Page 78 of Vital Signs
Eli hugged me next. I melted into it, touch-starved from days of focus on Hunter. "You look like shit," he murmured. We settled on the floor, my head on his shoulder.
“Take care of him,” Shepherd said, and Eli nodded.
We sat in comfortable silence for several minutes after War and Shepherd left.
"War says you've been up for almost three days straight," Eli said finally. "He's worried about you."
"I'm fine," I mumbled.
"Sure you are." His fingers kept moving through my hair. "That's why you look like you've been hit by a truck."
I pinched his side lightly. "You're not supposed to agree with me looking like shit."
Eli's chest vibrated with a soft laugh. "Sorry. Next time I'll lie and say you look fabulous."
I tilted my head to look up at him. "You sure your Sir won't mind you cuddling with me?"
Eli snorted. "He's my Sir, not my master. And maybe, but he won't eat you." A pause. "I won't let him."
"That's reassuring," I replied dryly.
"Seriously though," Eli said, "he's worried about you. We all are."
"I know." I closed my eyes, letting his fingers work through the remaining tangles in my hair. "I'm worried about me too. But I can't leave him, Eli."
"I know." His arm tightened around me. "Just promise you won't forget to take care of yourself too."
I made a noncommittal sound, too tired to promise anything.
Eli's fingers tightened in my hair. "One thing at a time, Mish. Keep Hunter breathing. The rest... we'll figure it out together."
A lump formed in my throat, too big to swallow around. I nodded, not trusting my voice.
Eli's fingers resumed their gentle rhythm in my hair. "I just set up a cot for you in the recovery room. Go rest," he murmured. "I'll wake you if anything changes."
I collapsed onto the cot and slept. When I woke, sunlight cut across my face. Hunter's bed was empty.
The heart monitor's steady beeping brought me back. Recovery room. Hunter.
I sat up too fast, blood rushing from my head. Hunter's bed was empty, sheets thrown back.
"Looking for me?"
Hunter stood in the bathroom doorway, one hand braced against the frame. Not hunched. Not shuffling. Standing with a rigid spine and cold eyes. He wore borrowed clothes—sweatpants and a t-shirt that hung loose on his frame.
"You're up."
"Surprised?" His voice had regained its edge. "Disappointed I didn't need your help?"
I swallowed the instinctive response. "How long have you been awake?"
"Long enough to shower." His gaze swept over me, taking in my rumpled clothes, my tangled hair. "Long enough to think."
I stood, legs unsteady beneath me. "About what?"
Hunter's jaw tightened. "About what happened. What you did."
My chest constricted. "Hunter—"
