My eyes squeeze shut. I can’t breathe through this much emotion. If I cry anymore, I’m sure I’ll flood the hospital. “A-anywhere?”
“Anywhere.”
I sniff. Swallow. “Okay.” I shift slightly, and he loosens his grip enough for me to tuck myself beneath one of his shoulders and attempt to steer him toward the exit. I tug, but he doesn’t budge. Crap, he’s heavy. I peer up at him.
He cocks a brow. “What are you doing?”
I tug again, and this time he lets me pull him forward a step. “You said ...”—another step—“anywhere.” I blow out a breath and look up to find his eyes clouded with dark amusement. I shoot him a glare. “You could be a little more helpful.”
His lips quirk up lazily. He leans most of his weight on the IV pole and takes the final step to the door, then stays quiet as I turn the knob and pull it open. I ignore the burning stares of Miss St. Clair, Zach, a small crowd of nurses, and Bridget, whose jaw drops at the sight of me practically carrying Easton out of the room. Zach nods a greeting, then he shoots Easton a quizzical look. Easton nonchalantly lifts a shoulder, devotedly following me through the parting aisle of staring faces.
His lips touch my ear, voice low and husky in a way that travels heavily down my spine. “You gonna tell me where we’re headed, or is it a surprise?”
“Depends,” I breathe, eyes narrowed on the signs at the end of the hall as we near them. He’s putting the smallest fraction of weight on me, and it still feels like I’m lugging a tree over my shoulder. “Do you like surprises?”
Something serious and heavy laces his raspy voice. “I love them.”
Butterflies tighten my stomach. Pretty sure that wasn’t supposed to sound the way it did. “Good. It’s a surprise then. I should warn you though, it’s unorthodox, demanding, and a little dirty.”
I turn my head to look up at him, expecting to find a playful expression. Instead, I’m met with a dark, heavy-lidded gaze that settles low in my stomach, and there is nothing playful about it.
I swallow, redirecting my attention straight ahead. His gaze heats the side of my face, and if he doesn’t stop looking at me like that, I’m going to get us lost before I even figure out where to go. Finally, I get him up the elevator and to the ICU.
I peer up to find him still watching me, and I clear my throat. “What room number?”
Confusion flits through his eyes. He breaks his focus from me to look around, and when he realizes where we are, he narrows his gaze on me.
“You said anywhere.” I smile sweetly. “Tah-dah.”
Before he can respond, a man in a fancy suit steps out of the room across from us. My lips part. “Mr. Rutherford ...”
He gives me a curt nod, glances away, then meets my gaze again. “Eva. I’m ... how are you?”
I stare at him dumbly, and he shakes his head, rubs his forehead.
“Sorry,” he mutters. “Stupid question. Thank you. Thank you for bringing my boy back.”
I look up and give Easton a questioning look to see if he’s okay with this. I don’t know why I wasn’t expecting Vincent to be waiting in his room. The nurse told me they were here, and I saw Bridget downstairs. Just because they didn’t come see me doesn’t mean they wouldn’t want to see their own son.
Easton’s eyes are gentle on mine, and he says quietly, “It’s all right.” Then, his breath is on my cheek, and he whispers, “I won’t let them hurt you anymore.”
My lips tremble, and I bite down on them to keep from crying again. Still, a single, stupid tear manages to escape. For my whole life, I’ve wished to hear those words.
He lifts my chin with his thumb, squinting as he inspects my face. “Trust me?”
I swallow. Nod.
“Good.”
He takes in a deep breath, and when he releases it, the exhale is shaky. An ache splits the middle of my heart as I watch him. I slip my hand in his and squeeze.
Don’t worry. I won’t let them hurt you anymore either.
This time, when he walks, he grips me firmly, like he’s making sure I won’t leave him. As if I could ever leave him.
Following behind Vincent, we make it into Easton’s room, and he groans in pain as I help lower him onto the bed. When he’s finally lying down, he breathes heavily and closes his eyes. My stomach sinks as I take in how weak and exhausted he looks.Oh, God.What have I done? Letting him walk all that way for me? How hard must it have been for him to pretend, for my sake, that each step wasn’t torture? My chest hurts, and I wish I had been the one to sneak out of my room and find him. I never thought ... I never thought he’d do that ... and for me. My eyes water, but I blink away the tears.
No more crying.
