Full daylight’s shining in the window now, so… all night.
“Jesus, Rob. Go home. Get some sleep. Eat something. There’s no way you were comfortable in that tiny chair?—”
Green eyes sear into mine. “I’m not going anywhere, Ames.” He turns his hand over sohe’sgrippingme. “Don’tgive me any shit about how I’m not your person anymore or how our friendship’s changing either. I could be engaged to fivebillionpeople, and I’d still be right here with you. Got it?”
I blink, startled by his fierceness, and for once in my life, it doesn’t occur to me to argue. “Y-yeah. Whatever you want.” Then, after a pause, “Five billion?”
Robbie huffs out a breath, but his lips twitch. “Fuck off. It’s been the longest night of my life.”
His attention catches on my right arm. As we both watch, he reaches out a single finger and traces a deliberate pattern on my biceps. Though it’s a ghost of a touch—he’s being careful of my bruises and the sling—I know he’s outlining my tattoo.
It’s like last week at my apartment. Like he’s leaning into me, and I’m helpless to stop him—hell, it’s like I’m pulling him closer with the tractor beam of my mind.Come on. Come on.
Despite feeling like death warmed over, his proximity makes my stomach flutter and my heart monitorblip-blip-blipfrantically.
Fuck. Caught.
Robbie blinks and snatches his finger away. “Sorry.”
I keep hold of his other hand so he can’t go far. “No,I’msorry,” I croak. “I freaked you out, huh?”
He huffs out a laugh. “You have no idea.” His eyes lock on mine. “How much do you remember about last night, Ames?”
“Uh.” I try to think back, but everything’s fuzzy and disjointed. “Greene. I swear, I thought I was right behind him so I could pull him out before he got too far in. But Icouldn’t see him—or much of anything—and then… The wall came down, didn’t it? Or the ceiling?”
Robbie’s fingers squeeze mine so hard I wince, and he pulls away quickly. My hand immediately feels cold all by itself.
“Sorry. Yeah, pieces of both came down. Knocked you out.” He clears his throat and finds something fascinating outside the window to stare at.
“I wasn’t knocked out. Not totally.” My head’s pounding, and no matter how hard I try to focus, I can’t make the picture come clear. But I do remember Robbie’s voice—panicked, yelling. “You were there, weren’t you? Inside the building? You came in and got me out.”
He nods once without turning around.
“Ah, shit.” I imagine our roles reversed and how fucked-up I’d feel. “I’m sorry, Rob. You had to come in after me, ignore protocol. I hate that you had to?—”
Robbie whirls around, eyes sparking. “Had to? Please finish that thought, Ames. Tell me you wouldn’t have done the same thing. That you wouldn’t havewantedto.”
I shut my mouth, because he’s right, and earn another nod.
“Keep going,” he instructs, pacing a path by the bed. “What else do you remember?”
“I-it’s all bits and pieces. I remember someone taking my mask off. I remember trying to move my hands, but I couldn’t because I was strapped to the board. I think I woke up a little when I got here because I remember them going through the concussion protocol—name, date, all that—whilethey cut my clothes off, which was fucking distracting.”
“So you remember the important bits, like giving the medical professionals a show?” He snorts. “Then what?”
I roll my eyes, which are maybe the only part of me that doesn’t hurt. “More like I wanted to make sure my sister wasn’t one of those medical professionals, you jerk. And after that… I dunno. A CT scan, I think. Then they gave me the good drugs, and I’ve been asleep since.”
Robbie studies my face, checking whether I’m serious, and I feel a pulse of dread.
“H-haven’t I?” My eyes widen. “Oh, fuck me. Did I make an ass of myself while I was medicated? Was I like those people who sing show tunes after their wisdom teeth are removed?”
He snickers.
That’s not actually an answer, and my panic that I somehow humiliated myself intensifies. Although, frankly, I’d take the shame of an impromptu concert over the other mortifying things I might have done or… orsaid.
The monitorblip-blip-blipslike a tell-tale heart.
“Ah, shit,” I say weakly. “Those poor doctors and nurses. I can’t sing for shit.”
