Chapter 27

Ibypass the elevator and take the hospital stairs two at a time. I'm out of breath and have been since I ran from the Uber to the woman at the information desk. She could hardly understand when I asked for Liam's room number, and it wasn't just because I was out of breath. The tears running down my face and the hiccup sobs didn't help.

Whipping open the door to the stairs, I run straight into a strong chest and spill his coffee all over the floor. He stumbles to the side and catches himself on the opposing wall. "Lorelei?" Chase asks, ignoring the coffee puddle on the floor and wiping the hot liquid off his hand. "You came."

I shake my head, blinking. "Of course, I fucking came. Is he alive? Tell me he's not dead, Chase! If he is, you better just fucking tell me." I grip my hair and pull a few strands from my head, not caring how much I pull out or if strands stick to my fingers.

A snot bubble puffs out my nose, and Chase makes a face. He pulls a wadded-up paper towel from his pocket, and I don't ask why he has paper towels in his pocket. I take the cloth and wipe my face, grateful for the kindness.

"He's alive, Lorelei."

The world spins, and I slink to the floor. Chase's arm is under me, and he makes shushing sounds as he tries to pull me to my feet. "He's not dead," I whimper. "I swear to God, Chase, I thought he was dead."

"Why did you think that?"

"I saw the news in a restaurant. The sound wasn't on." I hope my words make sense. They seem garbled, relief filling every emotion and thought in my head.

Chase gives up on trying to pull me to my feet. He sits on the ground beside me, crosses his legs, and stares at me like he's ready to listen. I take in his outfit of blue scrubs and a white t-shirt underneath. "Why are you wearing hospital scrubs?" I sniff. "Job change?"

"After last night, that's not funny," he says, running a hand over his scruff. I've never seen him unshaved. "I came in with loverboy, and I refused to leave until he was out of surgery. I wasn't exactly presentable, so a nurse found some scrubs for me to wear."

"What do you mean you weren't presentable?"

"I had blood splatter on my clothes. Blood that wasn't mine. Not the kind of stuff you want to walk around in."

"Please tell me it wasn't Liam's blood."

Chase smiles a sad smile. "It belonged to the guy that almost killed Liam."

Heated emotion comes over me, and my face crumples. I lean forward and throw my arms around Chase, burying my face into his shoulder. He smells different from Liam. Like hospital soap and a trace of men's cologne. After holding Liam and being consumed with him for the last weeks, the feel and smell of another man startles me, but I can't let go of him. He saved Liam. "Thank you, Chase," I whisper. "Thank you for saving him. I can't ever repay you."

He pats me on the back, running his hand in a circle. "Actually, you can. You can go into room 453 and see your boy. Please. It'll be a favor to all of us."

I shake my head. "I can't face him. We had a fight. Did he tell you?"

"No, but I know something happened. He was off."

I lift my head and inhale sharply. "Is this my fault? Was he off because I kicked him out of my house? Did that cause him to make a mistake?"

"He was perfect as far as procedure in a no-knock warrant. We were the victim of a perp that took his own product and a shitty floor plan. It didn't matter if we had a hundred guys with us, the first one through the door would have been injured. Liam gave the guy a run for his money, but the guy was bigger than Liam and on something."

"A guy was actually bigger than Liam?" I ask with a chuckle.

Chase slaps his thighs and stands up. "Hard to believe, huh?"

I wobble a little as I stand, the fear and adrenaline wearing off. I smooth my hair back and use the dirty paper towel to wipe my nose again. "Do I look a fright? Will he throw up when he sees my face all puffy, snotty, and gross?" I ask.

Chase grimaces. "I should probably prepare you for what you're going to see." He puts his arm around my shoulder and guides me down the hall to Liam's room. "I wouldn't worry about what you look like, sweetheart. In fact, gird yourself."

Chase doesn't come in with me. He stays out in the hallway, giving me privacy to see Liam. The room smells of hospital-grade cleaner with a slight smell of rubber gloves and plastic tubing. As soon as I walk around the curtain between the door and the bed, I freeze and cover my mouth.

Liam is bloodied and bruised. His face is swollen and purple in places. He has an IV, another wire connected to something that I can only assume is his heart monitor, and a tube under his swollen nose. He's wearing a blue hospital gown, and it's pulled down around his shoulder where I can see bandages and a shiny substance surrounding it. Antibiotic ointment or something similar?

His eyes are closed as he sleeps, but there's a heavy breathing sound in the silence. A gurgling, like he's struggling to breathe. Pulling my eyes from his face, they move to his neck, and I hold my stomach as I turn for the connected bathroom and heave into the toilet. The bruises and redness around his throat don't nauseate me – it's the idea that he came that close to dying. Liam's in pain, and even if I'm mad at him, he doesn't deserve to be in this much pain. What kind of animal did that to him? Chase mentioned a dealer on his own product, but how did Liam even survive?

