Chapter Twenty

“The most beautiful clothes that can dress a woman are the arms of the man she loves.”

—Yves Saint-Laurent

Antiseptic burned Tony’s nostrils and the constant beeps, buzzes, and paging for Dr. So-and-So over the intercom had him out so far on edge he was ready to jump just to get it over with. He was in the hospital waiting room, with Cam, Ryder, and Carlos huddled nearby. But Tony was too jittery to sit caged up in a room filled with uncomfortable chairs and fake plants, so he’d been doing his damnedest to wear a groove in the linoleum deep enough to rival the Grand Canyon. He couldn’t do a thing to help Sylvie, but he wasn’t leaving until he knew she was going to pull through.

Anya and a tall black woman with enough liner around her eyes to make Cleopatra jealous stepped over and blocked his path.

Cleopatra glared at him. “So you must be the asshole who broke her heart. I suppose you’re cute enough under all those bruises. Too bad you’re a lying dirt bag.”

He stopped so fast his shoes squeaked on the floor. “Excuse me?”

She huffed. “I don’t know you well enough to help you make up an excuse for your pitiful behavior. Which is too bad really, because I am damn good at creative reasoning.”

He had no idea how to respond to that, so when Anya started to walk past him, Tony grabbed her arm to stop her. “How is Sylvie? Is she going to be okay?”

“Thanks—and no thanks—to you, she’ll be just fine.” Anya shook off his hand. “The doctors gave her Narcan to counteract the heroine and they’re going to keep her overnight, but it could have been a whole lot worse. Come on, Drea.”

Relief swept through him and he sagged against the wall. The lightness didn’t last long before self-recrimination came back to life like a zombie on steroids. “If only I’d gotten there faster. I should have figured it out. Then none of this would have happened.”

“Oh, cut the shit.” Drea rolled her eyes. “You’re not God, so stop thinking like you can control any of that. Ivy went batshit crazycakes nuts. If you want to blame anyone, blame that bitch.”

“But—”

Anya hushed him with an upraised palm. “The only thing you have control over is what happens next between you and Sylvie.”

And there was the rub. He already knew what happened next, and it hurt like hell. “Nothing. She never wants to see me again.”

“And so you’re going to give up just like that, huh? Not what I expected from the man who went all Jason Bourne in order to rescue her.” Anya crossed her arms over her chest, regarding him in silence for several beats before marching over to stand toe to toe with him. “I’ve seen Sylvie through several broken hearts and that idiotic pseudo-relationship with Daniel, but when she told me about you—even as pissed off as she was—she sort of…glowed. That’s never happened before.”

“She obviously hasn’t told you everything.”

“Oh, she has. And let me be the first of many to tell you that was an epically stupid move, but I understand what it’s like to be pushed to that point.”

He shoved his hands through his hair. “I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.”

“Regret is for people who can’t learn from their mistakes.” Anya’s face softened when he looked at her, stricken. “And don’t I know it. Look, Sylvie was worth fighting for when you thought Ivy was going to kill her. Is she any less worth fighting for now that she’s going to live?”

Again, he was without a response, his mind processing the idea.

Anya patted him on the cheek, hard, and shook her head. “We both know the answer to that is yes.”

She and Drea took off down the hall where Drea ran smack dab into Cam as he emerged from the waiting room.

“Darling, I am so sorry.” Cam turned on his most charming smile.

Drea tossed a look back at Tony. “One of yours?”

He nodded.

“Figures.” She shook her head and strutted down the hallway.

Cam whistled under his breath. “Who was that?”

“I’m hoping they were the voices of reason.” Not waiting for Cam’s response, Tony limped off toward Sylvie’s room to do the right thing for the woman he loved.

Sylvie counted ceiling tiles in her hospital room, still trying to wrap her brain around the fact that she’d almost died. Or maybe trying to avoid wrapping around it…

She hadn’t seen angels, harps, or a light at the end of the tunnel.

She’d seen Tony.

Which was even more disturbing.

Through the drugged haze, she’d felt him holding her tightly, and had fought against the sweet tide of sleep trying to pull her under. Hearing his voice had been a poignant reminder that she wanted to live. More than that, she wanted Tony.

But he was gone. Out of her life forever, just as she’d demanded.

When she’d regained consciousness in the ambulance her fathers had been with her, but not Tony. He’d brought her back from the brink, then disappeared. At the end, he’d respected what she wanted. What she’d demanded.

She should be glad.

But she wasn’t. Not the least little bit.

Oh, God, how had she been so stupid to send him away?

And why hadn’t he argued with her? Put up even a token protest?

She croaked out a moan.

“You okay, bulldog? Do you want me to get the nurse?” Henry tucked her hand into his.

Before she could answer, a knock sounded. “May I come in?”

That caramel-smooth voice set off a thunder from her heart monitor, and she sat straight up so fast the room spun. Anton sprang to her side. Ignoring both her fathers, she took in the man slouching hesitantly in the doorway, too uncertain to come all the way into the room.

Tony!

He looked like hell. His jaw was swollen and a purple shadow darkened his right cheek. His thick brown hair was tousled as if he’d spent the evening in a wind tunnel, and his black T-shirt was on inside out.

