Page 17 of Declan's Hope

4

God, my head hurts. My face…

Waking up twice in a row with a headache from hell wasn’t something Declan planned on making into a habit. But where was he? This uncomfortable bed wasn’t his. He lifted his left hand and squinted at the gray sleeve-like thing pinching his pointer finger, then lifted it even further to follow the line attached to a standing piece of what had to be medical equipment.

I’m in a hospital.

An incessant beeping from somewhere above him and to his left sped up. Heart monitor. He took a deep, calming breath and lay perfectly still until it settled back into a regular, steady rhythm. Being in a hospital explained a lot. Especially why he found himself in this uncomfortable bed.

He attempted to lift up so he could take a look around, but his head protested that move. So he just let his gaze dart around the room. Early morning sunlight filtered through the blinds-covered windows over a good-sized room. But something wasn’t right. Everything to his left seemed unusually dark—blacked out.

And why was Hope here? Wherever here was.

He tried to focus his wavering vision on his right hand and her head resting on the mattress over her crossed arms at his hip. The pain radiating from the whole left side of his face couldn’t take away from his pleasure at seeing Hope—touching her. And from the way she had just tensed at her name, she was awake. But why had she been sleeping here?

He almost shook his head at all the questions filling his mind, but thought better of it. But where in the hell was this hospital and how did he get here?

He clearly remembered being dragged onto the Huey by Solace and the colonel, laughing, then searing pain—shouting. His fingers tightened slightly in Hope’s silky locks. A vision of Garrett’s blood-splattered face filled his mind, his friend’s tear-filled eyes staring at him while begging him not to die. He let his gaze fall back on Hope’s hair spread over the side of the hospital bed. His hand dropped from her head and clutched at the blanket.

He blinked fast and hard when the darkness to his left seemed to close in on him. His chest heaved—his own harsh breathing filling the air loud enough to compete with the beeping growing more and more erratic. It couldn’t be. He cautiously lifted his left hand to that side of his face, wincing at the pull at the crook of his elbow while shaking away the thing clamped onto his finger. It clattered to the floor.

Gauze and tape met his trembling fingers.

"No…" He picked at the tape on his cheek.

"Don’t." The bed dipped before Hope’s warm body draped over his and stayed his hand. "You have to leave those in place," she whispered, pulling his hand away from his face.

"Tell me…" He cleared his throat, his uncovered eye burning with tears as he used his free hand to snug her against his chest. "Tell me."

Declan had dreamed of having Hope’s body pressed against his like this for months—to know the crush of her breasts and how perfect her weight would feel atop him. But he couldn’t bask in this moment. Just like he couldn’t process the thoughts and fears going through his mind. Like he couldn’t accept what he instinctively knew to be the truth.

"Declan, I…" Hope’s words trailed off while the rise and fall of her chest brushed over his. Her lips trembled. And even in the semi-darkness, he couldn't mistake the few tears tracking down her cheeks. "Let me get a doctor."

"Hope." He pulled his hand from hers and spiked it through her hair, then dragged her head down to within an inch of his. "I need you to tell me." He searched her hesitant gaze. "Please," he whispered out on a quiet sob as one of her tears dampened his cheek.

"Declan," she murmured. Anguished emerald green eyes held his for a heartbeat before her head dropped and she gently took his lips. He groaned and gathered her close, while ignoring the discomfort of what had to be IV lines in his arm and other wires digging into him. The kiss was sweet and desperate and exactly what he needed. And he would take it—take these few precious seconds of normal—to cherish finally having this woman in his arms—before his waiting reality crashed in on him.

Hope was everything and more than he’d imagined—soft lips, delicate tongue, little moans of pleasure driving him insane. And though the throbbing pain continued, he pushed it out of his mind. This woman was all he needed—all he would ever want.

"Mmm…" she murmured against his lips as the wild rhythmic beat of his monitor registered with him. How strange to hear the evidence of his racing pulse. It did that each time he was with her, and in that moment it matched the riot of emotions running through his heart. Then she turned her head, leading his lips to trail over her cheek, then her jaw. "We shouldn’t—"

"What in the hell is going on in here?" a harsh feminine voice barked out from somewhere across the room.

Hope tensed. "Oh, god," she muttered. "Let me go." He reluctantly did, allowing her to roll away and out of the bed as the woman nearly yelled, "Are you trying to kill him?"

Declan couldn’t see this interloper with Hope in his way, but her intention to give his woman hell was clear. And he couldn’t have that.

"No, ma’am. He, um, we—"

"She’s my girlfriend," he croaked out. Damn, he sounded weak—even to his own ears. And if Hope had issues with his declaration, they’d deal with it later. "So, I’d…" He cleared his throat. "So, I’d—"

"Mr. Carter," the woman—the nurse he realized—said as Hope scooted away and she took her place beside his bed. She frowned down at him, her gaze going to his bandages, before her expression cleared to one of concern. "You’ve been through a lot and you shouldn’t be, well, exerting yourself unnecessarily."

Exerting himself? With a kiss? And a short one at that. But it had been the best kiss of his life. How could it not be when it had been with Hope?

"Anyhow," she continued, her frowning gaze going to Hope. "You’ve been allowed to stay… Well, I have no idea why you were allowed. But I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave."

"No."

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