Page 68 of Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

20.

Livvy

Well, at least his color looks better. Poor Blue stays asleep, even with me holding his hand, tracing my thumb along the line of his finger. His skin feels different than Gage’s skin. Not quite as soft. But he saved my life, took not justabullet, butseveralbullets for me. And then there’s the head injury.

I use my other hand to brush his bangs off his forehead. He looks so young lying hooked up to all those monitors, younger than his twenty-two years. The low beeping becomes almost hypnotic as background noise. At least he’s breathing on his own. The brothers’ insurance, because they bought the good stuff, pays for a single room. Even if it didn’t, they’d chip in the rest so that Blue doesn’t end up even sicker with some gross MRSA infection.

The guy in the room next door sounds like he might be hacking up a lung over there. That disgustingly loud phlegmy cough. I wonder if a solid wall between us is enough protection. Hospitals make me uncomfortable for so many reasons.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Hack. Hack. Hack.

God, it’s like “Dueling Banjos” hospital edition up in here. I wish Gage was with me to pass the time, but I sent him off to hang with Boss because I know how much he hates to sit unless he’s at home with me and we’re snuggled watching a movie or something. But that’s completely different.

It’s hard to believe that the Houdini ordeal is over. Looking down at Blue, that’s one more thing he gave me by pushing me out of the way, by taking those bullets and that hit to the head, he opened the field and allowed the Lords to take Houdini out.

I’m free.

Elise is free.

Caitlin. Trisha. Even though they never slept with Logan Hollister, he wouldn’t have stopped with me and Elise. The man was crazy. The absolute hatred he felt for the Lords. No, he’d never have stopped.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

If he’d only open his eyes for me, that’d be good. I know he’s sleeping, not in a coma. Pain meds on top of the head injury knocked him out. Gage told me this morning about Smitty. That’s another hospital visit before we head home to Thornbriar.

But—Stop, Liv. He’s alive. That’s what counts. He’s still alive. I swipe at the tears with the back of my hand. Apparently, I shouldn’t be alone with my thoughts today.

Deep breath in. Deep breath out. Okay, emotions in check, I pull the phone from my pocket because hearing Gage’s voice right now would help. There’s a missed call notification. I put it to my ear and pressplayfor the voicemail. It’s the secretary for the therapist I’m supposed to start seeing as soon as we get back to Thornbriar. The therapist works out of Milton, the next town over. She’s a friend of Caity. Caity called in a favor to get me in right away.

They’re all afraid I’ll break again. Even promising I wouldn’t, the consensus is that my “compartmentalizing the trauma I’ve experienced is actually repressing the trauma,” which is just a fancy way of saying they think I’ll break again.

To give Gage peace of mind, I’ll go and I’ll do it happily. What could it hurt, right? Houdini won’t control any more of my life.

Gage hasn’t gotten back a hold of me to tell me if he’s found me good coffee yet or not so because as much as I want to be here for Blue, staring at a sleeping biker does nothing to help with my melancholy thoughts. So yeah, maybe seeing that therapist is a good idea after all.

I stand and stretch, patting Blue’s foot before I go. It twitches under the weight of my hand, but he stays sound asleep, hopefully dreaming of beautiful biker bitches as I make my way into the dimly lit hallway. Dimly lit for the head injury patients.

There’s a coffee pot in the waiting room down by the nurses’ station to the right, but there’s a restroom to the left. I opt for the restroom first because drinks in a restroom—ew. Outside Blue’s room, the hallway stays quiet. All those medical shows on television would have us believe that hospital hallways are busier than Grand Central Terminal.

It’s actually a bit too quiet. I almost miss the beeping.Andnow I sound like a whiny nut job. Passing door after door, I try to get a glimpse of the other patients as I walk by. What can I say, I’m nosy. At the end of the hallway I take a left and find the bathroom. It’s an odd placement, off in its own little restroom world. If not for the signs, no one would know they existed down here, as there are no more rooms and you can’t see the doors from the hallway with the rooms.

Inside, the light flickers on overhead when I enter. One of those movement sensors. There are two stalls. I take the one closest to the door because studies show those are the cleanest stalls. I hear the main door open and someone shuffle in, then take the stall next to mine while I finish my business and go to wash my hands.

I have two fists full of foam when the second stall opens and like most people do, I look over my shoulder to see my stall neighbor. And I blink. Then I blink again. My mouth hangs open, even though no words escape. There are no words because forming words takes air and the air in my lungs left in awhoosh. I think I might faint.

Heart palpitations. Brow sweats. The signs are there. Fainting imminent.

“Wha—how?”

“Miss me?” he asks, exactly as he had the first time we found ourselves alone together since Chicago. “Because I missed you, Livvy. It wasn’t nice of you to leave before our game ended.”

“N-No.No. You’re supposed to be dead. I saw you drop. Theykilled you.”

“Why do you think they call me Houdini?” He takes an ominous step closer, and I’m not sure how he managed past the nurses or assistants in the hallway, covered in dried blood and smelling of dirt and char. Leering. Licking his cracked lips. I’d retreat, but there’s nowhere left to retreat to. The sink juts into my hip as it is. Paper towel dispenser into my back.

“Please, leave me alone. It’s over, Logan.”

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