My toes dug into the smooth linoleum, keeping me upright. The back of my hand twinged as the drip line tugged. I groaned, wiping away sweat already beading on my brow.
I’d learned the hard way when I first attempted a bathroom visit that I had to roll the contraption feeding my drip with me; otherwise, the needle in my hand jerked me back.
That’d hurt. But not nearly as much as my heart did whenever I thought of Kes still holding onto this world. He hadn’t died; no matter how adamant Doctor Louille had been that he might never wake up.
Don’t think about him.
I had too much to worry about. Being in a high-traffic public place meant my emotions were scrubbed raw. Luckily, I had a private room, but it didn’t stop emotions from soaking through the walls.
Snippets of grief and misplaced hope trickled under my door from family members visiting loved ones. Horrible pain and the craving for death drifted like scent waves from patients healing from trauma.
I fucking hated hospitals.
I have to leave—if not for Nila’s sake, then my own.
I would be able to heal a lot faster away from people who drained the life right out of me.
Gritting my teeth, I shuffled forward. The large bandage around my middle gave my broken rib some support but agony radiated anyway. Doctor Louille had cut down my painkillers at my request. I needed to know the truth—to monitor my healing and be able to cope with the discomfort on my own terms.
Because three weeks was far too fucking long.
I’m not waiting that long.
The minute I could get to the bathroom without it taking fifteen bloody minutes, I was checking out, and I didn’t care what anyone said.
Every step fed energy to atrophied muscles.
Every shuffle forced my body to revive.
And every stumble ensured I could leave that much sooner.
Eleven minutes.
An improvement from sixteen minutes yesterday.
Not the best achievement to go from bed to bathroom, but I’d whittled off five minutes in just under twenty-four hours. I was healing faster—bolstered by my unrelenting pressure.
Wobbling back toward the despised mattress, I paused in the centre of the room. The thought of getting back into the starched sheets and staring yet again at the powder blue ceiling with no fucking purpose other than to torture myself with images of Nila didn’t inspire me.
I was no good to her yet. I had to be sensible and heal before saving her, but I couldn’t lie there another moment without talking to her. Without telling her how much I loved her, cared for her, missed her, craved her. I needed her. I needed her smile, her laugh, her touch, her body.
I need you, Nila, so fucking much.
After talking to Jasmine the first day, we’d agreed to keep communication few and far between. It was hard not to know what happened at Hawksridge, but Cut didn’t know we’d made it out alive. For all my dear doting father knew, Kes’s and my bones were now pig shit at the back of the estate.
And I want to keep it that way.
Jaz had done all she could to hide our reincarnation from everyone. The doctors and nurses called me Mr. James Ambrose. No one knew my true identity. She’d even taken us to a hospital we’d never been to before—boycotting our usual medical team in favour of strangers who would keep us unknown.
It didn’t mean I trusted anyone, though.
I risked anonymity by contacting Nila, but I couldn’t deny myself anymore. Just thinking of messaging her like we did before I claimed her made my heart beat stronger and blood pump faster.
She was my cure—not drugs or doctors. I was stupid to avoid contacting her for so long when all I wanted to do was drag her into my embrace and keep her safe forever.
Wrapping my arm around my waist, adding pressure to the throbbing wound, I inched barefoot out of my room, dragging the drip on its little wheels behind me.
I’m a fucking invalid.
The hospital was quiet.
No emergencies. No visitors.
It was a nice reprieve from daylight hours when I had to focus entirely on the itching of my stitches and ache from my rib to negate the overpowering overshare of emotions from such a busy place.
I didn’t know the time, but the bright neons were dimmed, giving the illusion of peace and sleepiness. However, the morbid silence of death interrupted the false serenity, lurking in the darkness, waiting to pick off its latest victim.
Move along, death. You’re not taking me, my brother, or Nila.
Not this time.
My mind jumped back to the images that Bonnie had shown me a month or so ago. Her study had always been a festival of flowers and needlepoint, but when she’d invited me to tea, she had a new acquisition.
Photographs.
Images of a Weaver, who looked exactly like Nila and my great, great grandfather.
I’d always known I looked like Owen Hawk. Cut had told me a few times as I grew up. But that’d been the first time I’d heard how similar Owen and Elisa’s tale was to my own life.
It was meant to scare me. To keep me in line and show me what would happen if I followed that path.
It hadn’t stopped me.
I snorted under my breath.
And it came true.
Owen was murdered, just like I’d been. But that was where the similarities ended. Owen had died and left Elisa to suffer.
I’m still alive and I will save her.
My forehead dripped with sweat, and I gulped agonizing breaths by the time I finally shuffled down the corridor toward the front desk of the recovery wing. A nurse I’d seen once or twice looked up from her keyboard.
Plaited dark hair crowned her head while no makeup painted her face. Mid-fifties, matronly, and no-nonsense dress-code, she suited the role of caring for others rather than herself. But despite her lack of jewellery and personal adornment, her eyes were caring. In one glance, she gave me more motherly affection than I’d ever had in my youth.
For the first time in a long time, my mother made an appearance in my thoughts.
