Page 11 of Life Or Death

I press the heels of my hands against my eyes. The weight of everything—the fire, the guilt, the mounting bills, the helplessness—presses down on my chest until I can barely breathe.

Maybe I’m having a heart attack.

Lord knows, it would serve me right.

I draw in a deep breath and drop my hands to my sides. When the pressure in my chest starts to ease some, I glare back at Dread.

“And what happens when she wakes up? What do I say to her? ‘Hey, sorry about the third-degree burns and the months of your life you lost, but by the way, I married you while you were in a coma’?”

If she wakes up and finds out she’s married to me, she’s going to think I’m every bit the monster Tori accused me of being.

“You tell her the truth. That you did what you had to do to make sure she got the care she needed.”

He makes it sound so fucking simple.

“The truth,” I repeat, a bitter laugh escaping me. “The truth is, I’m a selfish bastard who couldn’t keep his distance from her. The truth is, she wouldn’t have been in that bar if I hadn’t hired her. The truth is, I’m the reason she’s lying in that hospital bed, and now you want me to legally bind her to me without her knowledge or consent?” I shake my head. “I can’t do it.”

The devil himself wouldn’t cross a line like that.

CHAPTER FOUR

LUCIFER

If I ever dig myself out of the financial hole I’m in—which let’s be honest, I probably have a better shot at winning the lotto—the first thing I’m doing is cutting a check to the hospital so they can buy new fucking chairs for every room in this joint.

I push myself out of the hard plastic chair that’s wreaking havoc on my back and make my way toward the coffee machine at the end of the hallway. The thing looks like it hasn’t been cleaned in years, and the coffee it spits out smells like burnt rubber, but it’s hot and caffeinated, and that’s about all I can ask for right now.

Grabbing two Styrofoam cups, I fill them to the brim and stuff my pockets with a couple of sugar packets. If Tori likes creamer, she’s shit out of luck. Although I don’t think it would matter if I got her coffee order right or not, either way she’s more likely to throw it in my face than drink it. The girl hasn’t uttered a word since they brought Jess down for her surgery, making the last couple of hours uncomfortable as fuck.

I carry both cups back to the waiting room and stop in front of Tori’s chair.

“Here,” I say, shoving the cup toward her.

Her gaze lifts slowly, landing first on the cup, then on my face. Her eyes are red-rimmed and glassy, and there’s a crease running down her cheek from where she’s been pressing it against her hand.

“What’s this?”

I hold back a sigh and keep the cup extended. “What does it look like?”

She hesitates, her fingers hovering near the rim. “You didn’t poison it, did you?”

“For fuck’s sake, woman.” I shove the cup closer to her chest until she has no choice but to take it or let it spill. “Drink it or don’t. I’m just trying to be considerate.”

She finally takes it from me, bringing the cup to her lips as she takes a tentative sip. A sense of satisfaction spreads through me, and I take a seat in the chair across from her, stretching my legs out in front of me to make myself more comfortable.

“She’s been under the knife for hours,” Tori says, setting the cup on the small table beside her. “You think we would’ve heard something by now.”

The doctor avoided us before he took Jess down for surgery, and I’m guessing that’s because I threatened to kill him and his family if he fucked up. Still, while we’ve been sitting here like two schmucks, I’ve been Googling all the questions I would’ve liked to ask the man, and it appears a surgery like this can take anywhere from two hours to twelve depending on the complexity of the site. We’re way past the halfway point of the latter, and no one has had the decency to update us. Not a nurse nor a doctor. Not even the motherfucker who took the cash. If Tori weren’t here, I would’ve caused a scene by now. But the day is still young, and my tolerance is dwindling rapidly.

The sound of Tori’s phone ringing interrupts my plot to turn this hospital into the Devil’s playground, and I watch as she fishes it out of her purse. The screen illuminates her face, and something softens in her expression when she sees the caller ID.

“Hey, baby.” Judging by the way her voice transforms, it’s easy to assume it’s her daughter on the other end of the call.

“No, I’m still at the hospital . . . I know it’s late . . . I’m sorry, sweetheart.” She pauses, listening, and I watch her throat work as she swallows. “As soon as Jess is out of surgery, I’ll come get you, okay? I promise. . . I know, baby. I miss her too . . . Yes, I’ll tell her you love her . . . Okay. I love you. Bye.”

She ends the call and sets the phone on the table before bringing the coffee to her lips again.

“How old is your daughter?” The question comes out before I can stop it.