Page 101 of For Your Eyes Only

“But I don’t understand. Shouldn’t he be in a hospital?”

“He should be, but when the doctor said he might not live, he demanded I bring him here immediately. We flew all night.”

Trip starts to cough, and his face ghosts as if he’s in excruciating pain. “Fuck.” He reaches for my hand, holding it tightly, waiting… After what feels like an eternity, he glances at the two men hovering over us, his voice weak. “Can you give us a minute?”

DJ immediately heads for the door, but Michele doesn’t move. His brow lowers, and darkness enters his scowl. “I’m not leaving him alone with Gia. He’s done enough damage.”

I take my hand from Trip’s and go to where my friend stands ready to protect me. “It’s okay, Misha. I don’t think he can hurt me in this condition, and you’ll be right outside if I need you, yes?”

His eyes meet mine, and he hesitates. “Right outside the door.”

I nod. “Thank you.”

The two men step outside, and I turn to face Trip, pale and hunched on the side of the bed. His shirt is unbuttoned to the center of his chest, and I can see the wide, white bandage wrapped around his torso.

Longing surges in me like a rising tide, and I want to wrap my arms around him. I want to stroke his forehead, kiss him, nurse him back to health, but I hold still.

“Why are you here?” My voice is calm. In fact, I’m surprised how controlled I sound.

His chin drops, and his brow furrows. “I needed to see you one more time. I needed to tell you I'm sorry.” He pauses, fingers tightening on the duvet covering my bed. Another cough, another low groan.

I hurry forward, holding out my hand. “Please let me get you something. Pain medication?”

“No.” His voice is like sandpaper. “Just let me say this, and I’ll go.”

He inhales slowly then takes my hand.

My heart drops at how cold he is. “I don’t think you should go anywhere.”

“I’ve done a lot of bad things, Gia, but hurting you is the worst thing I’ve ever done.” He pauses for breath. “You deserve better. You deserve to be cherished.”

His hazel eyes lift to mine, and they’re brimming with so much emotion, I inhale sharply. “Trip—”

“Don’t say you forgive me.” His voice is weak. I’ve never heard him weak, only strong. “I just wanted to tell you I’m sorry, so very sorry.”

With extreme effort, he rises to his feet, reaching for the back of the chair and starting for the door. He only makes it one step before another cough wracks his body, and he grasps the wood with both hands, clearly in agony.

“DJ!” I yell, going to him and wrapping my arms around his waist.

I duck my head under his arm and turn him towards the bed. “I won’t say I forgive you, and we will have this conversation, but first you must lie down.”

The door flies open, and the big guy is with me again, helping me guide Trip to the bed.

“Where are we taking him?” DJ looks down at me.

I look over at Michele. “Turn back the blankets. He’ll stay here for now.”

“The bullet glanced off his rib and exited through his back. The doctor said it was a lucky strike, but he’s not out of the woods yet. If he survives the next twenty-four hours, he’ll make it.” DJ tells me once we have Trip tucked in my bed, “He gave him a 50-50 chance.”

My throat closes, and I fight the tears flooding my eyes. As much as he hurt me, I don’t want him to die. I can’t imagine a world without him in it.

The stout bouncer takes out two prescription bottles. “This one’s an antibiotic to prevent the wound from getting infected. These are narcotic pain pills, but the damn fool won’t take them. He said he’s not getting hooked on drugs. He just keeps pouring vodka down his throat. Like that’ll do him any good.”

I grab my bag off the chair, digging in it for money. “Michele, go out and get more vodka.”

“I don’t like this.” Michele scowls. “He needs to be in a hospital, not dying here in this room.”

I cover my face with my hands, pushing against the fear twisting in my chest. Trip is out cold.

---