My heart jolts at the thought, and with it, there’s a strange beeping sound.
“Evan?” Jericho’s voice is soothing and familiar.
The pressure around my hand tightens. I squeeze back, still trying to figure out where I am.
“Oh, thank God. You’re awake.”
“Wh—” I rasp, but my throat is too dry to speak.
“Here.” He lets go of my hand, then a few seconds later, there’s a plastic straw at my lips. “This’ll help.”
I swallow slowly, relishing the cold liquid on my parched throat.
“How are you?” he asks, taking my hand again.
I’m about to ask what the hell happened when memories slam into me like a freight train.
The fight in the park.
Foxx… who wasn’t Foxx.
The club.
The mattress.
My stomach twists with revulsion, making me turn away. I feel like I’m going to puke, but when I wretch, nothing comes.
Jericho strokes my hand. “The doctor said you might feel nauseous. They’re pumping you with all kinds of shit.” He lifts my hands to his lips. “God, it’s good to see you moving, though.”
It sounds like he’s crying.
When I finally open my eyes, it takes a few slow blinks to realize I’m in a hospital room, and Jerichoiscrying. Swells of tears fall down his cheeks before getting lost in his long stubble. He wipes them away, but it’s pointless. More fall anyway.
He looks like hell. I brush the back of my hand against his cheek. How long have I been here?
“You scared me so much,” Jericho murmurs.
I glance around the room, my head groggy. We’re alone, except for a nurse by the door. She must have heard an alarm when my heart rate spiked or something.
“I’ll let the doctor know he’s awake,” she says.
“Thank you,” Jericho replies, without looking away.
I lift a hand to rub my face, which is covered in a short beard just like Jericho’s. “What happened?”
He hesitates. “How much do you remember?”
I turn to face him. “The… vamp,” I say, attempting to point to my neck. “But he wasn’t… It wasn’t him. Wasn’t Foxx.” Every word is difficult, my mind still playing catch up.
“We know,” he says softly. “It was Breck. He made himself look like Foxx to get you off Foxx’s tail. But he’s dead now. Kaine and I killed him.”
Something in his expression darkens his eyes.
“Who’s dead?” I ask, struggling to follow. “Foxx?”
Jericho shakes his head. I still miss the seafoam color his eyes used to be, but this dark green is definitely growing on me. He’s unbelievably beautiful.
“Breck is dead. Foxx got away,” he says softly.
