Crew huffed softly in what I interpreted to be disbelief. “Just…go see him, Sutton.”
This time, he let me go and walked away before I could respond.
His plea didn’t change my mind, though.
I wouldn’t go see Lane.
No, not even that.
Icouldn’t.
Apparently,Icould, though, because the next morning when I got off shift, instead of heading home and going to bed, I found myself driving up to Boise.
The closer I got, the more I shook as memories from that day the week before flooded my system with an excess of adrenaline.
When I pulled into the lot, I sat in my car for a long time, attempting to give myself a pep talk. I had half a mind to turn around and go home, but I’d come all this way, and I couldn’t let it be for nothing.
Finally, I gathered enough courage to get out of my car. In the lobby, I approached the information desk and was directed to the fifth floor when asked for Lane’s room number. The woman at the nurse’s station up there pointed me toward 519. My feet felt like lead, footsteps heavy as I made my way down thehall. When I reached his door, I found it closed. After a fortifying breath, I lifted my hand and knocked.
“Come in,” a deep voice rasped, lacking its usual volume and authority.
Pushing on the handle, I opened the door about six inches and poked my head in.
“Hey, Lane.”
I wasn’t sure what I’d been expecting when he first saw me, but it hadn’t been the broad grin that overtook his entire face, like he wasexcitedI was here.
Hell, this was a bad idea. That smile did funny things to my insides, twisting me up in knots. The only reason he offered it was because he likely knew I’d been the one to keep him alive long enough to get to the hospital.
“Sutton,” he said, lips still tipped up. “Hey.”
“Hey,” I repeated like an idiot.
“Come in,” he said, gesturing with his right hand, his left immobilized in a sling.
Apprehensively, I shuffled deeper into the room, though I stopped several feet from his bedside.
I hated seeing people in hospital beds, but especially Lane. The mountain of a man appeared half his size beneath the pristine white sheet and ugly gown that thousands of people before him had worn. Tubes snaked out of his arm, and I could make out the edges of thick bandages covering his chest where the bullet had entered. His skin was far too pale, his tattoos lacking their usual luster, and his sandy hair was limp and hanging in his eyes. Dark circles had taken up residence beneath them, their normally vibrant blue dimmed considerably.
“I heard you were awake and wanted to come check on you,” I said a bit awkwardly, compelled to explain my presence.
“I’m really glad to see you.”
“Y-you are?”
“Of course,” he said, tone steady, expression open and honest.
“But…why?”
His brow creased. “I mean…you saved my life. At the very least, I need to thank you.”
“I was just doing my job, Lane.”
God, I was getting sick of saying those words.
He chuckled and shook his head. “So modest.” I shrugged but didn’t reply, and he pressed forward. “I’ve also had a lot of time to think, being cooped up here. And I realized something.”
“Oh?”
