“I heard that.” Matt’s voice drifted in from the hallway, followed by his imposing figure. “And I’m choosing to ignore it, just this once.”
The look Ethan gave Matt could have melted steel, but there was something else there too—a grudging respect, maybe even gratitude. After all, Matt had been the one to find me, to bring me here instead of some standard hospital ward where the sheets probably hadn’t seen Egyptian cotton in their dreams.
Mia had transformed into a full-blown mother hen, treating me like a fragile piece of china—which, considering the circumstances, wasn’t too far off from the truth. She’d flutter around me, fluff my pillows, and tuck the sheets around me as if I were a child again. When exhaustion dragged me under into restless slumber, she’d slip away to explore the neon heartbeat of Vegas, never straying too far from my orbit.
She’d even found herself a friend during those brief escapes—Savannah, William’s girlfriend. Funny how small worlds collided and stitched themselves together in this city of sin. They’d return from their adventures with stories of high-stakes poker games and whispered secrets from the Strip’s underbelly, Mia’s eyes sparkling with a light I hadn’t seen since we left our dead-end hometown.
The nurses—who I’m convinced were actually trained at some secret luxury resort rather than a medical school—kept a rotation that would have impressed a Swiss watchmaker. They brought me meals that looked like they belonged in a Michelin-starred restaurant rather than a hospital room. Even the Jell-O was fancy, probably imported from some artisanal Jell-O craftsman in France.
Now, as I sat on the edge of this ridiculously plush bed for probably the last time—I’d miss you most of all, memory foam—the bruises on my skin had faded to a mottled green, and the aches in my body had simmered down to a low hum. Matt strode in with that commanding presence that somehow made even these sterile hospital corridors seem like catwalks at Fashion Week.
“Ready to blow this popsicle stand?” he asked with that smirk I wasn’t sure if I wanted to kiss or wipe off his face with a well-aimed slap.
I managed a half smirk, despite the ache. “As long as you promise not to hover over me like a mother hen. One Mia is enough.”
“Mother hen? You wound me.” Matt’s lips curved into that devastating smile. “I’m more of a watchful hawk—much more dignified. Besides, I prefer to think of it as strategic positioning for when you inevitably stumble.”
His hand found mine, warm and steady as he helped me to my feet. I tried to maintain some dignity as we left the hospital suite, but my body had other ideas—apparently, a week in bed turns your legs into overcooked noodles.
“I could carry you,” Matt offered, noticing my less-than-graceful shuffle.
“Touch me and die.”
“Promises, promises.”
As we left behind the suite, I took his arm because pride was overrated and pain was not. Besides, clutching his arm seemed like a better option than face-planting in a corridor that reeked of antiseptic trying desperately to masquerade as luxury perfume.
The elevator ride down was an exercise in restraint—mostly Matt’s, as he pretended not to notice every tiny wince I failed to hide. The lobby was a maze of sympathetic smiles from staff who’d probably been briefed on exactly how to react to the boss’ boyfriend’s discharge.
Boyfriend. The word still felt foreign, like trying to speak French with a mouth full of marbles. I’d gone from being the troublesome debt-ridden guy Matt was watching for James’ sake to the man he loved—a plot twist worthy of Vegas itself. Though I had to admit, getting kidnapped wasn’t exactly the romantic gesture I’d had in mind for changing our relationship status.
Matt’s car was exactly like him—sleek, black, and probably worth more than my entire hometown’s yearly budget. The leather seats embraced me like an old friend as I sank into them, letting out a contented sigh. After a week of staring at the same hospital walls, even the gaudy excess of Sin City was a feast for my starved senses.
Vegas was showing off today, as if staging a personal welcome back party. The Bellagio fountains performed their aquatic ballet, casting diamond-bright droplets into the air like nature’s slot machine paying out in liquid gold. The pirate ship at Treasure Island stood proud against the desert sky, while a group of Elvis impersonators argued on the corner—five sequined kings debating who had the most authentic hip swing. Only in Vegas could you witness a battle of the Elvises without batting an eye.
“Look at you,” Matt observed, catching my childlike fascination with the city. “Like a kid who’s discovered candy exists.”
“After a week of hospital food? Everything looks like candy.”
“Even the hospital food was gourmet.”
“Gourmet mush is still mush.”
We passed the Welcome to Las Vegas sign, its iconic shape a beacon of promised sin and redemption. A wedding party posed beneath it, the bride’s white dress a stark contrast against the desert backdrop. The groom wore Elvis costume number six hundred and forty-three, complete with rhinestone-studded cape.
The Maxwell Hotel and Resort welcomed us home with its familiar scents—Matt’s cologne, aged whiskey, and that subtle leather aroma that whisperedyou can’t afford this. I made a theatrical beeline for the couch, collapsing onto it with enough drama to make a soap opera star proud.
“Oh, how I’ve missed you,” I told the couch earnestly, stroking its arm. “Not that the hospital suite wasn’t ridiculously luxurious, but there’s something about furniture that doesn’t come with a nurse call button attached.”
Matt’s laugh rumbled through the room as he joined me, his fingers finding their way into my hair before pressing a kiss soft enough to make my toes curl. “The penthouse’s been staging a protest in your absence,” he murmured against my lips. “Even my billion-dollar view seems dull without your running commentary on my expensive taste. And don’t get me started on the plants—they’ve been positively sulking without their daily dose of your drama.”
My chest filled with warmth at his words, knowing that beneath his teasing lay the simple truth: he’d missed having me here, missedus.
“Careful now. That almost sounds like a feeling,” I said.
His eyes sparkled with mischief. “Heaven forbid. What would the board of directors say if they knew their ruthless CEO had gone soft?”
The doorbell’s chime interrupted our banter, and Matt’s sigh spoke volumes.
