Page 81 of The Secrets We Share

“Are there any updates?”I ask as she sweeps into the room.

“No, everything should be out of his system. Now, it’s just up to him,” she tells me with a soft smile.

“Okay, thank you.” I squeeze his tattooed hand harder.

The steady beep of the heart monitor tethers me to his bedside. I didn’t want to leave to attend Domenico’s funeral, butI needed the closure of seeing his body lowered into the ground. Memories from that day dig deeper into my psyche whenever I replay the madness. One minute, Domenico was forcing me into the small office, his men rushing to cover their boss from the ambush, and the next, he was using his body to shield mine from the gunfire raining down on us when the hidden hatch wouldn’t pry open. It didn’t make up for all the terrible things he’d done in his life, but it did leave me with an ounce of something akin to respect for the man I’d never known as a father.

James recovered Harkin’s father from one of Domenico’s hideouts. He’d been whisked away on his private jet to a medical facility in another country without an extradition treaty. I didn’t have the mental capacity to care about his escape from any legal consequences for his involvement with my father and his crimes. From what James told me, he was barely hanging on to life as it was. Scott Greyson wasn’t likely to ever recover from the torture he suffered at the hands of Domenico’s men, and that would have to be punishment enough. For now.

She finishes checking his vitals and pupils for a response before turning back to me and letting me know the doctor should be by within the next hour.

“Hey, you mulish, infuriating man. I need you to wake up now.” I bring his fingers up to my lips and hold them there. “You promised me we could run away. That it would be just you and me.” My voice cracks. “I can’t do life alone anymore, Harkin. You’ve shown me what it’s like to have someone in my corner, and I’ve come to rely on it.” I collapse forward, laying my head on his stomach, avoiding the bandages covering the surgical wounds from saving his life from the gunshot wound. “I miss fighting with you. I miss your firm hand when I sass back and the way you use it to calm me from the depths of my panic attacks.” I let my eyes fall closed, my body exhausted fromsleeping beside him for weeks on end. “I love you. Come back to me,” I whisper, letting sleep pull me away from this bleak reality.

A firm shake of my shoulder drags me from an uncomfortable, fitful sleep. The fluorescent lights burn my corneas, and I shut my eyes to ward off the unwanted brightness. My back pops as I lift off the bed from my hunched position and finally look around to see who’s waking me.

“Baby girl. You can’t keep doing this.”

I throw her an annoyed look. Since returning from the dead, she’s been hovering worse than a helicopter parent at Central Park.

“You know he can hear you.”

Her lips draw up in a smirk, and she looks over at Harkin, who is tucked into the hospital bed. “Good. Maybe it’ll wake him so he can yell at me for flirting with you again.”

Her joke manages to pull a half-hearted chuckle from me, but I shut it down the second the sounds break free. I shouldn’t be laughing while he’s still fighting to wake up. It’s been days, and the doctor said everything looks great, but he needs to push through and fight to wake up.

“Listen, I’m asking this in the most loving way possible, but when was the last time you showered? You smell like week-old takeout that’s been forgotten behind the dumpster outside my apartment.”

“If you’re just here to insult me, you can leave,” I say with a glare.

“Baby, you can take ten minutes to step away and care for yourself. I’ll stay. If anything happens, I’ll yell for you.”

I take in a deep breath. I know she’s right. I’m not taking care of myself. Harkin would kick my ass if he could. Shit, he may still when he finally wakes up. If he wakes up, I remind myself of the possibility.

“Fine.”

“Good! I brought you clean clothes and toiletries. They’re in that bag.” She nods toward the tote sitting on the dresser.

I grab the bag and head for the en suite bathroom, turning back before I close the door. “Thanks, Nik.”

The shower really was needed. I feel refreshed and slightly more human. Nik brought me some coffee and a hot meal from the cafeteria, the first real food I’d eaten in days. It’s amazing how long you can survive off junk from the vending machine when everything tastes like cardboard anyway.

It’s late now, the halls are dimmed, and the nurses’ station is quiet for the night. I’m too wound up from sitting all afternoon. I think the lack of fresh air and unblocked sunlight affects my natural circadian rhythm. I flip through the TV channels, nothing but infomercials and reruns of 90s sitcoms play on the cable.

“Forget it. This is why no one has cable anymore.” I throw the remote down and slump in the hospital chair that’s permanently deformed from my ass.

“That’s a bit… dramatic.” His rough voice stumbles over the last word.

“Harkin!”

EPILOGUE

KEIRA - SIX MONTHS LATER

Be Your Love - Bishop Briggs

My hips sway to the filthy beat pumping out of the bathroom’s sound system and into our bedroom. The apartment is quiet otherwise. Harkin left earlier this afternoon, saying he had something to take care of with James for restarting his business. Shoving through the clothes in our closet, I can’t find the right thing to wear tonight. I wanted to be comfortable and relaxed, but Stacey demanded we get dressed up as a last hurrah to her pre-mommy life.

She insisted I needed a girls’ night out, even though that now looks like dinner and a movie instead of loud music and copious amounts of shots now that she’s creeping into her last month of pregnancy. She wasn’t wrong. I’ve been stressed and need to let off some steam with my best friend. Plus, we could both use a breather from our men. Since the shooting and the longest three weeks of my life, while Harkin was in a coma, neither of them has wanted to leave our sides.

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