“I got you more headache meds.” She held out her hand, two white oblong pills resting in her palm. “And some water. Need to keep you hydrated. If you can keep that down, I’ll bring you some tea and toast.”
I wanted to argue—to say I didn’t need meds or toast. I needed my laptop and a plan. I needed to get out of this bed. But talking hurt my throat, and just the act of forcing myself up into a seated position left my head throbbing, too heavy to hold up, and my whole body trembling from the effort.
“Why am I still such a mess?” I rasped.
Miranda gave me a gentle smile as she handed me the pills and the short glass of water. “Because you got blown up and then were trapped in a burning building.”
I let her words rest, too busy forcing myself through the painful swallows of the pills and the water. I knew she was right. The pills would help. Hydration would help. But not enough. I didn’t want pills or rest or water. I wanted to erase the last few days. I wanted it to stop hurting when I swallowed, or breathed, or moved.
But I could deal with the pain if I had to. I didn’t have a choice. I finished the water and handed the glass back to Miranda. She pulled the armchair closer to the bed and sat, propping her feet on the edge of my bed. Her army green socks were a perfect match for the T-shirt she wore over a pair of slim-fitting khaki cargoes.
My guess was Miranda didn’t put a lot of time into thinking about her clothes. The only other time I’d seen her, her hair had been in the same style—two neat braids,tightly contained. If she was wearing makeup, it was beyond subtle. The sprinkling of freckles across her high cheekbones brought a little color to her creamy skin and was the only decoration on her face.
Her beauty was all the more striking for being unadorned. She didn’t look the least bit motherly, despite the definite matriarch vibe, her body tall and lean but compact and strong. Miranda was all business, and yet there was something soothing about her. I barely knew her, and still, having her set up camp at my bedside was comforting.
Wren came down the hall, her short blonde hair falling out of her stubby ponytail. She carried a steaming mug of tea and a plate of toast. Unlike Miranda’s almost military uniform, Wren wore a pair of baggy jeans and a vintage T-shirt, with the logo of a punk band that had been popular years before either of us were born.
“Here,” she said. “My grandpa always made this for me when I was feeling poorly. Tea with honey, toast with cinnamon and sugar. They’ll cure almost anything.”
“Thanks,” I said, smiling at the plate. I reached for it, and we all looked at my shaking hands before Wren’s mouth quirked up in a smile, and she put both the plate and the mug on my bedside table.
“How about we try this one thing at a time?” she said, picking up the mug. “See if you can drink some tea.”
She gave me the mug handle-first, staying close in case I fumbled it. I managed a sip, then another. The tea was thick with honey, and it coated my throat as I swallowed. I closed my eyes in relief.
“It’s good,” I murmured.
“Let’s take a break and try more in a few minutes,” Miranda said, and Wren plucked the mug from my fingers, setting it on thebedside table.
“Your eyes look clear,” Wren said. “Still red, but you look more…you.”
“I feel more me,” I said. “But I sound like a frog who got run over.”
Miranda grinned. “That’s not too far off base.”
I looked between the two of them. Wren perched on the end of the bed, Miranda relaxed yet still alert in the armchair.
“Why are you two here?” I asked. “Eli wouldn’t have been able to convince them to release us if I was that badly off. Another thought occurred to me. “I’m not going to run, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
Miranda and Wren shared a look.
“I have to admit,” Wren said, “you going out on your own wasn’t on any of our bingo cards. Good thing Emmett was tracking you.”
I let my eyes slide closed for a second. They weren’t wrong. I hadn’t felt like I had a choice, though explaining my actions would use more words than my throat could handle. I settled for, “Sorry. Bad judgment.”
“It happens,” Miranda said easily. “Just keep in mind,” she raised one red eyebrow, “if you’re pissed at Eli, that doesn’t mean you should go out without backup. We’re here too.”
I struggled to push myself a little more upright as Miranda’s words filtered through my brain. “What?” I asked, not sure what she meant.
“We’re here,” Wren said. “Backup. You didn’t have to go out there by yourself. I get you were angry with Eli. He was being a dumbass. Sometimes his need-to-know bullshit is a little too intense. But you could have tagged in someone else.”
“Not that you can’t take care of yourself,” Mirandaadded. “But considering you’re on the bomber’s hit list, maybe don’t go out alone until we get him locked down.”
I liked that they got why I’d been upset with Eli.
“Is Maddox still looking?” I asked. “Someone said he was okay, but I thought I saw him at the hospital.”
“You did,” Wren said cheerfully. “His head’s too hard to get damaged. He made it out just before the second bomb blew. Went after the bomber, but dude was fast. Mad said he was long gone. Instead of going after him, Mad called for the ambulance. He was digging you two out of the stairwell when the emergency crew got there. He got a little bruised up, a few cuts, small burns. Nothing serious.”
