“Should he be awake?” I asked.
“Give him a little time,” Springfield said.
I stepped forward, feeling like I didn’t belong there, like none of this should be real. Aiden didn’t belong there either. He lay on the bed, tan skin pale under the fluorescent light, his broad shoulders looking too wide for the hospital gown. A white blanket covered him to the chest, where bandages peeked from beneath the edge of the gown.
Cuts and bruises marred the hard angles of his face and neck. His dark lashes rested against his cheekbones, and those blue eyes—his impossible, electric blue eyes—were closed.
I sank into the chair at his bedside and pulled myself closer, my fingers wrapping around his hand. It felt warm and solid, too alive for everything else in the room. I ducked my head and prayed, words tumbling together in my mind until they stopped making sense. Finally, I leaned back but didn’t let go.
“Aiden, wake up,” I whispered. “Please.”
The machines kept beeping. The sound filled the room, relentless. I had never really believed anything could happen to him. He was always faster, stronger, sharper—untouchable. He was Aiden. Invincible.
“Please,” I said again, my voice cracking. “Wake up.”
He didn’t move.
I sat there through the slow creep of hours, answering texts from my sisters who were probably keeping the rest of the family from rushing in. I appreciated it.
At some point, I stood and leaned over him, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. I pressed my lips to his skin. “Wake up,” I whispered again.
Still nothing.
Nurses came and went, taking blood, adjusting monitors. Doctors stopped in, quiet and efficient. I stayed put. I couldn’t have said how long. Time had lost meaning.
Eventually, exhaustion pulled me forward until my cheek rested on the blanket beside our joined hands. His palm was still warm. I took that as a sign. But he didn’t stir.
Doc Springfield checked in a few times, his face tightening with each visit. The shadows beneath his eyes grew darker. I tried to ignore what that might mean.
Memories crowded in, one after another. The first time I’d seen Aiden, when he’d rescued me from a kidnapper years ago. Then later, when he’d come back into my life undercover, pretending to be someone else while I stood in court wearing a suit and heels. Every meeting, every fight, every near miss between us played behind my eyes like old film.
Tears gathered, blurring my vision, and I let them fall onto the blanket, still holding his hand.
“Don’t cry.”
My head jerked up.
He’d barely managed to get the words out, rough and hoarse, but they were his.
“Aiden.” I gripped his hand tighter and leaned forward.
His eyes were open, unfocused but blue and alive. “Are we in the hospital?”
“Yes,” I gasped, swiping at my face. “Are you okay?”
He frowned, barely moving his head. “Is it me or you?”
“It’s you,” I burst out. “You’re in the hospital. There was an explosion. You were hurt.”
His brows furrowed, and he winced. “Aye. Headache.”
“Yeah. You were in the tunnel. It collapsed.”
He glanced around slowly. “I don’t remember that.”
“You’re safe now,” I said.
“How about you? Are you good?” His eyes met mine, steady despite the haze.
