16. Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Sixteen

Callum

Nibbling on the ragged skin around my thumb nail, I stared at Michael's sleeping face, not willing to look away for even a second. He looked younger in sleep, his sandy hair a mess, face pale. He was turned towards me on his side in the hospital bed, one hand holding my free one tightly. Just like I couldn't look away from him, I couldn't let go of his hand.

Worry filled me, not just because of his allergic reaction, but for all the potentially life-threatening events that had happened to him since the spell had been placed on him. I hadn't sensed black magic on him–still didn't–and the spell didn't appear strong enough to cause all the havoc and danger it seemed to be causing .

As it was, I was no longer comfortable waiting on my family to return next weekend to break the spell. If we could find the original spell caster, and get him to reverse the spell, I would feel a lot better. Maybe some of the danger surrounding Michael would disappear. There wasn't much to be done about the spell binding us until Daphne got home, but honestly, there were worse things in life then having to have Michael near me twenty-four-seven.

A soft, feminine throat clearing jerked my head up, and I turned to see Jessica standing in the doorway of the emergency room cubicle. She looked pale and worried but offered me a tentative, somewhat shaky, smile. I had no idea how long she'd been standing there, watching us, my mind a million miles away.

"How is he?" she whispered, moving quietly forward to peer down lovingly at her son. She brushed a stray lock of hair from his forehead, and Michael didn't stir. The events of the last few hours had left him exhausted.

"He's okay," I whispered, and if she thought it was strange I didn't let go of Michael's hand so she could move closer, she didn't comment on it. Technically, I didn't need to still be clinging to him. The chair I was sitting in was close enough to him to not cause him any pain. But I liked touching him, liked the weight and feel of his hand in mine, fingers entangled. "They're just observing him for a couple of hours, and then going to release him. "

The emergency room staff had tried unsuccessfully to keep me out of the treatment room when we had arrived. Michael, even in his weakened, still wheezy state, had thrown a truly award-worthy fit, and I had been firm on not leaving him. Since he didn't have any major trauma, they had finally relented, the nurse ordering me with narrowed eyes to stay out of the way. Making sure to stay close enough to not flare up the pain in his head, I had done just that. Though Michael had firmly grabbed my hand in his and refused to let go the entire time the staff had looked him over.

As long as he didn't have any adverse reactions to any of the medication and didn't have a second allergic flare up–which sometimes happened the admitting doctor had explained–we would be going home tonight.

Jessica nodded, her shoulders slumping. "I haven't been that scared since the first time he had mushrooms and nearly died."

"This was terrifying, so I can't imagine going through this with a child." My heart rate still hadn't gotten back to normal.

"He was only five. Mike ordered mushrooms on a pizza, deciding the kids were old enough to try something besides the usual cheese and pepperoni." Her lips quirked fondly at the memory. "He never tried that again."

Snorting, I said, " I bet not. Still…"

"Yeah, it's pretty scary. We're all usually really careful. But Michael hasn't lived at home in so long, and the chef is new to us. Poor man feels just awful about this." She held out a set of car keys to me, and I took them from her with a question in my eyes. "Mike drove Michael's car here. It's in the visitor lot, section E. Mike's in the waiting room. He hates seeing Michael like this. He's great in a crisis, but after, he needs a minute, especially when one of the kids is involved. It doesn't matter how old your children get, Callum, they're always your babies."

"My mom says the same thing." I gave her a warm smile, my thumb absently tracing patterns into Michael's skin.

"I'm glad Michael met you," she brushed her hand over his hair again, reassuring herself he was going to be okay. "I think you're just what my son needed. You'll get him home?"

Nodding, I tried to speak past the well of emotion clogging my throat, but all I managed was a bobbing of my head.

"Tell him we'll call him tomorrow," glancing at the clock on the wall, she grimaced. "Later today, I guess now."

"I'll take care of him," I finally managed to say hoarsely, surrounded by all the motherly, caring emotions rolling off the woman. Her aura was sunshine, warmth, and goodness. She was the type of person people would naturally gravitate towards, without even understanding why .

She bent and placed a soft kiss on Michael's cheek, then did the same to the top of my hair. "I know you will."

As her footsteps faded from the room and down the hall, Michael began to stir. Blinking his eyes open, confusion clouded his blue eyes for a few seconds before clearing. Leaning forward in the chair, I squeezed his hand. "Hi."

