Cool hands areon my face. It feels really good. I don’t hurt as bad as I did before, but I feel like I have to throw up again, and I flail about to get out of bed and run for the bathroom.
“Easy. You can throw up in here.”
Someone guides my head to the side of the bed, and I throw up until I’m heaving, and then there’s a cool cloth wiping over the back of my neck and face, and it helps with the nausea.
I don’t even open my eyes. I can’t. So tired.
I think I smell Julian.Is my husband here?I want to snuggle into that comforting scent. I want to ask for him, but I can’t.
I lie back down and return to sleep.
“I’m so sorry, Angel.”Is that Julian’s voice? It must be, but how did he get in my room? How did he find me?
I whimper because I’m starting to feel nauseous again, and my hands hurt.
“Shh, it’s going to be okay.”
“Dreaming.”
“No, baby, you’re not dreaming. We’re getting you better. Please forgive me. I’m so sorry.”
Lips brush over my forehead. It feels so nice.
I want to open my eyes and look at him, but I’m so tired. Maybe I really am dreaming. If he were really here, he’d be mad at me.
“I want to go home.”
“I’ll take you home as soon as you’re better.”
“You’ll hurt me.”
“No, Angel.” His voice cracks, and I want to see his face so badly. “Never. I’ll never hurt you again.”
He smells so good. It’s calming. I feel like I’ve had that thought before, but I just keep falling asleep.
Thirty-Two
JULIAN
“It’snormal for her to be in and out of consciousness,” Dr. Asgood says. She’s standing with me beside my wife, filling me in on test results. “She has a horrible staph infection, and it’s gone septic. Meaning, it’s through her whole body. So, we’re running a broad spectrum of antibiotics in her IV along with continuous fluids. Her blood pressure is lower than I’d like. I want to see a big improvement in the next four hours. If that doesn’t happen, we’ll take her to the hospital.”
I nod, all the words floating through my head.
“If she’d gone even one more day without being found, she might not have survived, Julian.”
I pull my hand down my face and swallow hard. “Fuck.”
“You should go home, and?—”
“I’m not leaving.”
She nods and pats me on the shoulder. “I figured as much. I’ll be back in an hour to check her vitals.”
When she’s gone, I sink into the chair at Natasha’s side. She’s not in a coma, but she’s sleeping almost constantly. We’ve been here for about four hours, and she’s hardly surfaced. Whenshe does, she babbles and doesn’t make much sense. She keeps thinking that I’ll hurt her.
And who the fuck can blame her?
“Hey, sweetheart.” I kiss her temple and reach for the bowl of cool water and the washcloth, get it wet, and then gently smooth the cloth over her face, cleaning her up a bit. I wish I could sit in a bath with her, but she’s too sick.
