A slow, rhythmic beeping and the sound of muted voices tugged Asher up through thick layers of lethargy. He struggled to open his eyes, but the feat seemed beyond his abilities. His eyelids were too heavy, like a weight was pulling them down.
Tired, so tired.
Everything ached. His chest and back were on fire. A sharp piercing pain stabbed him with each breath he took. Did that mean he was alive? Where was he? Who was talking?
Most of the voices seemed familiar. He lay there in a fog of pain and confusion, desperately trying to capture snatches of the conversation to figure out what was happening. The last thing he remembered after getting Leslie to safety was Faith calling him Ash. It was the first time she’d ever done that.
Faith.
That was one of the voices he heard. Smart, beautiful, frustrating Faith. She was here. But where, exactly, was here?
Beep. Beep. Beep.
“Pneu...mo...thorax.” Faith’s voice. “What the heck is that?”
“A collapsed lung. The knife the assailant threw went into his back and...”
The voices trailed off. Waves of confusion threatened to push him under.
No. He needed to wake up. Hospital. He must be in a hospital. The unfamiliar voice had to be the doctor, talking to Faith and... Grayson. And Lance. Those were the other voices he was hearing. He struggled to capture more of the conversation.
“—missed any major organs...”
More murmurs he couldn’t catch.
Beep. Beep.
“—But will he be okay?” Faith’s voice again. “Will he make a full recovery? Will he be able to walk...”
Be able to walk? Had the knife that Stan had thrown hit his spine? He tried to move his legs, wiggle his toes. He couldn’t. Raw fear sliced through him.
Wake. Up.
“I think he’s in pain.” Faith’s soft, warm hand gently clasped his. “Please, give him something to take the pain away.”
No, no medication. Need to wake up. What’s wrong with my legs?
Another beep. The fire eased. He let out a deep breath, no longer feeling as if his lungs were going to burst out of his chest.
“Can you hear me, Asher?” Faith, her hand still clasping his. He wanted to squeeze it, stroke her fingers with his. But he couldn’t. Would it be possible to feel her hand touching his if he had a spinal injury? Maybe he was just too drugged up to move. He had to know. He struggled again to open his eyes.
“It’s okay, Asher,” she said. “Don’t fight the drugs. Rest. If you can hear me, you’re in a hospital, in Knoxville. The chopper brought you to the Trauma Center at the University of Tennessee Medical Center—”
Beep.
“When you saved Leslie from being hung by her captor’s trap, and he threw his knife at your back, it pierced a lung and—”
And what? If he could just open his eyes. Wake up!
“Doctor, he’s restless. I think he’s still in pain. Please. Help him.”
No. No, don’t. I have to know.
Liquid sleep flooded his veins. If he could yell his frustration, he would have as the darkness swallowed him up again.
BRIGHT LIGHT SLANTED across Asher’s eyelids. He turned his head away, raising his arm to block it out.
His arm. He’d raised it. He tried to open his eyes. The lids twitched, as if in protest. But then they opened. He could finally see. As he’d suspected before, he was in a hospital room, lying in a bed, with an IV pole to his left. That must be the beeping he’d heard, or maybe the monitors just past it, showing his vital signs. The bright light was the sun glinting through the shades on the window to his right. There was no one else in the room. Faith was gone.
A pang of disappointment shot through him, followed by a cold wave of fear. Will he be able to walk again? Faith’s words ran through his mind. Drawing a shallow breath that, thankfully, was far less painful this time, he tried to move his toes. The sheet over his feet moved up and down. He laughed with relief then sucked in a sharp breath at the fiery pain that seared his lungs.
When the pain finally dulled, he took a tentative, shallow breath. It still hurt, but not nearly as much as when he’d laughed. He was still groggy, exhausted. This time, he didn’t fight the pull to sleep. He closed his eyes and surrendered.
It was dark when he woke again. The sun had set long ago. But once his eyes adjusted to the darkness, the lights from the IV pump and other equipment in the room was enough for him to make out some details.
To his left was an open door, revealing the dark outline of a sink and a toilet. Another narrow door to the right of that was likely a small closet. The wall stopped a few feet beyond that, no doubt leading to the alcove that concealed the door into his hospital room.
Asher slowly turned his head on the pillow, trying to make out more details he hadn’t really paid attention to earlier. There was a digital clock on the far wall, announcing it was nearly midnight. Beside it, a small impossibly old-fashioned-looking TV was suspended from the ceiling. An equally old and uncomfortable-looking plastic chair was tucked against the wall. It was a typical private hospital room, small but efficient. And when he finally looked all the way to his right, he noticed something else. Or rather, someone.
Faith.
He smiled, his gaze drinking In the soft curves of her beautiful face as she lay sleeping, curled up in a reclining chair pulled close to his bed. Her shoulder-length hair created a golden halo above her head, glinting in the dim lights from the equipment. And there was something else he could just make out, the thick, pink blanket tucked around her. It looked suspiciously like the one he’d given her last Christmas as a joke, knowing she hated pink. She’d graciously thanked him and he’d laughed, assuming she’d toss it in the garbage as soon as he’d left. And yet there it was.
He wanted to wake her, to see her green eyes shining at him, her soft lips curve in that smile he loved so much. He wanted to thank her, for being there for him. And he wanted to know what was happening with the case.
Was Leslie recovering from her injuries? Had the TBI and police caught Stan? With their combined manpower, the roadblocks, and with Stan only having about a thirty-minute head start, they must have captured him. Asher had desperately wanted for him and Faith to be the ones to bring Stan to justice. But as long as the killer could no longer hurt anyone else, that’s what mattered. For now, it was enough. It had to be.