With a put-upon sigh, Merit moved the rolling stool the doctors used when they came in to examine Grace toward Felicity. She propped her pudgy ankles through the rungs, moaning with relief.
“Happy now, sister dearest?” Merit asked sweetly.
“As a pig in shit, big brother.” Felicity’s smile was saccharin.
Their Appalachian accents had Hunter missing the sound of Grace’s voice. Even though she’d lost the deep drawl the members of her family shared, it still crept in from time to time. Like when she was excited or mad.
Or when she’s in the throes of passion.
The entire Beacham clan had arrived barely a day after Grace had passed out in Hunter’s arms. But a lot had happened in those first twenty-four hours.
Hour one had seen him loading her into the backseat of the FBI’s SUV—two agents from the Lansing field office had arrived on the scene seconds after she’d gone limp. Then they’d flown down the little country road because everyone had agreed they could get her to the local emergency room quicker than the ambulance could arrive. And the entire drive into town, Hunter had held her head in his lap, staring down at her pretty face and praying to a god he didn’t even believe in to please,pleaselet her live.
The next hour he’d sat in the waiting room of the tiny, rural hospital, alternating between nearly shitting himself with fear—she’d been so still and pale when he’d carried her into the ER—and coordinating with Sam and Eliza back at BKI to find the contact information for her parents.
The next twenty-two hours had mostly been a blur punctuated by points of crystalline clarity. Like the smalltown doctor’s face when he’d come out after examining Grace. His voice had been grave as he’d explained how Life Flight had been called because he didn’t have the tools or the knowhow to drain the epidural hematoma that’d developed inside her skull. Like the six-hour motorcycle ride through the night that Hunter had managed to whittle down to four and a half because the helicopter crew had refused to let him go with her on the flight to Chicago. Like arriving at Northwestern Memorial Hospital in time to talk to the surgeon who’d drilled a burr hole into her skull to relieve the blood and pressure. And like meeting her entire family in the waiting room when they arrived en masse.
Seven days had come and gone since those first twenty-four hours. Seven days of Grace being so pale and unresponsive in that hospital bed. Seven days of taking turns going to see her in the ICU until, finally, the evening before, she’d been moved into a private room and taken off the propofol that’d kept her unconscious. Seven days of being surrounded by the Beacham clan and understanding why Grace loved them so—they were a loveable bunch, full of wit and sarcasm and good-natured ribbing. Seven days of shared meals, coffee runs, board games in the waiting room, and being pulled into the bosom of her family as if he’d always been a member.
Now, they were waiting for her to wake up.
And the waiting was even more agonizing than the thought that he had a plane to catch soon. That he had to leave her here. That he might not get to see her beautiful, dark eyes open for the first time.
The only thing that gave him a measure of comfort was knowing she didn’t need him. She had her whole family to wrap her up and hold her close the minute she started showing signs of consciousness.
Plus, there was that voice in his head that kept asking,Will she even want to see me?Or was she going to want to forget the horrible set of circumstances that’d brought them together? Was she going to want to put behind her all the chaos, trauma, and death of her last assignment, him included?
He turned to stare at her, looking so fragile and still. Gauze wrapped her head until nothing was visible from her eyebrows up. There were dark circles beneath her eyes. And her full, soft lips were dry and cracked.
Without hesitating, or considering his audience, he walked over to the side table where the nurses had left a tube of petroleum jelly. After squeezing until a dollop of jelly formed on the rounded tip, he dipped a cotton swab into the cool mixture and then lightly applied a hydrating film to Grace’s lips, wishing with everything inside him he could see them pulled into a wide smile or caught between her teeth like she did when she was concentrating or nervous.
After tossing the used cotton swab in the trash, he screwed the cap back on the Vaseline tube. But his fingers fumbled it when…
“H-Hunter?”
His eyes jumped back to the bed to find Grace staring at him. Her expression was a little groggy and confused, but her eyes were clear and bright.
A sob caught in the back of his throat.
“Where am—”
When she tried to sit up, he caught her shoulders and gently pushed her back into the bed. “Shhh. You’re in the hospital. You’re okay.”
You’re okay.Such simple words and yet they meant the world. Hearing them aloud, and knowing the truth of them, nearly had him losing his shit.
She’s okay. She’s really going to be okay.
Despite the doctor assuring him when they took her off the propofol that she was out of the woods and that they had every reason to expect a full recovery, it was the first time he’d let himself truly believe it.
Fortunately for him, with the first sound out of her mouth, Merit had run into the hallway yelling, “Nurse!” so now he was saved from making a fool of himself by dissolving into a six foot, three inch column of tears and snot because two nurses ran into the room to examine her.
He stepped aside, staying out of the way while one nurse flashed a penlight in her eyes and the other peppered her with questions.
The surgeon who’d drilled the hole in her skull walked briskly into the room and spent five minutes examining her reflexes, asking her more questions, and repeating the penlight-in-the-eye maneuver. Then, with a satisfied nod, he declared Grace,“Lucky”and“Well on the road to being released from the hospital”before the medical staff exited the room and left her to be swarmed by her family.
With his back pressed against the wall, Hunter watched her bask in the hugs and kisses and amiable insults that seemed to be the Beacham’s main love language. And just when he thought she’d forgotten him, she turned and held out her hand.
“Hunter.”
