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The only sound in Nick’s room was the gentle whirring of the machine with a direct line to his lungs. Even the TV hanging in the corner played its soap operas on mute.
His room was too quiet, and his thoughts too loud.
Out of ICU, he sat almost erect against his pillows, glaring at the late morning light probing the room in slatted planes through the vertical blinds. The silent TV went black with the punch of a button. The silence of his private room pressed in on him. He considered the patient call light, his only communication with the world. But they couldn’t give him what he needed.
He flexed his left hand, his cast keeping his right hand immobile, those fingers and thumb sticking out from the plaster like turtle legs, and his elbow stationary. Drawing was out for a while. He’d been cognizant enough to refuse the next dose of make-you-an-angry-lunatic pain meds. They’d started him on ibuprofen instead. Like toffee, it was the safe bet. He curled his free hand into a tight fist, his nails biting into his skin.
She’d been there. And he’d said some pretty bad things to her. He had no memory of what, reality lost to a white blur of bright lights and faraway voices, a warm hand in his. When she came back, he’d grovel for forgiveness—if she came back.
Poor Quinn. If the outcome had been worse... Well, he couldn’t think about what it would’ve done to his father or Quinn.
The latch clicked as the door opened. Another nurse checking in. The breath rushed from his lungs, leaving him struggling to refill them. Quinn, uncertain and fearful, peeked around the door. He’d done that. Said things that made her look like that.
She hung back in the doorway. “Your dad said you were doing better, but if you want me to go...”
“No. Please.” He rose too far and racked himself with pain. He stifled a groan and clenched his teeth, almost wanting the stronger meds. “Please stay.”
She rushed to his side, throwing her purse into the chair next to the bed, fear now a ghost on her face. “Don’t move. What can I do? Can I call someone?”
Closing his eyes, he could only lean against his pillows and try to breathe. When the pain passed, he reopened them and reached for her hand. “You’re the only one I need.”
She perched on the bed and wrapped his hand in hers. She focused on their hands. He gazed at her. The pain in her eyes ran deep and hurt him worse than the broken ribs and bruised chest. He ached to take her in his arms and hold her against him, would have if not for his injuries and the thick tube hanging out of him.
“Quinn, I am so sorry.” Wouldn’t she look at him? “I said some things. Some awful things. It doesn’t make it better, but I don’t remember any of it.”
Soft amber eyes met his. Gentle fingers squeezed. “It wasn’t you. I’m glad you’re yourself again.”
Pain or no, he wanted her close. “Come here.”
When he drew her to him, she braced an elbow on his pillows and tucked her other arm under her, laying her head on his shoulder. He stiffened against the pain as he stretched his right arm over his chest to hold her.
Her body tensed, and she tried to pull away.
“Stay, stay, stay. It’s worth it.” He gasped in small breaths around his smile.
She traced his jawline with her fingers, making his skin tingle.
He brushed his fingers through her hair and lifted her chin with his turtle hand to catch her lips with his. He hadn’t forgotten the way her lips tasted, but he’d missed them. He’d missed her. He may not remember the last couple of days, but they’d seemed like an eternity of darkness. He rested his forehead against hers. “Stay with me. Please don’t let this change your mind. I don’t want to lose you.”
She pressed her lips to his again, not the gentle kiss from the balcony, but a hard longing kiss he wanted to get lost in, never come back from. Her hand slid up and around his neck, barely brushing the edge of his bruises.
He tensed but held her to him. Ignoring all pain, he held her closer.
He wanted to sweep her away and protect her. To guard her from the world. It was impossible, but he’d die trying.
When they pulled away, he touched her warm cheek with his fingertips. “I’m sorry I’ve put you through this.”
Her smile was a painting all its own. “Yeah, well, the next time you want to bury yourself in your work, can we at least talk about it?”
A sharp pain in his ribs cut his laugh short. “Oh. Don’t make me laugh.”
Her hand went to his face. Her lips followed. “I’m sorry.”
“I hope I’m interrupting something.” Dad came in the door and shook a large bag. The Boston Deli’s pink pig on the side of the brown paper.
She eased back from him, her smile feeding his. He dragged his gaze from hers. “If you brought a Reuben on rye, I’ll forgive you.”
“Not only a Reuben on rye.” He handed the brown-paper-wrapped sandwich to him. Then passed another to Quinn, who wiped a tear from the corner of her eye before taking it. “A turkey and Swiss for the lady.”
As they ate, the warmth Quinn brought to the room soothed the pain in his chest, and Nick’s body relaxed. He watched her talk to Dad. They’d grown closer while he was in the land of the lost. At least one good thing had come of this. Would there be more?
She hadn’t answered him. Hadn’t said she’d stay. Her kiss was convincing, but he needed words. But she’d come back—as she always had.
He’d lost three days with her, days he hadn’t been there to help her through.
God willing, he’d never be away from her again.
