Chapter 29 #2
He scowled at me. “It’s not your fault, I know that. But you’re done doing reckless, dangerous shit. I’m done having a heart attack when I see Elliot’s name on my phone, knowing he’s not calling to shoot the shit but calling because my sister’s life is in danger.”
I rolled my eyes at him. “Again, I did not cause this.” I waved at the bed.
“You didn’t,” he nodded. “But you’ve been operating under the guise that you’re bulletproof and using danger like a drug.
You’re done. Too many people care about you.
” He looked around the room pointedly, his gaze landing on the bathroom door where Elliot was showering.
“You’ll hurt too many people by dying. I know you don’t give a shit about your own pain.
I also know you give a fuck of a lot of shit about other people’s.
People you love. So do me a fucking favor, and don’t die until you’re wrinkled and one hundred years old. ”
Although my brother’s gruff commands were grating and vaguely infuriating, I knew he had his own issues when it came to communicating his feelings—he couldn’t do it without sounding like an insane alpha.
Underneath all the profanity and unrealistic demands, he was telling me he was scared.
And I had been too. Really scared. There had been no peace nor acceptance in those last coherent moments under the waves. I was not ready to die. I thought of all the people in my life, I recognized all the hurt I’d cause by dying. And I knew how much I wanted to live.
“I’m not going to be wrinkled at one hundred years old,” I shot back.
“I spend far too much on supplements, skincare and injections for that.” The shower turned off.
“But I promise I’ll schedule my death for an appropriate age.
I can’t promise I’ll be as boring in bed, though.
” I drummed my fingers against my chin. “Unless I die in the midst of being fucked really well?—”
“That’s my cue.” Rowan hit his hands against his knees, standing. I smirked at his discomfort.
“Dinner at our place, once you’re out,” he ordered.
I nodded.
“I love you, little brother,” I whispered.
Rowan jerked in surprise. Then his face softened. “I love you too, Calliope.”
The door to the bathroom opened, then Elliot emerged, hair still dripping onto his clean, white tee. As if he didn’t trust me not to drop dead in the few extra seconds it would take to properly dry.
His shoulders relaxed as he laid eyes on me, as if he had expected me to become unconscious or start bleeding while he was showering.
“I’m going.” Rowan straightened. “Don’t let her bully the doctors into discharging her early.” He pointed at Elliot, who nodded as they did their man back-slap, hybrid hug, goodbye thing.
“Um, hello.” I finger waved. “She can bully whomever she wants.”
Rowan ignored me, walking out the door as a nurse was walking in with a tray of lunch.
“Good afternoon,” she chirped cheerfully, moving the tray over my bed to the table that extended to my lap.
“Lunch. I’m not eating that.” I wrinkled my nose, what was on that tray could only be loosely described as food.
Her smile dimmed. I wasn’t exactly a good patient, and the nurse didn’t deserve me being bratty, but I was officially done being laid up in a hospital room, like some victim.
“Yes, she is. Thank you so much,” Elliot spoke for me, not smiling at the nurse though his voice was pleasant and warm. Even my near-death experience, cleaning me up after a murder and being with the Wicked Witch couldn’t stop him from being a nice guy.
“I’m not.” I glowered at him, after she walked out.
He ignored me.
“You can’t make me eat that,” I pointed at what could only loosely be called food.
Elliot moved the tray to a table in the corner of the room. “Avery is coming with lunch,” he rolled his eyes. “Which you will eat every bite of.”
I folded my arms in front of me but couldn’t help my grin. I was hungry. And Avery made great food.
Elliot’s expression changed as he fumbled in his pocket. “This isn’t exactly the environment I’d planned, but even if I did plan something elaborate, I doubt it would impress you.” Elliot’s murmured tone was strange. Almost nervous.
When he slid a box along the hospital table over my bed, I sat up straighter.
My heart rate increased as I took in the dimensions of the box. It wasn’t Tiffany blue or Cartier red. It was older, with a delicate, gold design threaded through the worn leather. But what it contained was unmistakable. I was frozen, blinking rapidly at the box in front of me.
His deft fingers opened the clasp to reveal a ring.
A sapphire mounted against two smaller diamonds, sparkling blue like the ocean.
“I’m not even going to begin to think I have the funds or the knowledge to buy you some flashy ring,” he said.
“And you’ve got both the funds and the knowledge to buy yourself whatever ring you want.
I wanted something priceless. Something you couldn’t buy.
” He paused, taking the ring from the box.
“It was my mother’s,” he sighed. “And I know it may be weird for you or too cheesy?—”
“Put it on my finger,” I demanded, my voice gravelly.
Elliot’s eyes found mine.
He didn’t speak, remaining silent for a second too long.
“Elliot, put the ring on my fucking finger.” I spoke a tad too sharply, but I didn’t have a choice; the other option was to burst into tears, and I wasn’t about to do that.
He took my left hand then slid the ring on my finger. It fit perfectly. And although the metal had been sitting in a box, it felt warm. Like sunshine.
“Is that a yes to marrying me?” he asked, still holding on to my hand.
“I don’t believe you formally asked,” I told him, again too harshly.
He saw right through me. “Calliope Derrick, love of my life, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
“Yes,” I said without hesitation.
And for the first time in three days, Elliot smiled.