Page 95 of Mine

“Yes he did,” I agreed.

“Going forward, you don’t get to think about that kind of stuff anymore. That’s my department alone.”

I nodded.

“Call me when you’re home so I can walk beside you when you go in places.”

“I will.”

Quick nod and he was gone, the door to the stairs closing behind him.

The thing about Conrad Harris was that he knew his limits. Knew them like most people didn’t. He could tell the exact moment when you needing him became cloying, when you wanting to show your respect for him became unnecessary, when love tipped to hate and he just had to kill you because he needed the quiet. And he didn’t scare me because I absolutely respected his boundaries, and even though his patience with me seemed boundless, I knew it was not. But still, whenever I needed him, he was there. So who was to say what I could and could not ask of him? The thing was, he was important enough to me not to push, and I think most people did. It was important to actually listen to your friends as well as love them.

When I got back to the room, Landry was talking. And I understood, as I listened, as I took my place back beside the bed and he reached for me, that yes, the man sounded manic. But it was just him hyped up, and really, what had he eaten?

His doctor loved his chatter, liked seeing him animated and alert. The nurses were charmed, and the detective, when he stepped up, just wanted my boyfriend to hit the highlights for him if he could.

It was, in the end, anticlimactic. After dinner, Landry had been walking back to the guest house he had shared with me and been jumped and hit on the back of the head. One minute Landry was awake, the next minute he was knocked out. Detective Baylor filled in the blanks with chloroform—they had found it in Brendan’s car, and he had used it to keep Landry under during the long car ride—and a bed with chains soldered to it and rations that had been stored at the hunting cabin.

“When can I go home?” Landry wanted to know, and I could see the panic start to settle in. He needed quiet; he needed all of it—his family, the lights, the hospital, the questions, the fear, and the movement—to just stop. He needed to be in bed with me staring at the ceiling in our bedroom. It was all that would give him peace.

“Not for at least a couple of days,” his doctor informed him. “We need to be sure of the concussion, make sure you have enough fluids, check to make sure—”

“Fine,” Landry almost whimpered, the tremor in his voice hard for me to hear.

I squeezed the hand that I was holding before I lifted it, brushing my lips over his knuckles. He turned, and I put my arm around him as he pressed his face into my throat, trembling hard. My eyes flicked to the doctor.

“Maybe just overnight,” he recanted.

“Overnight he can do,” I said with a smile. Sometimes medical science had nothing on going home and getting under the covers in your own bed.

Once everyone was gone and we were alone, Landry begged me to get up on the bed with him.

“Babe, I can’t fit up there.”

But his face, his eyes, the need welling up in them, I had to make it work. Off came my shoes and sweater, and in just jeans and a T-shirt, I climbed in beside him.

“Oh God.” His moan was soft and hoarse. “If you weren’t here…. I mean, I’m fine when you’re around, I am.”

I kissed his temple gently, careful of the golf ball-sized lump there.

“I just fray some when you’re not.”

“Me too,” I told him as he moved until I was basically under him and he was lying on top of me.

“Start talking; tell me everything. Start at the beginning.”

“I think you should sleep,” I suggested.

“Did you call Gabriel?” he asked me, licking the side of my neck, nuzzling before I finally felt his teeth.

“Yeah, a little while ago,” I told him.

“Was he glad I wasn’t dead?”

“When you’re well, I will beat you for that remark.”

“Promise?” He sounded way too excited.