Chapter 20 #2
“Aside from badgering us to finish?” Doctor Garrison chuckles.
“He’s doing well. We gave your fiancé a transfusion to replace the blood he lost. He’s got some stitches which should leave minimal scarring.
We’re giving him some IV antibiotics and painkillers, as well.
He’ll have to stay overnight for observation, but barring any complications, he should be released tomorrow. ”
I stare at the doctor, wanting to believe but not quite accepting it. “He’s really okay?”
“He’s really okay,” he replies. “We’re moving Mr. Sutton into a room right now, but you should be able to see him in a half hour or so.”
From around us, a happy buzz of voices erupts. Through the chatter, Jester can be heard saying, “We’ll have to record him saying some stupid shit while he’s all doped up. That’ll give us blackmail material for years.”
“I can see him soon?” I ask. “He’s asking for me?”
Doctor Garrison nods. “He is.” Glancing at his watch, he adds, “I have to run. Check with one of the ladies at the reception desk and they’ll get you in to see your fiancé.” Then he smiles. “I’m glad everything worked out.”
As he walks away, I turn to Wraith. “He’s really okay. Right?”
Wraith smiles at me. “He really is.”
I’m not going to cry.
I’m not.
If I start crying, Micah will worry. He’ll think something’s wrong. He’ll try to comfort me instead of taking care of himself.
While I was waiting for the okay to see him, I tried to freshen up in the bathroom.
I splashed cold water on my face to calm down the redness.
I put damp paper towels over my eyes to reduce the swelling.
After accepting that my hair was a lost cause, I pulled it back into a ponytail in an effort to tame it.
I still look awful. My eyes are still bloodshot and I have little red speckles around them from crying. There’s a cut on my lip from where I kept biting it. And despite the makeup I borrowed from Sofia, the bruise on my cheek is impossible to ignore.
Tugging nervously at my ponytail, I take a deep breath and let it out slowly, counting it out like my counselor showed me. It’s fine, I tell myself. The doctor said so. That, barring any complications, Micah should be released tomorrow.
The news should be reassuring. But my brain keeps sticking on the complication part.
What if the doctor missed something? What if the injury caused a deadly blood clot that won’t be discovered until it’s too late? What if Micah gets blood poisoning? What if the bullet itself was poisoned?
Logically, I know none of those things are likely. But panic seems to be winning over logic right now.
“Do people poison bullets?” I blurt. As soon as the question comes out, I clamp my mouth shut, feeling stupid for asking.
Wraith glances at me with a thoughtful expression. “Poisoned bullets were used during World War II,” he replies. “And I’ve heard of a few instances involving covert operations overseas. But the chance of a regular bullet being poisoned is very slim.”
“Not impossible, though.” I tug on my ponytail again. “Did anyone test the bullet? The one that hit Micah?”
“We’ll make sure it’s tested,” he says. “I’ll get Lawson on it. He’s one of our forensics experts, and he has a lot of connections with the local and state police.” Then he pats my shoulder. “The bullet that hit Knight wasn’t poisoned. There’d be no reason for it.”
“Why not?”
Wraith hesitates. Frowns. “There just wouldn’t be, Ruby. I don’t think it’s helpful to get into the reasons right now.”
He turns away from me to glance at the number of the room we’re passing. “Five-eighteen. Knight’s room should be just up ahead.”
My stomach lurches. My heart leaps to my throat.
I want to see Micah, of course. But I’m scared to see him, too. What if he looks even worse than I’m expecting? What if he’s hooked up to all these machines, maybe he’s on oxygen, or—
“Stop it,” I mutter. “This isn’t helping.”
“Hmm?” Wraith asks as he looks over at me again. His eyebrows arch up in question.
“Nothing,” I reply quickly. “I was just talking to myself.”
Wraith stares at me, his gaze dark and assessing. “He’s fine, Ruby.” Then he jerks his chin at the doorway just ahead of us. “Here we are.” His mouth quirks slightly. “Why don’t you go see for yourself?”
His hand still on my shoulder, he guides me the last few feet to Micah’s room. My pulse races so quickly I’m lightheaded from it. My hands shake. Cold sweat prickles at the back of my neck.
“He’s fine,” Wraith says gently. “Look.”
So I do. And the instant I see Micah, all my plans for keeping calm fly right out the window.
“Micah!” I race across the room and over to the bed. I’m already crying. “Oh, Micah.”
“Ruby.” He pushes himself up into a seated position. A flicker of pain crosses his face. “Ah, Rue.”
My gaze sweeps over him, cataloging everything. A bandage peeks out from beneath his hospital gown. His left arm is in a sling. There’s a pulse oximeter on his finger, and an IV is attached to his hand. He looks tired. Tiny lines crease his brow.
I freeze beside his bed, unsure of where to touch him. A sob bubbles up. “I’m so sorry.”
Micah frowns. “Sorry? You have nothing—” His gaze moves past me to Wraith, still standing in the doorway. Then he lifts his chin. “Thanks, man.”
Wraith gives a quick nod in response. “Of course. We’ve all been watching out for her.” Then he smiles. “I’ll give you guys some time alone. But I’ll warn you, Jester’s been going on about trying to record you saying some stupid shit. With the pain medication and all.”
Micah chuckles. He winces slightly but hides it with a smile. “Of course he would. You can tell him I’m not on any of the good stuff. So he’s going to be disappointed.”
“I’ll tell him,” Wraith replies. Then he nods again. “Glad you’re okay, Micah. Don’t go getting shot again, alright?”
“I’ll try not to.” Micah watches as Wraith leaves the room, then looks back at me. He pats the side of his bed. “Sit.” A beat later, he makes a sheepish face. “Shit, sorry. That sounded like I was talking to Sampson.”
“I don’t want to hurt you,” I reply. “I can stand.”
“You won’t hurt me. I need you closer.” His gaze softens as it meets mine. “Please, Rue. I need to touch you.”
His gentle tone is enough to start me crying again. “I’m so sorry, Micah. This is all my fault.”
“Rue.” Micah takes my hand and tugs me onto the bed. “Stop apologizing.”
Right. This isn’t about me right now. It’s about Micah.
Who was shot. I should be asking how he’s feeling instead of crying and going on about how sorry I am.
“Sorry. How are you feeling? Are you in pain? Do you need more medicine?” I glance around the room, taking in the bare windowsill and dresser.
“What do you need? Food? Books? Flowers? No, you probably don’t want flowers.
What about balloons? Or one of those fruit bouquets.
Something to make it more cheerful in here. ”
His fingers lace between mine. “I don’t need anything. Other than you.”