“No.”
“Okay.” My fingers curl around his. “Sir?”
“Yeah, pet?”
I’m so choked up I can barely talk now, so I squeeze his hand as hard as I can, which probably isn’t much. “I tried to stay safe. I’m sorry.”
He’s sobbing. “My beautiful, perfect pet. I love you so fucking much, you have no idea. You came back to me, that’s all I care about.”
“Technically,” I sniffle, “you’ve come to me.”
He tearfully laughs. “Yeah, well, nobody’s perfect.”
* * * *
The transfer to the hospital is sort of blurry, in my mind. Carter rides in the ambulance with me, holding my hand the whole way, on the phone with Owen.
That’s when…
Well, let’s just say I wasn’t making sense, and I think I said “I love you” about a thousand times.
Then he called Daddy and Momma for me, and more babbling from me.
Yeah.
So much for my polished image.
Ask me if I give a fuck.
#noIdgaf
Carter refuses to leave my side during my evaluation, my treatment, and it’s hours before they have me in a bed in ICU. Carter rolled up his sleeves and helped two very nice nurses give me a sponge bath and wash my hair with real fucking water and a wash basin, but no shower, no shaving for me yet.
I can’t even walk.
In fact, they’ve put a catheter in me for now, so they can monitor my urine output.
I…sleep.
* * * *
I drift in and out. It’s about twelve hours or so later when I finally feel like I’m actuallyawake.
Carter’s sprawled in a recliner next to my bed. As if he senses I’m awake, his eyes snap open and he sits up.
“Hey, sweetheart.” He leans in to kiss me.
“Owen.”
“He’s in Florida, baby. Flying out in the morning. He wrapped up a couple of things and packed. He’s going to bring you clothes and stuff.”
“Did I talk to him already?”
He smiles. “You did.”
I nod. “Daddy?”
“You talked to them, too.”