Damn, he was gorgeous.

The heart monitor went even crazier.

Henry’s spine went rigid. “We will always appreciate your saving our Sylvie tonight.” he said stiffly to Tony. “But you’re not welcome here.”

Tony’s shoulders slumped, but he pushed forward a half step into the room. “I understand, but if I could just have a minute.”

Slowly regaining her equilibrium, Sylvie took in the protective wall her fathers made on her behalf. No doubt about it, they loved her. But she was done with using them as an excuse to hide herself from the world. From the heartache of rejection. If this was the last time she spoke with Tony, she was going to face it head-on, painful though it may be.

Tony’s jaw clenched, and he sent her a pleading glance.

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

“Never mind. I guess this wasn’t a good idea.” Tony sighed and started to back out of the doorway.

“No.” The word rushed out in a whoosh. “Stay. Please.”

“Are you sure, bulldog?” Henry squeezed her hand.

Her heart too far up in her throat to speak, so she nodded.

“We’ll be out in the hall.” Anton brushed his hand across her back and delivered a swift kiss to her cheek. “If you need anything, just call out.”

Her fathers filed out of the room, both shooting Tony the stink-eye the way only pissed off fathers could when looking at men they deemed less than worthy to date their daughters. Smart man that he was, Tony gave them a wide berth.

Once she and Tony were finally alone, they regarded each other in silence. He paced across the small room to the window, and followed the same path back to the door, favoring his right leg. Nervous energy poured off him in waves. In the stretching silence, tension grew between them like a child’s soap bubble, pushing against Sylvie like an almost tangible thing.

She couldn’t take it. Sure, she’d told him to get the hell out of her life, but tonight she’d realized that wasn’t what she really wanted. What she really wanted was him. In her life. And if he was here to tell her good-bye for good, well, he had another thing coming, because she was fighting for this. For him. For them.

She ran her fingers through her hair, combing through several knots, grimacing at the idea of how she must look. The paper-thin, sickly green hospital gown wasn’t the most flattering, but a girl had to work with what she had—even the High-Heeled Wonder.

“What do you want to tell me?” she asked cautiously.

“I have no idea.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and hunched his shoulders forward.

“The man who always has a plan is winging it?” Her lips curved up as she nibbled the bottom one nervously.

He chuckled. “Yeah, and I’m not really good at spontaneous.”

“You should come up with a plan to work on that.”

“No kidding.” He laughed, and the tension between them evaporated.

She pushed the rolling tray of hospital food away from the bed and patted the sheet next to her. “Sit down and talk to me.” An insidious trickle of hope threaded through her.

Tony limped over and sat down, rubbing his right knee. He opened and closed his mouth several times before letting out a sigh that shook his shoulders. “Remember the night in the kitchen when you told me we’re all broken? Well, you’re right. But when I’m with you, I’m more than just a mass of mistakes. With you I feel hope. I feel…whole.” He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed the inside of her wrist. “I know I fucked up, but I promise I’ll make it up to you. You may not forgive me today, or tomorrow, or even years from now, but Sylvie, you’re worth fighting for. And I want to. God, do I want to.”

She scrunched up her nose, losing her battle against the tears that had been threatening to fall since she woke up in the ambulance without Tony. “I think you do pretty damn well when you wing it.”

He lowered his mouth to hers. Firm, soft lips caressed hers and she opened beneath him. His tongue plunged inside, teasing her with promises of the future they’d have together. It was bliss and torture as she tried to free her legs from the confines of the tightly made sheets while he busied his mouth tracing a trail of passion down her neck. Desire pooled in her belly, the need to feel more of him erasing all concerns of where they were. The rest of the world didn’t exist.

“I love you,” Tony whispered against the tender spot where her neck met her shoulder.

She drew him closer and tugged him backward until they were both lying on the hospital bed. “I lov—” The rest of her declaration was swallowed in their passion as his lips met hers. It didn’t matter. She’d have plenty of time to tell—and show—him later.

The door slammed open and Tony raised his head. A nurse came running in—Henry, Anton, Anya, and Drea hot on her heels. The group was halfway in the room before they slammed to a stop, bumping into each other like the Three Stooges.

The nurse eyeballed Tony and Sylvie tangled up together on the bed. “Your heart monitor seems to be malfunctioning.”

“Or not,” said Drea cheekily.

Glancing at the fast-beeping machine beside her, Sylvie’s cheeks flamed. Oops. “Everything’s fine here. Sorry for the false alarm.”

The nurse winked at them, turned, and walked out the door.

“Don’t make me put a hit out on you,” Anya warned, a slight smile tugging her lips.

Henry shook his head and ushered everyone out the door before closing it, leaving Tony and Sylvie alone again.

She buried her face in Tony’s shoulder, her heart nearly bursting with excitement, awe, and love. “So, what do we do now?”

He sat up with her, an arm around her shoulders, and swiped the lime Jell-O from her tray. “Let’s eat. Then we’ll figure it out together.”

Sylvie laughed and gave him a hug, then grabbed the spoon. “There’s no hope for you.”

“Maybe.” He kissed her, teasing her lips with expert skill and setting off that damn heart monitor again. “But there’s lots of hope for us.”

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