Page 64 of Blindside Sinner

“We’re keeping it on the DL. Don’t want his merchandise sales to go down.” I’m a little huffier than I need to be. “Did you want to see our marriage license?”

“Calm down, baby. It’s okay.” Thebabysurges through me just as powerfully the second time around.

“I’m sorry.” I shake my head and paste on a smile I don’t feel. “It’s been a hard night.”

The nurse nods, then steps away from his bed. “I’ll get your discharge paperwork.” Her voice is much less sultry than it was a few minutes ago.

Then she’s gone. I look at Beck, and for a moment, I can’t tell if he’s awake or asleep.

“Quit looking at me like that,” he sighs.

I bite back a laugh. “I’m trying to decide if you’re just putting on a tough guy act or if you really are made out of different stuff than us mortal people.”

He chuckles, though it turns into a wheezing cough. “This shit hurts, not gonna lie.”

“Never thought I’d see the day you admit it.” I exhale, the sound mingling with the buzzing of fluorescent lights overhead and the soft whispers of nurses and patients in the hallway. “I can sympathize. I fell out of a tree once and got a concussion.”

“You didn’t strike me as the tree-climbing type.”

“I’m not. Thus the fall.”

He laughs again, quiet and vulnerable. Of all his laughs, that one is my favorite. “Adventurous as a kid?”

“I wish I could blame it on that. It was a couple years ago.”

“Oh, boy. I’m going to want to hear that story later. But for now, can I ask you a favor?”

I’m at his side in an instant. I don’t realize I’m grabbing his hand until he squeezes my fingers. Just once. A tender pulse, giving me reassurance even though it’s definitely supposed to be the other way around.

“Yeah,” I say, a little too fervently. “Anything. What do you need?”

He opens one eye and looks at me through the slit again. “Get me the fuck out of here. These hospital robes are itchy as hell.”

32

SLOAN

It takes about fifteen more minutes before he’s signed out, dressed in a pair of scrubs so he doesn’t have to put his bloody, sweaty uniform back on. I force him into a wheelchair and down to our waiting rideshare.

We sit in the rear seat together. Once he’s buckled in, he tilts his head back and closes his eyes. By the time we’re at his place, the medicine is working at full strength.

I support him under his arm with the entirety of my body and he bends to sniff my hair. “I love your shampoo. Why didn’t you get me any of it?”

“I get it at the dollar store. I’ll pick you up some.”

“I wouldn’t be able to use it. I like it too much, if you know what I mean.” His words slur into one another. “Do you?” He stops walking. “Do you know what I mean?”

“Yeah.” I try to coax us forward again. “Come on, big guy. Let’s get you to bed.”

My heart is speeding a little faster, and my palms and a couple other places are damp, too. I’m such a cliche.

When we’re in his room, I lower him into his bed, tuck him in, and look down. He’s still smiling vaguely. It’s still adorable. “Do you need anything?”

“I don’t like the silence. Talk to me for a while.” He requests it so softly that I’m powerless to refuse.

“Yeah. Okay. We can talk for a while.”

I go to sit in the chair beside his bed, but he pats the mattress at the edge next to him. “Here.”

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