"Hi," his voice was rough, slightly hoarse, and he winced as he swallowed. "Water?"

Reaching for the cup on the tray next to the bed, I held the straw to his lips, missing the warmth of his hand in mine. He took several sips, before indicating he had enough. Looking around the room, he frowned. "How long?"

Returning to my spot on the chair, he held his hand out, wiggling his fingers at me. Smiling, I took his hand back in mine, relishing how right holding his hand felt and how quickly we had both become used to the feeling. "Just a few hours. They're going to observe you for a bit, and if everything is good, release you."

He gave a slight nod of his head. "I think I remember that. Some things are a bit hazy."

"Well, you were a little busy trying to breathe."

He gave me a weak smile, "So…remember when I said I'm allergic to mushrooms."

"Yeah, I got that memo. Thanks." My lips quirked up at the corners. "Let's not do this again though, huh, if we can avoid it. I meant what I said about having EpiPens, like, everywhere. Your place, office, car, my place–" my voice trailed off as his eyes widened. "I mean, um, not that I'm assuming anything. I mean, when Daphne gets back next weekend, we can go our separate ways, obviously. I wasn't trying to say–"

"Callum," the way Michael breathily said my name stopped my rambling in its tracks.

"Hmm?" I nibbled on the tender skin around my thumbnail some more.

"I like the sound of that. Keeping a pen at your place. Maybe even…more than a pen?" His voice was shy, hopeful, and his pale cheeks flushed a soft pink. His lashes fluttered, and he looked down at our joined hands.

I wasn't sure what was happening between Michael and me, but it felt like a hell of a lot more than just a binding spell between us. And I was here for it. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," His tired blue eyes met mine. "I've never been a boyfriend before, just so you know. I may suck at it. But, with you, I want to give it a try."

"Me too," I whispered, "want to try. I've been a boyfriend before, with mixed results. So, I might suck at it too. The problem might have been me." Doubtful, but I did seem to have a habit of picking not great for me guys.

He chuckled, "So we'll both suck together." Realizing what he had said, he waggled his brows, "Pun intended. Just promise me one thing?"

Rolling my eyes at his lame joke, I asked, "What's that? "

"No trying to conjure breakfast in bed. I have no desire to be turned into a frog, or anything else." I had told him about the Sean debacle over breakfast, along with some other tales of my spell casting misadventures.

Snorting, I agreed. "Deal."

Turning serious, I ran a hand through my hair. "I've been thinking about all your accidents. Even though it doesn't feel like the spell caused them, I think we should try to find the original spell caster and see if we can get him to break the spell."

Michael's eyes widened, and he pushed himself into a seated position on the bed. "You think I'm right then? That this spell is causing all kinds of bad luck for me?"

Huffing out a breath of air, I shrugged. "Honestly, I'm not sure. Like I've said, the spell isn't that strong, and I'm not sensing any black magic from it. But when you add up all the life-threatening things that have happened since it was cast, it's hard to look past them all as just coincidences. If we can get it broken before Daphne returns, I think we should try. A lot can happen before my family comes home next weekend, and I don't want to risk it. I don't want to risk you."

"Okay, so I guess a-clubbing we shall go." He yawned loudly. "Maybe not for a few days though? It's been a long time since I had to recover from a reaction like this, but I do remember it took a few days. I'm exhausted, sore, slightly queasy, and want to sleep for about a week. "

"I think we're good to wait until you've recovered fully," I agreed. "Besides, you should be safe enough at my place. In my bed." I didn't tell him I'd be double checking all the wards in the house and shop, just to be on the safe side.

We'd shared my bed the last couple of nights, spooning and sharing nothing more than a few chaste kisses, but tonight had changed everything between us. It had started with the blazing hot kiss on his parents' front porch and ended with us nearly losing him. There was no way I could miss the flare of heat in Michael's eyes, even feeling as bad as he did. And he hadn't missed my meaning.

I wanted Michael Endicott, and he wanted me. It didn't matter that it was all happening at lightning quick speed.

"I love the sound of that," he told me huskily, and I leaned forward and brushed my lips against his. It wasn't an overly passionate kiss like earlier, but one that held the sweet promise of things to come.

"Me too."