Page 52 of If Cain Were Able

“Like I just took a bullet to the chest.”

“You seem pretty coherent. Do you want more pain medicine?” the surgeon asks.

Cain shakes his head.

“Hate that stuff. Just a minimal drip, enough to keep the edge off, is fine. How bad was it?”

“One bullet grazed your heart. The only reason it didn’t kill you is because you were shot a thousand meters from my operating room. Another bullet pierced your stomach, and I believe it’s resting near your spine. The third bullet went through your humerus, but miraculously missed your radial nerve. Be glad your shooter didn’t practice regularly.”

“Back up,” Cain says. “You said the bullet ‘is’ resting near my spine. You didn’t get it out?”

“No. Let me remind you that as a trauma surgeon, my first goal was to stop the bleeding and make sure your heart kept beating. After that, it was to patch your stomach up and plate your arm. I hardly had time to play hide and seek with three spent full-metal jackets.”

“Next time I want a real surgeon,” Cain teases.

“Next time I’ll let you bleed out in the hallway,” Dr. Porter teases back. “Let me know if you need anything. I’ll be back around lunchtime.”

Cain nods before his eyes lock on mine again.

“Maybe we could not have a next time?” I suggest to the men.

“How long have you been here?” Then, as an afterthought, Cain adds, “How long have I been out?”

I spend the next twenty minutes catching him up to speed, trying to answer as many questions as I can, but it’s not long before the interaction exhausts him and he’s drifting off to sleep again. The last thing he mumbles is, “Please don’t go.”

“I’m not going anywhere unless you stick me on the plane yourself,” I tell him, even though he’s already asleep.

Chapter 29

Cain

I’m so fucking tired of lying in this hospital bed.

“Cain, I can’t discharge you,” Declan Porter says. “You live alone, and I know you, you won’t listen to the instructions at all. You’ll have all your stitches popped and the graft on your heart torn in twenty-four hours. And while I’m good, not even I could put Humpty Dumpty back together after that.”

“I don’t want to die, Declan. Of course, I’ll listen,” I argue. “Especially if it gets me the hell out of here. Plus,” I add, throwing a furtive glance at Patrick, who hasn’t left my hospital room since they wheeled me down here to the regular unit. “I won’t be alone. Patrick is staying with me.”

“I am?” he practically yelps before clearing his throat. “Hm-hm. I mean, I am. Yes, he won’t be alone.”

It’s hard to hide my smile.

Patrick’s been working remotely at my bedside for two days. He finally showered, shaved, and changed his clothes when I told him he either got cleaned up or got the hell out of my room.

Declan glances back and forth between us, his gaze landing on Patrick.

“You really think you can tell him no and keep him in line?” he asks.

Patrick’s eyes dart to me.

“Of course.”

I choke down a laugh. Patrick hasn’t been able to tell me no a day in his life, so this will be fun.

Beaming, I look at Declan.

“See? Can I go home now, your Highness?”

Declan shakes his head.