“Sloan? Can you understand me? It’s Dr. MacTavish. You have a very nasty case of pneumonia. I’m giving you a cough suppressant to help you rest, and you’re going to need oxygen.”
Something goes over my face and settles under my nose. I try to flail at it, but a big, warm hand holds my wrist. “Easy lass, just breathe in, aye?”
I’m slightly less delirious and know that it’s not Nate hovering over me, it’s the Scottish Demon. Maybe if I’m lucky, the pneumonia will kill me before he does. I want to protest, tell him to get away from me but then something cool goes into the tube in my hand and sleep pulls me back under where my feverish dreams surround me.
Gavin Masters is screaming at me, his face beet red and little flecks of spit flying from his mouth. “Where is he, you fucking bitch? Don’t lie to me. Tell me where that weak little shit is and I’ll let you live.”
“Fuck you,” I wheeze. He’s hit me several times while his bodyguard, Tony, pulls my arms painfully behind my back. “You’re such a pussy that you have to have your little bitch fuckboy hold me down.”
That gets me another slap.
“Let me handle this, Mr. Masters.” Oh, Tony’s poking me in the back with his pathetic little erection. He wants to hurt me so much that he’s hard with it.
“No, put her in the basement. Then bring me Carmella. You can question her.”
I’m laughing because Carmella is with Nate and my bastard stepfather will never,everfind them.
When I wake up again, it’s night. The lights from the city are glowing softly, but the room is dark.
I feel - and most likely look - like something that washed up on the beach. I know I smell like it. I cough weakly, but there’s a pillow by my broken ribs and I hold it against me.
“Here, drink this.” A hand lifts my head again, and I have scraps of memories where he does this over and over, urging water past my cracked lips. “There ya go. Such a good girl. Do ya feel like ya can sit up?”
Opening my eyes, I see a somewhat disheveled Ethan hovering over me. “Okay.” My voice is creaky, like an old man’s.
He slides his arms under my back and knees and easily lifts me up, fluffing the pillows behind me. There’s one lamp giving out a low light on the bedside table, enough to see his bloodshot eyes.
“What time is it?” I’m staring down at the IV in my hand. My hair’s been combed back and put into a braid and I’m wearing a giant t-shirt, soft from a hundred washings. Did he dress me? My chest is still on fire, but at least I can breathe without wanting to cry.
“It’s around 11:30,” he yawns, running his hands through his already ruffled hair. “You’ve been out for quite a while.”
“How long?”
“Three days,” he says, straightening my oxygen tube. “Ya been fighting your nasal cannula.”
Wait. What?
“Three days?” I wheeze. “What- I’m not that sick!”
“Well, not now,” he allows, running a thermometer over my forehead. “But it hit you hard. Thirty-eight point nine, still too high but better.”
“What’s that in Fahrenheit? My brain is oatmeal.”
He smiles, brushing the hair back from my sweaty face. “One hundred and two. You’re lucid…” His head tilts, eyeing me, “Well, mostly lucid. What can I get you to drink?”
“Why are you being nice to me?” I’m completely confused. He hauled me out of that coffee shop and into this room like I would never leave it again. Is he sad because he wanted me all healthy to torture me?
His eyes narrow, but his voice is calm. “Because you’re under my protection and so far, it’s not been workin’ out like it should. I am taking care of ya, whether ya like it or not.”
Closing my eyes, I try to ignore him. He’s delusional.
“Ah, our patient is awake. How do you feel?”
Dr. MacTavish is standing over me and she’s not looking much better than he does.
“Okay, I think,” I croak, “how are you?”
“The Doc’s been sleeping here while you’ve been sick,” Ethan says, “ya needed round-the-clock care.”
