face, and her hair is plastered to her temples.
She shakes violently, and the younger nurse moves to her side.
“It’s okay,” the nurse soothes. “I’m going to give you something to relax you, and then we’ll count, just like we always do.”
My throat constricts.
The nurse reaches for the IV line, uncaps a syringe, and injects something into the port.
I watch the clear liquid disappear into the tube, and within seconds, Jess’s body begins to relax.
Her grip on the bedrails loosens, and her shoulders slump.
A moment later, her head falls back against the pillow, but her eyes remain open, wide and glassy, her stare pinned to the ceiling.
“What can I do?” I rasp.
The nurse turns to me, tucking the empty syringe into her pocket. She glances at Jess, then back at me. “Hold her hand. Talk to her. Counting helps.”
I blink, not understanding. “Counting?”
The nurse nods, adjusting the sheet around Jess’s legs.
“The first night she had a nightmare, I found her in here counting out loud, so I took her hand and started counting with her.” She pauses, her gaze softening as she looks at Jess.
“We do it every night. It seems to calm her down. Gives her something to focus on besides the fear.” She meets my eyes.
“But I bet you could do better than me.”
She doesn’t wait for my response. She just turns and walks out of the room, pulling the door shut behind her.
Just like that, I’m alone with my wife.
I stand there for a moment, rooted in place, watching Jess’s chest rise and fall. Her lips are moving, but no sound comes out. She’s counting silently.
I drag the chair closer to the bed and drop into it. My hand hovers over hers for a beat before I close the distance, my fingers wrapping around her palm as I fight the urge to lift her hand to my lips.
“Jess,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “Baby . . . look at me. Let me see those pretty eyes.”
Her eyes don’t move from the ceiling, but her lips continue their silent counting.
I squeeze her hand. “You’re not alone. Do you hear me? I’m right here, and I’m not going to let anything happen to you. You’re safe with me.”
Still nothing. She’s trapped somewhere between the nightmare and whatever the fuck is floating through her veins, and I have no fucking idea how to reach her.
The nurse’s words echo in my head.
Counting helps.
I swallow hard, my throat dry as sandpaper.
“One,” I say, my voice low and rough.
Jess’s lips stop moving. Her eyes shift, and after a moment her gaze shifts toward the sound of my voice.
“Two,” I continue, tightening my grip on her hand.
A small sound escapes her throat.
“Three.” I lean closer, my elbows on the edge of the bed. “Four. Five.”
I keep counting, my other hand moving to her cheek. Without giving myself a chance to overthink it, I give myself permission to touch her, and I brush away the tears with my thumb.
By the time I reach twenty, her eyes have drifted shut.
But I don’t stop counting until the sun comes up. Then, I creep out of the room. I stop at the nurses’s station, and Marlene lifts her head.