Page 122 of Possession

I’ve never sat in the hospital with anyone, and I’ve never been in an intensive care unit.

My legs are tucked beneath me in an armchair that’s straight and hard. I did not come prepared to camp out at the hospital, let alone for hours on end. When I shivered over an hour ago, the man I’m learning to call Brax shrugged off his sport coat and draped it over me.

It was sweet and thoughtful and totally something Boz would’ve done.

I try to push that out of my mind.

Brax looks more uncomfortable than I am. He’s perched on a round, rolling stool sitting vigil at his mother’s side. The nurse is in and out on a constant rotation, checking Patty Cruz’s vitals and other things that I have no clue what they are. Brax has asked more times than I can count if his mother should have regained consciousness by now, but apparently this is normal.

Micah returned with bags of burgers and fries. Even though I was starving when we landed in New York, there’s something about learning your husband has lied about his identity—not to mention that his mother is on her deathbed—to swipe the appetite right out from under you.

I picked at my burger and ate half of my fries. I have no idea where they came from, but they were delicious.

Brax, on the other hand, did not eat, and Micah finished off the enormous bag of food for all of us. He’s been in and out of the room as much as the nurse—pacing and stalking the halls as if the Marino Cartel or my father will burst through the locked doors of the ICU at any moment. He’s more of a presence than Brax’s sisters, because no one has asked him to leave or get out of their way.

The federal badge sitting on the waistband of his jeans might have something to do with that.

Micah has an energy about him that makes me want to slither up next to my husband and stay there, even if I should be mad at him right now.

He claims he’s the same person I knew him to be just this morning when I tried to seduce him. Hell, I was desperate for him.

But I have so many questions. I should start a list, because I forget them as soon as they cross my brain. It’s impossible to focus on anything as I sit here and watch Brax agonize over his mother.

I need to stretch, and I really need a bathroom.

I stand to fold his jacket over the arm of my very stiff chair. He looks at me over his shoulder when he hears me. “You okay?”

“I’m just going to run to the restroom?” I’m not sure why that came out as a question other than the fact I haven’t been in public by myself since before the Marinos forced me from my home.

Brax starts to stand. “I’ll take you—"

I put my hand up. “No, no. I’m fine. I’ll be right back. Stay here in case she wakes up. She needs to see you.”

“I’ll take her.”

My gaze whips to Micah who’s standing in the doorway.

I shake my head and turn back to Brax. “I’m not an idiot. I’m not going to run—I have nowhere to go.”

Brax looks over my head at his partner. “Stay with her. This place should be safe, but I’m not taking the chance.”

Whatever. Follow me. Don’t follow me. It feels like everyone in Brax’s life hates me just for being here. And since being here wasn’t my choice to begin with, it’s beyond frustrating.

Micah can follow me. It doesn’t mean I have to talk to him.

I grab my purse and mutter, “I’ll be right back.”

Micah shifts to the side when I push through the door. His boots clomp behind me. I do my best to hold my head high and pretend I’m a normal human who can make a trip to the bathroom by herself.

I hurry until I get to the sink to wash my hands and get a glimpse of myself.

Ugh.

I drag a hand down my face and mutter to no one, “I look like hell.”

My clothes are wrinkled. My mascara is smudged from my tears. And my hair has never been more disheveled and lifeless. The fading bruise under my eye seems darker than it has been.

Everything ingrained in me simmers below the surface to freak out about this being my first impression.

---