Damn, he really does look like an angel.
I tell him so.
He laughs. “Glad to hear it. You had me worried for a little while.”
“That I don’t think you’re pretty?”
“More that you’d got too cold and wet to notice.” Bhodi leans over me, checking numbers, peering into my eyes. “How are you feeling?”
“Tired.”
“How’s your pain?”
“I’m fine.”
“Yeah, you’ve said that a lot, but you were in the water a while, and those are some nasty bruises.”
“What bruises?”
“Shoulder. Back of your head. X-Rays are clear, though. So’s the CT. We’re just waiting on some bloods while we warm you up.”
“I’m warm.”
“You’re doing really well,” Bhodi concurs. “Play your cards right and I might be able to spring you in a bit.”
Short-lived energy sparks in my veins. “I can go home?”
“To a ward.” Bhodi kills my dreams, for a moment, anyway. “But we have no beds and even less nursing staff, so chances are they won’t keep you long there either.”
Music to my ears. The good kind, not the Christmas crap that plays in my head every second I’m in this fecking place.
I lie down and do everything Bhodi tells me. I rest. Even sleep some. And I don’t complain when he gives me medicine that makes me feel like I’m on a fecking Ferris wheel.
Need my phone.
An errant thought that has me sitting up. But it’s not Bhodi who pushes me down this time. I’m not on HDU anymore. I’m on a ward that feels like a holding centre and Sonny’s with me.
He has a phone.
It’s not mine, but the lunatic holds it to my ear and I get myself a diabolical bollocking from my best friend.
“Fucking hell,” Logan growls. “Can’t we have one damn Christmas without you dying on us?”
“I’m not dead. If I was I’d already be haunting you and hiding all your kecks.”
Logan growls some more. I listen without reminding him he’s pretty fucking prone to festive mishaps himself. I close my eyes, enjoying the familiarity of his grumpy voice until he says something that wakes me the hell up.
“Is Sab with you?”
“Huh? What?”
“Sab,” Logan repeats. “That’s his name, isn’t it?”
I can’t remember if Logan should know. If I told him and Nash both my romantic tales of woe. But it feels good to hear Sab’s name outside of my own head, and I feel a loopy grin split my face. “That’s his name. He’s not here—I don’t know where he is. He probably doesn’t know I’m here.”
“You should change that,” Logan tells me, deep voice so fecking serious. “If he’s going to be your person, make it real.”
“I don’t know if he wants that.”
