“He’s going to make it, Talon,” she says reassuringly, even though there’s no way she can know that for sure.
And that makes me wonder—what is he going to do when he wakes up? Where will he go? What will he wear? No way in hell is he going anywhere near Derek ever again, and I’ll be damned if I let him go back to the location of his trauma.
“El, I need you to do me a favor.”
“Anything,” she answers immediately.
I pull my car keys from my pocket and place them between us on the counter.
“Can you please take the car and buy some clothes for him? Sweatpants, boxers, T-shirts to start? He can borrow my hoodies, and I have no idea what kind of soap and shampoo he uses. Just buy whatever you like. He’ll need everything. A new jacket, boots, a new razor, a toothbrush… Get him an iPad, a car, a new?—”
“Tal, I got it. I’ll also swing by the store to make sure you have food that will be easy on his stomach, and I’ll get a variety of drink options.” She slings her purse over her shoulder, grabs her coffee with one hand, and my keys with the other. “How about you text me when he wakes up? I’ll give you guys some time to catch up and then come back by when you’re ready.”
She kisses me on the cheek, and then she’s gone.
The charge nurse from the ER calls me about twenty-five minutes later to tell me she got approval for Zeke to return to room nineteen for recovery.
Restless without Eloise to ground me, I head back down to wait in Zeke’s room, wanting to see him as soon as he’s off the operating table.
Chapter 16
Zeke
Talon is the first thing I see when I open my eyes. And what a beautiful fucking sight he is. As soon as he realizes I’m awake, he’s at my side…and he looks like hell.
“What’s w-wrong?” I ask, my throat feeling like I swallowed glass as I attempt to raise my hand to scratch an itch on my cheek. My arm is heavy and not cooperating, and I notice the IV in my left arm. Only then do I take in the rest of my surroundings.
What the hell happened?
“Oh, thank God,” Talon says with a relieved sigh, confusing me even further. He brushes a gentle hand across my cheek. “How are you feeling?”
“Sore. Confused. My throat hurts.”
“Do you remember anything about last night or this morning?” he asks.
Last night?
There’s something on the periphery of my memory, but my brain won’t catch up. It’s like running through quicksand.
I shake my head no.
“Can I show you something?” he asks, and immediately, I don’t like the pain in his eyes.
“Okay.”
“I’m going to pull your covers back,” he says before reaching for them. He holds them up so they’re blocking his view of my gown-clad body. “Open your gown.”
The movement is slow, and my fingers don’t listen well to the commands I’m giving them, but when I open my gown, the colors staring back at me bring the entire night flooding to my mind. The four small holes being held together with sutures are new, and I have questions about those, but the bruising jogs my memory.
Derek beat me on stage first and then on the kitchen floor.
He took my phone. He slashed my tires. He ruined my job. I’ve lost the theater.
Pulling my gown closed, I stay silent, too ashamed to speak.
Talon tucks the covers back in around me and takes my hand, lacing our fingers like he did the night of the Christmas party.
“Is this okay?” he asks now, just like he did then.
