He startles so hard that the chair under him actually screeches across the floor. "Jesus," he says. "Jesus fuck. You're awake." His voice is raw, frayed all the way down to the bone. He leans forward, his hands hovering over my bandaged arms, then retreating, like he's afraid touching me will make it worse.
I try to sit up, but everything from my neck down openly revolts. My body doesn't even feel like my own. Why is it so heavy? "What…happened?"
Asher shakes his head, his eyes fixed on my face. "You don't remember?"
I try to think, dislodging fragments… Miles's face, the burn of humiliation, a flash of white, the feeling of flying without wings.
"Car," I rasp when a memory trickles in. "It hit me?"
He nods once, his expression savage. "You bounced off the hood. You were…" His throat works. "You didn't move. I thought—" He stops, pinching the bridge of his nose. For the first time since I met him, he looks lost. Like he's standing at the edge of a cliff and all the money, power, and rage in the world can't do a damn thing to stop gravity.
Is this the way he looked when I nearly died five years ago? Is this how he hurt then?
The possibility breaks me a little.
"I'm here," I say, trying to soothe him. "I'm right here."
He barks a laugh that sounds more like a sob. "They threatened to call the police if I didn't stop yelling at the doctors. They said you'd be fine, but you weren't waking up. I thought—" His hands curl into fists on the rail of my bed, his knuckles white. "Christ, princess."
I don't know what to say. He's never let me see him like this, not once. Even before he turned into a monster, he was always in control, always the one who did the breaking. Now, he's the one coming apart at the seams. And just like back then, it's my fault.
"I could have lost you," he says softly, almost like he's afraid to say it too loud or it might come true.
For a second, the words hang between us. All I can think about is Miles, swearing that men like Asher don't fall in love. He said they use, they own, and they control. But this doesn't look like ownership. It looks like terror. It feels like love.
It hurts more than I thought it could.
A nurse comes in to check my vitals. Asher never takes his eyes off me. He doesn't even blink, not even after she leaves.
For long moments, we just stare at each other.
There's a knock, and then a doctor appears, a clipboard in hand. "Miss Dabry? I heard you were awake. That's excellent."He checks my pupils, asking the standard questions. "Any confusion? Dizziness? Nausea?"
"All of the above," I manage, and he gives me a tight-lipped smile.
"You're lucky," he says. "No fractures, just a concussion and some impressive bruising. We'll want to keep an eye on you for the next twenty-four hours, but I think you'll be fine as long as you rest and hydrate."
I nod weakly, too tired to argue.
He checks a few more things and then slips out, leaving me and Asher alone again.
"You should sleep," Asher murmurs, pacing restlessly. "You need it."
He's not wrong, but…
"Will you stay?" I whisper.
He turns, meeting my gaze. "Hell itself couldn't drag me from this room, princess."
I swallow hard, my eyes falling closed.
Miles was wrong about him. So damn wrong.
At some point in the middle of the night, Asher crawls into bed with me. We barely fit, but he makes it work, keeping his arms around me like he's scared I'll disappear if he moves even an inch.
My night nurse just sighs when she sees him, but doesn't try to get him out of my bed. I think she knows it'd be a losing battle. He has that look about him—like he'd defy hell itself if that's what he had to do.
By morning, I'm more exhausted than I was to begin with. They woke me up every two hours all night, flashing lights in my eyes, asking me questions. Asher is cranky as hell about it, like he's one word from erupting.
