“I’m just going to take him to the ward while they wait for results,” the grey-haired man explains but I don’t really hear him.
Hunter’s face is unnaturally pale, his beautiful eyes shut. His stubble appears even darker against his ashen skin and there are hollows beneath his eyes. A dark purple bruise mars his forehead. I fight back the tears, reach over the bars and smooth a hand over his messy hair.
“Miss Callahan?”
I peer behind me to see Mark waiting with the wheelchair. I sink into it as my legs give way. I can’t keep my gaze from Hunter. It’s too weird seeing this strong, capable man so vulnerable. He’s so good at taking care of me I took it for granted that nothing could bring him so low.
I clamp a hand over my mouth as a sob threatens to well up.
“You can stay with him for a while,” Mark informs me, “but you’ll need to get some rest too.”
I nod, unable to make my voice work. We follow the other porter and Hunter through the corridors and back into the elevator. This time it’s busier and there are people between me and the bed. I can’t see him properly and my palms itch with the need to be touching him. I can’t help feel that if I can just reassure him I’m here, everything will be all right.
Or perhaps it’s just me who needs the reassurance.
They take us to a different ward, the walls lined with blue stripes as opposed to the yellow on the ward I was. I guess it’s to help you find your way around but I doubt very much I could find my way a back without help. Not that I want to. I’ll stay by Hunter’s side for as long as they let me.
When he’s installed safely back in his bay, Mark wheels me next to him. “Thank you.” I motion to the bed. “Can you take the side down?”
“Sure.” Mark unlatches the side and slides it down. I shift the chair closer and take Hunter’s hand. It’s surprisingly warm and I savour it, remembering a time when that hand was touching my face and my body.
“A porter will be down to collect you in about an hour and a half.”
“Okay, thank you.”
I don’t want to think about leaving Hunter but I’ll take what I can get. The painkillers seem to be kicking in and the pounding in my head is now just a dull ache. I study Hunter’s hand, threading my fingers between his large blunt ones. With my other hand, I stroke his hair and forehead. His chest rises and falls steadily, the wide strength so at odds with the flimsy hospital gown with its garish multi-coloured print—the name of the hospital repeated across it over and over.
I rest my head against his arm and wait. Time drifts. I recall all the words I wish I hadn’t said. How distrustful and how scared I was. For what? For it all to be taken away from me? Nothing is scarier than the man I love being hurt. And I contributed to that.
The gentle pulse of his skin against my forehead quickens and I drag my head up. With sticky palms, I brush a hand across his forehead. Is he dying? Does he have internal injuries? I glance around for a nurse or anyone but I can’t see anyone nearby and I can’t leave him.
Mouth dry, I study his face. I’ve never seen anyone die. What happens? A flicker behind his eyelids catches me and I hold my breath. Tears threaten to burst free. Another flicker. His lashes move marginally. I release a squeak. More movements and his eyes open, unfocussed. His lids are at half-mast so I can’t see the colours in his eyes but it’s enough.
“Nurse!” I cry out and try to stand but I’m too weak from fear.
He rolls his head around and I see him hone in on me. The tiniest up tilt of his lips sends my racing heart into overdrive and I let out sob.
“Jess.” His voice is gritty and barely audible.
“Yes, I’m here.” I press a palm along his rough cheek. It’s probably my imagination but his skin feels warmer, full of life.
“What…?”
“You’re in hospital. We came off the bike, remember?”
Hunter’s eyes widen. “You… hurt… ?”
“No, I’m fine. You hit your head, Hunter. Badly. We’re just waiting for scan results. How… how do you feel?”
“Like… I fell off a bike…”
I let slip a relieved giggle as a nurse hastens over and begins checking him. A doctor joins in and I observe. Dread curdles my stomach. He might be awake but I won’t feel assured until we’re out of this hospital and Hunter is warm and well in my arms.
The middle-aged doctor steps back. “Mr O’Reilly, you’ve had quite a hit. We should have your CT results any moment now, but you’ll need to stay in for observation after being unconscious for so long,” he warns.
“He’s going to be okay?” I ask hopefully
“We’ll know for sure once we’ve got the scan results.”
The doctor leaves and Hunter struggles to sit for a drink. I help him, holding the straw so he can get a sip. With a heavy breath, he sags down and turns his gaze to me.
“I’m glad you’re okay. Don’t know what happened.” Each word seems to take so much effort that tears threaten to well again.
“It doesn’t matter.”