Chapter Forty-One

Danica

W ith a calming breath, I raise a shaky hand, quietly pushing open the door as I fight back the panic threatening to overwhelm me. Soft beeps and whirring noises fill the otherwise silent space, and the smell of sterile hospital chemicals bites my nostrils. Hesitantly, I step softly into the room and allow the door to close quietly behind me, sealing me in with my memories and an unconscious Jonathan. Oh. Poor Jonathan.

Lying still, just so, in the middle of the room; monitors that sit to the side of his bed, displaying his vitals, attest to the fact that he is, indeed, alive. But he looks pale, so very pale. Dark hair plastered to his clammy forehead, skin pasty and not at all its naturally dark and sun-kissed hues, tubes coming out of his hand where they placed the IV and pulse-oximeter. Pillows have him propped at a slight tilt; I would assume to remove pressure from the side where he was shot.

Jesus. Jay was fucking shot, and it’s all my fault. My swallow is silent against the thundering heartbeat pounding in my chest and ringing in my ears. If I’m not careful, I really will have a panic attack, and then the nurses will be strapping me into one of these god-forsaken beds. Get a fucking grip, Danica!

A faint stirring and soft sigh alert me to Jay as he finally cracks his eyes open, and I pry my frozen feet off the floor, and force my body to move closer to the bed.

“Hey, Jay.” Careful not to bump into his injured side, I reach out and gingerly grab his hand .

My breath hitches as I am greeted by a goofy, doped-up grin and lazy eyes as they wander over my body. “Heyyy, there’s my girl.” Oh geeze, he is high as a fucking kite.

Reluctantly, a small smile pulls at the corner of my mouth. “I’m right here.”

“Missed you.” He sighs, eyes closing. For a moment, I wonder if he fell back asleep, he is so still and silent, nothing but the soft sounds of his breathing as I watch the slow rise and fall of his chest.

Flashes of another day, another hospital room, fill my mind and I feel the stinging prick of tears that fight their way free as they trail a reserved path down my cheeks.

“Heyyyy pretty girl. Shhhhh.” Jay startles me out of my thoughts as he reaches out, placing a finger against my lips. “Don’t cry for me. Shhhh. S’kay. I’m . . . good.” His words keep trailing off as he fights to focus his gaze. “C’mere.” He grabs at my hand that had taken his, pulling me down so that I almost stumble onto him.

“Jay, no. That’s not a good idea. I- I don’t want to hurt you. You’re injured!”

“S’kay baby girl. I’m good. Trust me. . . Just . . . need . . . you.” He tugs a little harder, though that is not saying much; his movements are weak and half-hearted, though whether it is due to the drugs in his system or the injury itself, I’m not sure. “Please?”

“Jay-” My breath hitches as he gives another underwhelming tug, pain lining the corners of his eyes, despite the medication that he must be on to take the edge off. Still, I hesitate. Yes, I don’t want to injure him, but also. . . just the thought of being back in a hospital bed, I don’t. I can’t. I -. Sighing softly, I use our interconnected hands to gently lift his arms and gingerly sit on the edge of the bed. Apparently, this isn’t good enough however, as he starts tugging on the back of my shirt, encouraging me to lie down.

Sucking in a breath as he groans in obvious discomfort, my body tenses with the effort to make sure my movements are slow and deliberate as I turn to my side, curling into Jay as I lay next to him. Letting go of my hand, I feel the soft movement as he also shifts, adjusting to make more room for me on the narrow bed before draping his arm over my shoulder and hugging me to his side.

“Mmm. That’s better.” A small, contented sigh escapes and I look up at his face to see his eyes close once more. A deep, slow breath releases as he relaxes into me, his hold barely there. After several beats, I realize this time that he actually has fallen asleep .

Gently, I drape my arm across his middle, snuggling into his side and breathe him in. The hospital gown is unbuttoned on his left side and draped at an angle, showing his exposed bandage just above his heart. God, if that bullet had been just a little lower. . . if he had moved the wrong way. . . I shudder, thinking about how easily I could have lost him. This person who has been my teacher, my support, my friend, and I feel his squeeze of reassurance as the tears begin to fall in earnest. Even in his sleep, he is always there for me, watching over me and reassuring me. I turn my face into his chest, rubbing away the tears that refuse to stop, and lay still as I breathe him in.