Arthur ignored the first question and stared at his visitors. Sam and Brandon both crossed their arms and stood legs apart, decidedly unimpressed. The same look they gave senior officers when a mission had gone to shit through no fault of their own. “I can see fine. Leg hurts.”
“Your vitals are good. How much does your leg hurt on a scale from one to ten?” Michael asked and Arthur drew his attention back to him.
“Six.” He’d been through the questions a million times. Six was his base level every single day.
Michael screwed up his face in sympathy. “I’ll check with a doctor to see if we can give you anything for the pain. We’ll move you to a ward as soon as we can. I’ll leave you with your visitors.” He strode out.
Arthur clenched his jaw to stop from calling him back so he wouldn’t be alone with them.
Coward. He’d brought this on himself.
Amy moved cautiously towards the bed.
“Ames.” Her nickname fell from his lips like he’d seen her yesterday instead of a decade ago.
She flung her arms around him and squeezed.
Shock pierced him more painfully than the tingles in his legs, and his arms encircled her, inhaling deeply, trying to get any breath back into his lungs. She even smelled like his mother, the same sweet floral scent.
Amy drew away and stared at him. “Are you all right?”
He nodded, though it wasn’t true.
“Good. I’m glad.” She took a deep breath. “What the hell were you thinking?” Her voice rose, and the abrupt change from caring to anger left him reeling. “How dare you swear Sam to silence? How dare you not tell me you were injured?” Her hands clenched. “And then to overdose…” Her voice broke. “Like Mum—”
She might as well have stabbed him in the heart. He hadn’t allowed himself to think about their mother in years.
Had she been in this amount of pain after her car accident? Did she just want it to all go away too?
He fought back the tears. Emotions made him weak, vulnerable to attack.
He looked past her to Sam. The man who had visited him every damned day after the accident. Had reminded him of everything he had lost. Had made him feel like a charity case on some days, but gave him hope on others. Hope—a subtle poison that destroyed from within.
“When you’re discharged, you’re coming to Retribution Bay,” Sam stated. “No arguments this time.”
Brandon nodded but stayed silent, his gaze focused but non-judgemental.
The attention was too much. No one should be here. They were better off without him. He moved his gaze to the side and stared at the blue curtains.
“Oh no, you don’t.” Sam shifted so he was in Arthur’s line of sight. “We did it your way the last time around. This time we’re doing it our way. You’re not alone. You’ve got support, you’ve got people who love you, and who want to help.”
Damn him. All this talk made hope raise her poisonous head. Couldn’t Sam see he was nothing now? He was worse than useless. He was a burden. A disappointment.
“Why do you hate me so much?” Amy’s quiet question whipped his head around.
“What?” She was the one who must hate him.
“I know we grew apart as you got older and didn’t want a pesky younger sister hanging around,” she continued, as if he hadn’t spoken. “But I can’t think of a thing I did to make you treat me this way.”
“It’s got nothing to do with you.”
She raised her eyebrows. “You barely spoke to me at Mum’s funeral, you didn’t come to my wedding, you’d rather kill yourself than accept my help.”
Arthur glanced at Sam and Brandon, hoping they would offer some suggestions on what to say. Their impassive stares told him he was getting no help from them.
He’d never been great with words.
And even if he had been, there was no way to justify what he’d done. No way she’d understand. Looking back, he didn’t really comprehend it himself. “It’s complicated.”
