“We’ll need to monitor her, of course,” the surgeon said. “But her vitals are strong, and the initial scans showed no signs of intracranial bleeding. She has a significant contusion on the back of her head—a real goose egg—so she’ll have a nasty headache when she wakes up. But right now, her brain activity looks normal. She’s in recovery now and about to go up to a private room.” He gave a small shrug. “She’ll wake up when she’s ready.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” I said.
He gave a nod and walked away, leaving Brenna and me in the sudden, echoing silence.
We found Iris’s room a short while later. Through the narrow window in the door, I saw her. She was lying in the hospital bed, looking small and so fragile against the stark white sheets. An IV line was taped to the back of her hand, and her leg was encased in a thick wrapping of bandages, propped up on a pillow.
But she was breathing.
Her chest rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm. She looked peaceful.
As I studied her, a fierce, protective wave of emotion washed over me, so powerful it almost knocked me off my feet.
“She’s going to be okay,” Brenna whispered beside me.
“Yeah,” I said, my voice hoarse. I turned to my sister, my heart full of gratitude I didn’t know how to express. “Thank you for coming, Bren. I mean it. I… I couldn’t have done this alone.”
She gave my arm a squeeze. “You’re never alone, Austin. Ever.”
I took a deep breath. “I need to be here when she wakes up. By myself now.”
Brenna looked at me, a question in her eyes. She was hesitant, worried about leaving me in this raw, vulnerable state. But she also saw the iron-clad resolve in my expression.
“Okay,” she said, and gave a nod of understanding. She stood on her tiptoes and gave me a fierce, tight hug. “You call me after she wakes up. Or if you just need to hear a voice. I don’t care if it’s three in the morning.”
“I will,” I promised.
She gave my arm one last squeeze, then turned and walked down the hallway.
I pushed Iris’s door open and stepped inside. The room was silent, save for the soft, rhythmic beep of a monitor. As I pulled the worn, vinyl-padded visitor’s chair close to her bed, the legs scraped softly against the tile. I sat down and reached for her hand, the one without the IV, and carefully laced my fingers through hers. Her skin was warm, her hand soft and limp in my own.
I watched the steady rise and fall of her chest, my thumb stroking the back of her knuckles. My fear was still there, a frozen stone in my gut, but it was different now. It was the sharp, focused fear of a man who had something precious to lose.
And who knew, with a certainty that had settled deep in his bones, that he would do whatever it took to protect it. A man in love.
I was prepared to wait. No matter how long it took.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
IRIS
A steady,somehow reassuring beeping cut through the thick fog in my head.Beep. Beep. Beep.It was the only landmark in a formless world. I tried to lift a hand, but my limbs were disconnected and weighted down with wet sand. My head thumped with a dull, distant ache, like a bad hangover that was still miles away. And my left leg…
My left leg felt nothing.
It was a heavy, numb weight at the end of my body, a foreign object I was vaguely aware of but couldn’t feel. The disconnect was deeply unsettling.
The memories came back then, not in a rush, but in a series of sharp, jagged flashes. The smooth, newly painted trim of the fireplace. The satisfied turn toward the staircase. The sickening lurch of my stomach as my balance gave way. The horrifying, final thud.
I snapped my eyes open.
My world swam into focus, a disorienting collage of an acoustic-tiled ceiling, the metallic gleam of an IV stand,and the scratchy, unfamiliar texture of a gown against my skin. And a low, rhythmic sound that was different from the monitor. A soft, ragged breathing.
I turned my head, the movement sending a fresh wave of throbbing pain through my skull, and my breath caught in my throat.
Austin.
He was asleep in a vinyl-padded chair, pulled against the side of my hospital bed. He wasn’t just sitting in it. He was collapsed, his tall frame folded into the uncomfortable space as if he’d simply run out of energy. His head was slumped forward, his dark, unruly hair falling over his forehead. His large hand was holding mine, his fingers laced loosely through my own even in sleep.
