Page 65 of You Belong With Me

She shakes her head. “If Roman knows, he won’t talk about it. I think he’s trying to shield me from as much secret society drama as possible.” She lifts her hands helplessly. “He obviously can’t shield me from all of it, but I know he tries.”

“I can’t blame him,” I say, glancing down at the coffee that’s going cold in my hand. I take a sip and immediately regret it. Even with milk, the coffee is so bitter it makes me wince.

It’s another hour before one of the surgeons finally walks in, and we all immediately come to attention.

“How is he?” Christian asks.

“He’s out of surgery,” the surgeon answers. “We ran into a few problems, which is why it took us so long, mainly with…” I’m listening without actually hearing her. She throws out several medical terms, and I cling to them without having any real idea what they mean. “...but he’s stable now. It was close when he was brought in, though. Very close. Lucas is a lucky guy.”

Christian shifts on his feet. “How close was it?”

The surgeon sighs. “If someone hadn’t put pressure on his wound until the paramedics arrived, then he wouldn’t have made it. The blood loss would have been too great. It wasthatclose.”

Christian nods. “When can we see him?”

“He’s on his way to the recovery room. You can see him as soon as we get him situated.”

We all thank the surgeon, and after she leaves, Christian turns to Ash. “Yo,” Christian says. “I know that was you, jumping in right after the attack. My brother is here because of you, and I just wanted to say thanks.” He gives Ash a fist bump. “You’re solid.”

Oh, damn. “You’re solid” is basically bro-speak for “You’re one of us now,” which is huge because the other guys never really accepted Ash as a Sacred Son. I guess that’s changed, now. A trauma bond is a powerful thing.

It’s another hour before a nurse comes to tell us Lucas is awake, and that we can see him, one at a time. “Which one of you is Wyn?” the nurse asks.

All eyes shift to me.

“Um, that’s me,” I say, stepping forward.

“He’s asking to see you.”

Oh.My gaze shifts to Christian, and he nods, just slightly, giving me permission to see his brother first.

“You can follow me,” the nurse says, walking out. “I’ll show you where he is.”

“Okay, thanks,” I say, following the nurse. She leads me up to the second floor, and through the maze of white, sterile hallways. Abruptly, she stops and holds her hand out, indicating the open door in front of us.

“Thanks,” I say as she walks away.

I can hear machines beeping inside the room, which makes me hesitate. What am I walking into? How will Lucas look? I suck in a deep breath and focus on calming my nerves. Justthinkingabout him hooked up to a bunch of machines is going to gut me, and I don’t want to cry.

Another nurse walks by, stopping when she notices me. “Can I help you?” She glances at my visitor sticker. It has Lucas’ last name written in big block letters. “Oh, are you the girlfriend? Thank God.” She pulls her clipboard to her chest and waves me over to his door. “He’s been asking for you since he woke up.”

As she walks into his room, she calls out in a cheerful tone, “Mr. West, I have someone here to see you.”

Thank God for her, because having her here gives me a second to acclimate. First, I take in the enormity of Lucas’ room. It’s huge, painted in soothing whites and grays, with plants, a couch, and a huge television on the opposite wall. The only thing that gives it away as a hospital room is the oversized bed to the left and the wall of beeping machines surrounding it.

I swallow, my eyes traveling to Lucas. He’s lying in the middle of the hospital bed, hooked up to a million different machines. Just seeing that causes emotion to bubble up in my chest.

The nurse fusses with one of the machines as I stand in the doorway awkwardly. Finally, she waves me over. “Come on, hon. He’s not going to bite.” She flashes him a cheeky smile. “Well, I don’t know, maybe hedoesbite, but he’s still coming off the anesthesia, so he should be pretty docile.”

I laugh at the joke and step deeper into the cold, cavernous room. Lucas is sitting up slightly, a thin gray blanket covering his lower half, a mess of cords taped to his tanned chest, and arms. As I enter his line of vision, his lips stretch into a smile, and he tilts his head back against his pillows.

“Thank you,” I say to the nurse. She throws me a wink as she walks past me and out the door.

As I step closer to the bed, I squeak out an awkward, “Hey.”

His eyes search my face, and when he speaks, his voice is raw, “You came.”

I glance down at my bloody hands and sweatshirt. Maybe I should have cleaned up a little before seeing him. “I never left,” I half-laugh.

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