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Oliver bows out a breath and shakes his head. “God damn, I’m sick of hearing that.”
Honestly, I don’t blame him…but it’s a better prospect than the alternative.
I want this to be over.
I want Neve to be safe, and Jesse to be okay.
I want us to be able to concentrate on our happy ever after.
Is that too much to ask?
Thirty
Jesse
I’mvaguelyawareofa dull, monotonous beep starting to infiltrate my consciousness, and I focus on it as I try to regain my awareness.
That might not have been the best option, because as things start to gain more clarity, I become more and more aware that every inch of my body feels like one enormous bruise.
My knuckles burn and my right hand feels like it’s twice its normal size, the skin smarting and swollen and the pain radiating up my arm. A couple of my ribs are bruised at the very least, if not broken. I recognize that kind of pain from past experience. And there’s a dull ache from my lower back that runs down through my right hip like that’s taken some kind of trauma, as well.
I catalog each injury as I try to get my thoughts in some semblance of order, something I’m able to do only through my military training. But it’s the throbbing in my left shoulder which almost eclipses every other wound, the intensity of the shredding, burning sensation greater than all my other afflictions put together.
Sweat breaks out on my forehead, and I groan as I make a vain attempt to open my eyes and take stock of where I am.
Soft, cool hands are immediately on me, stroking my face and wiping a cool, welcome cloth over my brow.
“Jesse?” The sweet voice is a balm to my fractured soul, but I don’t like the way it breaks on my name.
I try to move my head, but every muscle screams in denial, causing me to groan again as pain rips through me.
“I’ll get the nurse.” I recognize the voice as Oz’s, but it’s full of strain.
I try to speak, but what comes out of my mouth is nothing more than a hoarse grunt.
“Do you want an ice chip?” the gentle, female voice asks.
I manage a nod as my brain makes sense of the fact that I’m in the hospital.
A moment later, a cool morsel of rapidly melting ice is pushed between my dry lips and begins to moisten my parched throat.
“More,” I manage with a croak, before greedily sucking on a second, larger piece.
When I open my eyes again, I’m able to focus a little better, and the first thing I see is an angel. If I didn’t hurt so much, I might think I was in heaven. That and the fact I can see all the guys in my blurry peripheral vision. I don’t need perfect eyesight to recognize them. These men are my family, and I’d know them anywhere, instinctively.
And Neve. I’d know her, too.
I suppose that should surprise me. But I’ve spent so much time trying to push her away, to pretend I felt nothing but contempt for her, that even those interactions have seared themselves on my brain.
Her presence soothes me. Now thatisa surprise. But as I peer at her face as it wavers in and out of focus before me, I realize her eyes are red and puffy, and suddenly all my ailments recede into insignificance as the thought of someone hurting her takes all my focus.
“Hey, what’s the matter?” I ask, shakily lifting my right hand to caress her wet cheek.
Gently, she takes hold of my fingers, and I realize my knuckles are bandaged. She kisses the tips that are visible, then presses them to her face and something inside me wrenches. But this is an emotional pain, rather than a physical one.
“Are you hurt?” I question as more tears roll down her face. “Tell me who did it, and I’ll take care of it just as soon as I get out of this place.”
A choked laugh leaves her lips, and I’m aware of a few strained chuckles from the guys as well. “I’m crying because of you…”
