Days passed, and I wasn't allowed to visit Burke’s room more than once. They’d taken him to surgery, and that was when I was able to kiss him and tell him I loved him, even though he couldn't hear me. No amount of yelling had changed the doctors’ minds; they told me he needed zero stress in order to heal, and my anxiety radiated off me in palpable waves.
I might have called them all a few choice names and threatened their lives, but they never budged. Apparently, they were accustomed to Burke promising to burn down their houses and murder their spawn, so nothing I said fazed them in the least. It made it more difficult for me to heal, because I paced up and down the hallway outside his room waiting for word on his condition. Staring at him through the windows only sent me into a panic attack, so they closed the blinds and sent me back to my room. My doctor had taped my rib, and my bruises had turned from blue-green to a gnarly brownish purple after three days.
Finally, Noah came into my room with a wheelchair. "You ready to visit Burke's room?" he asked.
"More than ready." In fact, if I’d had the strength, I would have already killed someone with my bare hands to get to him.
Despite my reluctance to be pushed around, Noah helped me into a wheelchair and attached the IV bag to it. I clasped my hands tightly in my lap until he ushered me into the dimly lit room where my husband rested in a large white bed, hooked up to numerous machines.
"Doc says he should wake up soon, though the pain meds will make him groggy. They gave him a transfusion and said you did good with the tourniquet."
"Thank you," I whispered.
Noah left me alone, and I couldn't stop the tears running down my face. Burke was very pale, so much thinner than I remembered, sporting a bandage and a sling for his right arm. He suddenly appeared ridiculously fragile in the hospital bed. That was not the man I loved and had come to know more intimately than anyone else in my life. It simply couldn't be true that he’d been reduced to nothing more than a specter.
Leaning forward, I picked up his closest hand. "I need you to wake up so I know you'll be okay. I can't live without you."
I lay my head on my arm, staring at his face and silently praying for him to open his eyes. At some point, I must have fallen asleep because pressure on my fingers startled me awake.
Popping my head up, I gazed into sleepy blue eyes. "Oh, Burke. Thank God."
"You unhurt?" His words were slurred, and his voice was low and feeble.
Tears dripped onto our joined hands. Mine, I was sure, but I couldn't be bothered to wipe them off. "Not unhurt, but I'll be okay."
Burke struggled to sit upright, extracting his hand from mine to scratch his scruffy jaw. "What happened?"
I forced him to recline against the pillows, trying to fluff them so they’d support his shoulders. "Carson happened."
"Fuck."
"He's dead."
"What's on your throat?" he asked, suddenly angry, his voice sounding more forceful.
Swallowing was still painful, but I did it involuntarily. "He strangled me."
Looking more like himself, Burke ran his free hand through his hair. "Someone needs to bring him back to life so I can kill him myself."
"He rammed his rifle into my stomach too, cracking a rib. It's safe to say breathing fully will be difficult for a bit."
"Fuck, Tá an-brón orm."
"What?" If he was speaking angry Irish, maybe he really would be okay.
Burke reached out to cup my cheek. "I'm so sorry. It’s my fault you were in that mess to begin with, my fault you were alone to fend for yourself."
"As I've told you before, it's not your fault. It was his fault, but he's dead now and can't ever bother us again."
Burke sighed. "Who killed him? Noah?"
I stared at him for several seconds. "No, I did."
His brows winged up. "A lot must have occurred while I was out of it."
"I'll say. Whichever foot soldier we killed managed to shoot you first, and I dragged you into that store we hid in front of. Carson found us because I forgot my shoes out on the stoop, which made me feel like an idiot. I hid us behind the counter and bound my hoodie to your chest with your belt to stop the bleeding." Again, I tried to swallow past a swollen throat. “The surgeon says that’s what saved your life.”
"Impressive."