My heart thudded hard at the intrusion. I never liked thinking about her because I couldn’t stomach the memories that came with it. She’d been such a good person just stuck in a bad place. She’d done her best and given birth to four children before her strength deserted her, leaving her only legacy to fend without her.
For a while, I hated her for being so weak.
But now I understood her.
I pitied her.
The nurse shot from her chair as I stumbled forward, grabbing the desk for balance. “Mr. Ambrose, you really shouldn’t be out of bed.” Darting around the partition, she wrapped an arm around my waist, flaring my injury.
Dressed in a backless gown, and already feeding off her caring impulses and frustration at having an unruly patient out of bed, I waved her away. “Just give me a moment. I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine.”
I narrowed my eyes, blocking off her thoughts and focusing on my own. “Truly. I promise I won’t keel over and die on your shift.”
She huffed but moved away, staying within grabbing distance. I just hoped my arse wasn’t hanging out of the god-awful gown.
Wedging my back against the desk so she wouldn’t get an eyeful, I smiled grimly. “I needed some fresh air and a change of scenery.”
That’s not all I need.
She nodded as if it made perfect sense. “I get that a lot. Well, the media room is just down there.” She pointed further down the corridor. “I can get a wheelchair and settle you if you like? Lots of DVDs to keep a night owl entertained.”
I cocked my head, pretending to contemplate the idea. “Sounds tempting. But you know what I’d really like to do?”
She pursed her lips. “What?”
“Is there a convenience store in the building? Somewhere I can buy a phone? Something that can connect to the internet as well as basic calling?”
She frowned. “There’s a small shop on th
e bottom floor by the café, but I can’t let you go down there, Mr. Ambrose. It’s four floors and late. Besides, I doubt it will be open at this time of night.”
My heart squeezed with dejection.
Nila.
I have to speak to her.
I couldn’t wait any longer. Grabbing the nurse’s hand, I flicked a glance at her nametag. Injecting as much charm into my voice as possible, I murmured, “Edith, I really need that phone. Any way you can help me out?”
She tugged in my hold, blinking. “Um, it’s against hospital policy to assist with patient requests outside of medical requirement.”
I chuckled, wincing as my muscles heralded another wash of agony. “I’m not asking you to grab me a burger or something bad for my health.”
She laughed softly.
“Surely, popping downstairs and grabbing me a phone would be okay?” I ducked to look deeper into her gaze. “I’d be forever in your debt.”
Debt…
Shit, I hated that word.
Nila would never be in debt again for as long as she lived. I would eradicate that word for motherfucking eternity the minute this was all over. No rhyme or reason existed for why my family did what they did to the Weavers. What’d started as vengeance swiftly became entertainment.
Boredom.
That was the cause. It had to be.
My ancestors were never equipped to deal with vast wealth having nothing better to do than pluck the wings from innocent butterflies and hurt those less fortunate.
There was such a thing as too much time and decadence, turning someone into a heartless monster.
Edith bit the inside of her cheek. “I don’t know.” Looking down the corridor toward my room, she said, “I’ll tell you what, head back to bed. You can discuss it with the morning manager and see what they can do.”
My stomach clenched.
It has to be tonight.
“No. I can’t run that risk. You’re here now. One request, then I’ll leave you alone. What do you say?”
Fuck this backless gown and lack of worldly possessions.
I was so used to towering over people in rich linen and tailored cotton, pulling out a wallet bursting with money. Money always got what you wanted. Cash always enticed someone to say yes.
It truly was a double-edged sword.
“If you go now, I’ll pay you triple what the phone is worth.”
Her entire body stiffened.
Shit, shouldn’t have said that.
“I don’t accept bribes, Mr. Ambrose.”
Pain shot through my system, drenching me in sweat again. I couldn’t be vertical much longer. My shoulders rolled in defeat. “Please, Edith. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t very important.” Going against all instinct, I let down my walls and begged, “Please. I need to speak with someone. They think—they think I died. I can’t let them continue worrying about me. It isn’t fair.” Hissing through my teeth as a hot wave of discomfort took me hostage, I muttered, “You wouldn’t do that to a loved one, would you? Let them sit at home and fear the worst?”
Her face fell. “No, I guess you’re right.”
Thank God.
Suddenly, she moved back around the desk and grabbed a purple handbag. Rummaging inside, she passed me an older model cell-phone. “Here. Text them now. My shift is almost over. I’ll get you the phone tomorrow when I come back into work.”
It wasn’t ideal, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.
My hand shook as I reached for it. “I can’t thank you enough.”
She waved it away. “Don’t mention it.”
The moment I held the phone, I wanted to sprint back to my room. To hear Nila’s voice. To beg for her forgiveness. To know she was okay.
I shoved away pain, holding the gift and the knowledge that I could finally reach out to her.
Hating that I couldn’t steal Edith’s phone and find some privacy, I shuffled away a little and swiped on the old device.
The time blinked on the home screen.
2:00 a.m.
Where are you, Nila?
Are you in bed? Sneaking out to ride Moth to find some peace like I used to do? Is your phone even charged?