I flush the toilet, wondering if I'll wake him with the flushing sound. Should I wake him? I don't know if I can even go back to the room and see him. We're not exactly on speaking terms. I should simply wipe my mouth, turn around, and leave. He's alive. I don't need to wake him up if he's out of pain and sleeping just to talk to him.

I walk out of the bathroom and freeze as I meet Liam's eyes. His eyes widen when he sees me, his face flushes, and he grips the sheets. God damn, those beautiful brown eyes are red and swollen. I bite my lip and force my legs still because my legs want to walk over to him, and my lips want to kiss his face until every bruise is gone and those eyes look at me with kindness again.

He swallows, cringing at the movement in his throat. He mouths something, but I can't understand it since his lips aren't working properly. Glancing at the IV in his arm, I realize he may not be able to talk or move his lips because of the medicine.

He breathes through his nose, but his eyes don't leave my face. We stare at each other for what seems like minutes, until my mind wakes up, finally understanding that I'm going to have to be the one to start talking if we have a conversation.

I clear my throat and fiddle with the dividing curtain, more for something to touch or something to do. "I was at a restaurant with Kailee, and the news was on. The sound wasn't up, so I thought you had died. I had to come find out for myself. I also couldn't stand the idea of Nola by herself if something had happened to you. I'll go." I point to the door, but my feet won't turn away from him.

He breathes heavily, his chest moving up and down with the effort, and he shakes his head. Reaching up with a finger, he points to the floor. What the hell is he trying to say? Is he telling me to stay or go straight to hell?

"I.." he whispers, swallowing like he's gulping glass. He breathes like I'm supposed to understand what he's saying. His hand comes to his throat, and he winces in pain.

Tears roll down my face, and I reach behind me and grab some paper towels off the sink. I blot my cheeks in front of him, and he watches me with panic in his eyes. He's obviously still mad and doesn't want me here.

He blows out a breath and brings his hand to his throat, pointing. "Is your breathing pattern Morse Code?" I ask with a chuckle.

He shakes his head, ignoring my bad joke, and tears of frustration slide down his face. I get a tissue for him from the nearby table, tentatively walking over to him and handing it to him at a distance, and he immediately wads it up and throws it across the room.

"Look, you're obviously still mad at me about the brownies."

What was I thinking? I shouldn't be here. Not after our argument. Not after he told me what he really thinks of me. This is a man that called me trashy and said he's surprised I take care of Bogey. It doesn't matter how he looks at me while he goes down on me or how he says he wants to be my friend. It doesn't matter that his mother has noticed a difference in his attitude since we met. It doesn't matter that I'd give my right arm to have him sit up and argue with me just so I could hear his voice. He can't take those words back.

"I just needed to make sure you were alive. I guess I couldn't bear the thought of Officer Lane not in the world. You're fine, so I'll just go," I say, jerking my thumb over my shoulder. "I'm sorry that I woke you, and I'm sorry if I upset you by coming here."

He shakes his head like an angry child that doesn't want to take medicine. More tears stream down his face, and he opens his mouth. It's like a horror movie with someone trying to warn the female main character that the villain is standing behind them. He looks at me with pleading eyes.

"Just point to the door if you hate me and want me to leave. Give me the middle finger, and you'll never see me again."

He breathes through his nose and claws at his throat with his good arm, obviously frustrated. But he doesn't point to the door, and he doesn't flip me off. I stay at the foot of the bed out of his reach, staring at him and willing him to make me understand. Squeaky sounds come from his throat, and I look around for a pen and paper so he can write what he wants to say.

"What's going on in here?" a nurse asks as she comes through the door with a syringe. She's an older woman, but she looks strong and like she doesn't tolerate people messing with her patients. "Are you upsetting him?"

"I-uh, I don't know," I answer honestly.

Liam shakes his head at the nurse and clutches his chest. He moves his hand over his heart. What the hell is he doing? It's the universal sign for a heart attack, and I look at his heart monitor. If anything, his heart is pounding. It's like he's playing the most frustrating game of charades ever. I wish he'd just flip me off. Is he trying to torture me?

"I think you should leave, ma'am," the nurse says. "I'll call security if you don't leave on your own."

Liam shakes his head and pounds his hands on the bed as hard as he can without removing his IV. He winces in pain as the pressure from hitting the mattress moves up his bandaged arm. The nurse and I both jump at the violence, and I inch toward the door. "There, there," the nurse says. She puts her hand on his shoulder, and he moves her hand away, looking around her body to find my eyes. "Let me give you something to sleep again."

She injects something into his IV, and I turn for the door, not wanting to be in more trouble with the law if she calls security. Lord knows I don't need to fall in love with whatever hunk appears to remove me. It's bad enough I fell in love with him, only for us to end up hating each other more than we did when I was a simple pot baker he was trying to shut down.

I should go home, hug Bogey, go for a long walk, and try to find a nice man to spend my life with. I shouldn't give Liam Lane one more thought.

It certainly shouldn't bother me that he squeaks something that sounds like, "Ove er," to the nurse as I shut the door a little harder than necessary.

Yeah, Liam. I guess it is over.