“Don’t.” I hold up a hand. “You can’t possibly know whether she’s going to be fine or not.” I drag my fingers through my sticky hair, wincing. “Look.” I blow out a heavy breath. “What’s the bare minimum you’re going to let me get away with before I can walk out of this room?”
“This isn’t a negotiation.” A smile ghosts her lips.
“I’m about fourteen seconds away from signing myself out against medical advice. I’m an athlete—I know what the signs of concussion are and how to treat it.” I fold my arms. “I can’t stitch up my own face and scalp, and I can’t see through my leg to make sure the bones aren’t broken. Stitches and X-ray, then I need to go find my girl.”
I want to feel shitty for being a dick. This nurse is only doing her damn job, trying to make sure I’m okay, to provide medical care because it’s her career, and also trying to make sure my family doesn’t sue them if I get up off this bed and collapse in the corridor.
But none of that matters.
Nothing matters if Edith doesn’t open those sparkling gray eyes and call me the prince of darkness with her snarky grin ever again. So I’m fine being an asshole right now.
After a long, hard stare, the nurse relents. “You’ll still have to sign an AMA form if you don’t let me do everything I need to do.”
Clenching my teeth again, I jerk my head. I don’t care.
“You know they won’t let you in to see her if you’re not family, right? You’re better off staying put until she...” The sight of my resolve must give her pause.
That car crash ignited a fire inside my soul. It ripped the protective casing away from my heart and revealed the message perfectly stamped across it:Property of Edith Fisher.
How have I not noticed before now? I’m such a fucking idiot. My stomach swooshes.
I’m in love with Edith.
Ilove, love her.
Fuck.Love,love. Like want to marry her and have babies with her kind of love.
An almost hysterical sounding laugh slips out between my pursed lips. It doesn’t feel nearly as silly an admission to myself as it probably should. That’s how I know it’s real. Have I been in denial about her this whole time?
The nurse sighs, muttering under her breath about punk-ass kids thinking they’re invincible and a snicker about young love. I don’t bother to correct her. I don’t think I’m invincible, though. In fact, I’m completely vulnerable. Edith is my vulnerability.
I am Clark Kent, and she’s my Kryptonite.
I am the Joker, and she’s my Harley Quinn.
I am god of the sun, and Edith is my night.
My Achilles heel.
It’s an excruciating wait to be x-rayed and stitched up. I lose count of the number of paper stitches Nurse Ratched puts on my face and wince as she uses the real ones on my scalp. It almost seems as though she’s enjoying herself at my expense. Serves me right for being an ass.
When she’s done, I let her take my blood pressure for good measure, scrawl my name across her precious AMA, and burst through the doors with only one thing on my mind—finding my girl and telling her I love her.
“I’m sorry, sir. We can’t give out that kind of information if you’re not family.”
It’s the third time, and the third person who has given me the same answer to the same question I’ve asked each of them. My blood is on fire with frustration, and my head is still throbbing. That one’s my own fault though, since I stupidly told the demon nurse I didn’t want pain meds.
Apparently I can’t tell Edith I love her with a clouded head. I need clear focus, which currently feels a lot like white pokers stabbing into my face. Good job, Casanova.
I grossly underestimated how much I was going to ache all over after my car got crushed like an empty cereal box. Apparently my athletic conditioning doesn’t quite stretch to being prepared to be “rammed by a truck,” and not a single one of the almost seven hundred muscles in my body are happy.
I can’t lose my shit. I can’t get myself kicked out of here. That won’t do anyone any good, and I’ll still be in the dark. So instead of lashing out, I do the only thing I can do—pace. With every step I take, my body groans under its own weight. The doctor said my pinned leg is just bruised, as is what feels like ninety four percent of the rest of me.
I’m going to need a few ice baths for sure. I don’t know how long I trail back and forth across the linoleum floor, clenching and unclenching my fists with each stride.
The door to the waiting room bursts open, and my reflection stares back at me, stricken. My twin brother’s pale face is creased with agony, and his red-rimmed eyes are wide, his cheeks tear stained. His chest heaves, like it’s physically painful for him to draw breath. His shoulders are tense, and a muscle feathers in his cheek like he’s gritting his teeth so fiercely tight together that his jaw might crack. Or his teeth. Or both.
Artemis doesn’t say a word. He storms across the small room, throws his arms around me, and pulls me hard against his chest. Which one of us are the hiccupping sobs coming from? Maybe it’s both of us. For almost an entire minute, I let myself fall apart in his arms.