Questions and worries exploded in my heart.
Cut had said her life would continue unmolested, but that was before he shot us. Who knew what new rules and madness he’d put in place now we were gone.
If he’s touched her, I’ll make him fucking pay.
My shakes turned savage as I opened a new message. My memory was rusty as I input her number. I hoped to God I got it right. I’d sent hundreds of messages to her but never took the time to imprint her number on my soul.
Please, please let it be right.
Using the keypad, I typed:
From one indebted to another, you’re not forgotten. I love you. I miss you. I only think of you.
I pressed send before I could go overboard. Already, that gave away too much, especially if Cut had confiscated her phone.
Then again, the number was from a stranger. It would look like any other reporter digging for a story or publicity stunt. Even with our Vanity Fair interview, the dregs of magazines looked to revive a has-been tale by piecing together fabricated facts.
That was another issue of recuperating in a hospital with nothing to do. Daytime television was enough to rot anyone’s brain—demented or otherwise.
I didn’t leave my name. I didn’t send another.
But she would know.
She would understand.
She would know that I was coming for her.
The next night, Edith fulfilled her promise.
Her shift started at 10:00 p.m. and by half past, she appeared in my room bearing a gift in the form of a brand new phone.
I couldn’t speak as I took the box, digging my fingers into the cellophane. Motherfucking tears actually sprang to my eyes at the thought of finally having a way of contacting Nila while we were apart.
Fuck, I need to hear her voice.
Edith’s emotions washed over me. Pride for helping a broken man. Compassion for my predicament. And attraction mixed with guilt over our age difference.
Sniffing back my overwhelming relief, I smiled. In one action, Edith had given me the strength to sit up taller, knit together faster.
I’m leaving soon. I’m ending this soon.
Taking her hand, I squeezed. “You have no idea what this means to me.”
She blushed. “I think I have an idea.” Tugging free, she looked away. “She’s a lucky young lady.”
And I’m a lucky fucking bastard.
I remained silent.
Awkwardness wafted off her, mirroring my own. No matter how much I appreciated Edith’s help, I wanted to be alone. Now.
A thought snapped into my brain. “Oh, did you receive a reply?”
Edith tilted her head. “Excuse me?”
“From the message I sent on your phone last night?”
“Oh…uhh.” Her emotions stuttered, shadowing with grief that she didn’t have better news.
Goddammit.
I didn’t need her to vocalize what my condition told me. Nila hadn’t replied.
Why not?
Is she okay?
Edith shook her head. “No, I’m sorry.”
I sighed heavily.
What does that mean?
Nila didn’t see the message?
She’s hurt and imprisoned and suffering?
Fuck!
My heart bucked against my ribs, feeding anxiety to an already strained nervous system. Jaz said she’d keep her safe. Please, Jaz, keep your word.
My attention left Edith, unable to wait any longer. Ripping into the plastic, I unwrapped the box like a spoiled brat at Christmas and grabbed the phone. With trembling fingers, I tore open the SIM package and battery and inserted both into the device.
I pressed the power button, waiting for it to come alive.
“Oh, almost forgot.” Edith passed me a receipt with a recharge p
in. “That will get you on the internet and unlimited calls for a month.”
Shit, I’d forgotten that part of prepay. My old phone had been on an account, deducted and sorted by our personal accountant, along with other menial bill payments.
“Thanks.” I took the docket, anxiously entering the code once the phone illuminated. “I’ll bring the money to you tonight.”
I had no idea how I would do that seeing as I had no identification, bankcards, or way of leaving the hospital, but I would pay her a small fortune for such kindness.
She waved it away. “Just when you can. No rush.” Smiling one last time, she made her way to the exit.
My mind immediately discounted her as I focused entirely on the phone. A text pinged saying the voucher code was accepted and the number was ready for use.
The wave of indecision from Edith and small creak of the door wrenched my head up. “Anything else?”
Edith blanched, her eyebrows knitting together. “I was going to ask something, but it’s not my place.”
It killed me to pause when I was so close to contacting Nila, but I grinned softly. “You’ve earned the right to ask me anything.”
She bit her lip. “Do you know?” Her eyes darted to the floor. “You were shot. There’s secrecy about how it happened and only one number on your next of kin.”
I waited, but she didn’t go on. Only the gentle pulse of curiosity from her inquisition.
“What’s your question?”
She patted her plaited hair. “Like I said, not my place. But I wanted to know…if…you knew the person who did it?”
I froze. What sort of answer should I give? Pretend amnesia and hide yet another aspect of my life?
I’m sick of hiding.
All my bloody life I’d hid from my condition, my obligation, my future.
I was done pretending.
“Yes, I know who did it.”
Her hand curled around the door handle. A wave of injustice for my situation washed from her.
I grinned, letting myself indulge in my condition without repercussion. “In answer to your next question, yes, I will make them pay.”
Her eyes popped wide. “How did you know I was going to ask that?”
Her surprise reminded me of Nila’s shock when we spent the night together, when I truly let down my guard and felt her tangled thoughts.