“You know I did. Of course, I me—”
“Then how dare you be so damn reckless with what’s mine?” He presses his palms to the table at the foot of the bed, leaning forward, his stare pressing me deeper into the pillow behind me. “You can’t possibly get that and be so careless with your health. With your life.”
“I wasn’t being careless. I was working.”
“For a tyrant. And I told you he didn’t give a shit about you, but you ignored me. Left me to go on the road for him, and this is what happens.”
“How can you be mad at me?” Tears blur and burn my eyes.
“How can I not, Pep? You’re my fucking life. How can you not know that?” He drops his head into his hands, digging and twisting his palms into his eyes. “You’re my life.”
“And you’re mine.”
“Am I?” He shakes his head, turning away from me to link his hands behind his neck. “If that were true, we wouldn’t be here right now.”
“You’ve gotten to do this your whole life. Is it wrong that I want to take advantage of my shot? I finally get the chance to make it, and—”
“I don’t give a damn if you ‘make it’ if it hurts you, Pep.” He swings back around to face me, eyes tumultuous. “If it jeopardizes you, then you’re right. I don’t care about your career. There. I said it.”
“How would you feel if I said that to you?”
“I’d feel like you had your priorities straight. That’s how I’d feel.”
“No, you—”
The door flies open, and a nurse wearing purple scrubs and a scowl walks in.
“I heard our patient was awake.” She sets her fists on her hips and walks over to my bed. “Were you planning to argue her back to good health, Mr. Gray?”
Rhyson at least looks abashed, his eyes losing some of their heat when he glances back at me.
“I’m sorry.” He blows out his frustration. “We were just—”
“Oh, the whole wing heard what you were just doing.” She looks up at him from the blood pressure cuff she’s wrapping around my arm. “Am I gonna have to ask you to leave?”
Rhyson doesn’t answer, but takes his seat by my bed and starts scrolling through his phone. I’m not sure if it’s his way of demonstrating he’ll cooperate, or showing her he’s not going anywhere.
“Your vitals are good, but the doctor will be in soon to look at you,” she says to me. “How are you feeling?”
“Thirsty,” I croak. “And really drowsy.”
“We gave you some medication that kept you asleep because the best thing you can do to get better is rest.”
She offers me the water again. Each sip irrigates my dry, scratchy throat, so I keep sipping until the cup is almost empty.
“Slow down, honey.” She laughs a little. “It’s time for more meds actually.”
She chides Rhyson with a look.
“If he’s going to upset you, he’ll have to go.”
“He won’t,” I rush to say. “I promise.”
“If he can’t follow instructions—”
“Please don’t make him go.” I’m about to cry again. Is it the exhaustion making me such a crybaby?
“Don’t worry,” Rhsyon says without looking up from his phone. “She won’t make me go.”
The nurse lifts a brow, meeting Rhyson’s defiance with her own.
“You have some other friends who’d like to see you.” Her stern eyes soften on me. “Is that okay?”
“Sure. That’s fine.”
She leaves, and neither of us speaks for a moment, the memory of our argument too fresh in the room.
“Do you have any idea what you mean to me?” Rhys finally asks, his voice quiet, but still rich with emotion. “There’s no happiness without you anymore. This didn’t have to happen. I’m furious with Malcolm. I’m furious with myself.”
“Furious with me?” I ask softly.
He doesn’t answer, but the air throbs with it. This caged emotion that has been waiting for me to wake up, finally unleashed in a torrent. Fear and desperation stand in his eyes like water, reflecting everything he’s been through since he saw me collapse. I can’t be mad at him. And I know he won’t stay mad at me.
He gets up from the chair and steps close to the bed, leaning down to slide his arm under my back, scooping me close. He buries his head in my hair, gripping me like he’s afraid I’ll float away.
“God, Pep.”
“I’m okay.” I lay soothing strokes over the knotted muscles of his back. “Baby, I’m okay.”
I hear him swallow, feel his arms tighten around me.
“I can’t.” He shakes his head.
He doesn’t finish that thought, but I know. He can’t go through that again. He can’t be without me. He can’t lose me. I know because that truth hums through my veins as sure as whatever is pumping through the needle stuck in my arm. We are pieces that have interlocked, carved to fit by fate or something I don’t understand, but I know is real.