Chapter 62
"Damn it," I said, squeezing Lawton's hand, "you are such an idiot."
"Please," the nurse said for like the tenth time, "no yelling at the patient."
"I wasn't yelling," I said. "Much."
With a look that told me she thought otherwise, she checked off something on his chart and returned the clipboard to the foot of the bed.
We were in a private hospital room, surrounded by machines, IV stands, and a whole bunch of other stuff that did who-knows-what.
Lawton was lying in the hospital bed, groggy, but more or less awake. How, I had no idea. They'd given him so many shots, and then there was the IV drip, and I'm pretty sure they pumped his stomach too, although for the sake of his dignity, I tried not to ask.
If I'd just had my stomach pumped, I sure as heck wouldn’t want anyone asking about it.
The nurse adjusted his IV drip and left the room, but not before giving me a final look of warning. I guess I couldn’t really blame her. Idiot was probably the nicest name I'd called him.
Seriously, who eats a whole crapload of oysters, knowing damn well they're allergic to shellfish? Correction, deadly allergic to shellfish? Crazy people, that's who.
Blinking hard, I looked down at Lawton. "You're looking a lot better," I said.
He gave me a shaky grin. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," I said, "but you're still an idiot."
"Not this time," he said. "So, you know how to drive a stick, huh?"
"No. But I know how to call an ambulance." I bit my lip. "I think I forgot to lock your car."
"Eh, no biggie."
"And, uh, I might've left your keys in the ignition." I winced. "I'm sorry. Your car's probably long-gone by now."
"Don't worry," he said. "It'll turn up. Or not."
I scooted my chair closer and leaned down to press my face close to his. "You shouldn't have done that." My voice caught. "The doctor told me you could've died."
"They always say that. Hasn't happened yet."
"Seriously," I said. "Why on Earth would you do that? It was really stupid." I gave him a stern look. "And don't try to tell me you didn't know."
"I would," he said, "but like I told you, I'm not a liar."
"So why'd you do it?" I said.
"Because," he said with a faint smile, "I couldn’t stand to see you hurt."
"You think I like seeing you hurt?" I said.
"This?" he said. "It's nothing."
"Okay," I said. "Now you're a liar."
Weakly, he shook his head. "Baby, I'm not lying. Seeing you cry? Hurts way more than this."
I reached up to wipe at my eyes. For his sake, I tried to laugh. "Oh so, now, you tell me." I closed my eyes to blink away the tears. When I opened them, he was asleep.
I sat there with him for the longest time. I kept expecting someone to make me leave. But by some strange twist of fate, or maybe a simple oversight, no one did.
Watching him, I thought of all the twists and turns our relationship had taken since that very first day I'd seen him, standing outside his gate. If I'd only been honest with him from the get-go, things would've been a whole lot different.
I reached out to stroke his hand, relieved to see his long, strong fingers returning to their normal shape. I moved my hand upward, tracing the lines and shapes of his tattoos. Feeling the ridges of his muscles steady beneath my fingers, it made me feel just a little better. Like he was solid and real, not just a figment, and not just wishful thinking.
Except for the faint humming of equipment and Lawton's steady breathing, the room was eerily quiet. Thankfully, I hadn't spent a lot of time in hospitals. There was that time my mom fell off our apartment balcony, and then a couple years later, that crazy accident with Erika's Porsche.
In mid-motion, I felt a stillness overtake me. This scene, right now, it was all too familiar – a different time, a different place, a different person.
Or – I swallowed – maybe it wasn't. Slowly, I let my gaze travel the length of his arm, trying to see beyond the lines and patterns of his tattoos. And then, just when I started calling myself crazy for even looking, I spotted them, faint, but unmistakable, even with the inky camouflage.
Cigarette burns.
Oh my God. It was him.