Thanks to the housekeeper, I’d been dressed in a loose-fitting pair of track pants and a grey hoodie while I’d been unconscious. My useless body had been carried by one of the mercenaries as Sully was placed on a stretcher and wheeled into the ambulance.
I’d been given a ride too, my brief stint of weakness snapping me awake the moment the ambulance started.
The second time I’d ever fainted, and both were caused by Sully.
He owed me.
He owed me so much for the panic he’d put me through and the fear that even with his pulse flickering, he might not pull through.
I’m sorry for cursing at you.
My guilt weighed more than I could bear.
I’d yelled at him as he’d died.
The last things I’d said were awful and mean and...
God.
I choked on tears, fresh tears, old tears, forever tears.
“Charge to three hundred joules.”
“Clear!”
I hugged myself. I screamed silently. I watched as electricity that’d infected us with passion was now used to keep him alive.
His form absorbed the voltage.
His body jerked under its surge.
Nothing.
The doctors rushed and muttered, and I tuned them out.
All I focused on was Sully...once again dead and not caring just how much that killed me.
Come on! Wake up. You can’t keep doing this to me! I promise I won’t yell at you again. I won’t call you a son of a bitch. I won’t ever swear.
I swallowed curses.
I locked myself against the wall, so I didn’t leap onto the table and pummel his pathetic heart. Ever since we’d screeched into the ambulance bay and Sully had been whisked away, I’d fought a never-ending battle to let experts keep him alive instead of relying on our bond to drag him back.
Could he feel me there?
Could he sense my claws digging into his soul?
I wasn’t going to let go.
He could try to die, but he’d only half succeed because I was the owner of his heart now, and I fucking refused to give it back.
Come on, Sully. Fight!
A doctor threw me a dirty look over his mask.
Maybe I yelled that aloud or shouted in my mind. I didn’t care. I no longer knew reality from fable and hope from despair. I’d already proved to be a nuisance after I’d refused a wheelchair when we arrived at the hospital and glowered at anyone who tried to direct me to a waiting area and prevent me from staying with Sully.
I didn’t want to get kicked out...but didn’t they get it?
I couldn’t leave him.
I refused to leave his icy, sheet-shrouded side.
Not until he either woke or died.
And even in death...I didn’t know if I’d ever be able to walk away.
“Try again. Three hundred and sixty joules.”
I gritted my teeth. My fingernails dug into my palms.
Please.
Please, please, Sully.
I love you.
Don’t do this.
Please!
I was alone, shivering in shock and woozy against the wall as Sully was once again electrocuted.
No one else had come to the hospital.
I was in a city I’d never travelled to before and surrounded by strangers who I didn’t trust. Doctors who didn’t know that Sully was the most important patient of their career because if he died...
God!
I doubled over.
My cheeks stung with fresh salty tears.
“Got a pulse.”
I choked on air. My eyes swooped to Sully and his team of lifesavers.
“Administer lidocaine. Let’s keep him with us this time,” a woman doctor clipped, her face covered by a mask, her hair pulled back in a hairnet. Her group of emergency staff jumped at her commands, inserting needles and focusing on tasks to keep Sully breathing.
My legs gave out, slithering me down the wall as the heart rate monitor registered frail beats.
Stay with me this time.
You owe me that much.
I couldn’t keep doing this.
The highs, the lows.
The hope, the misery.
I’m not letting go, Sully, so stop trying to leave me and breathe!
I gulped my own advice, swallowing down gasps of air and praying my woozy head wouldn’t pass out again.
Satisfied that her colleagues had Sully’s life in their capable hands, the doctor turned her attention to Sully’s leg. Her gloved hands trailed from the infected wound in his thigh, down his kneecap, calf, ankle, and foot. Her forehead furrowed as she slowed over certain areas before repeating the exploration on the other side.
Finally, she sighed heavily and turned to look at me crunched at the bottom of a ventricular diagram of a heart.
The urge to be sick had never left, and it was a constant battle to keep stomach acid where it should be and not contaminate the sterile room where Sully’s existence hung in the balance.
Snapping off her gloves, she came toward me. Pushing open the swing door, she arched her eyebrow, cocking her chin for me to go through.
I threw Sully a look.
The swarm of doctors still hovered over him.
He resembled a ghost. His hair shockingly dark against pallid skin. His lips blue. His eyelashes black spiders on his cheeks.
I shook my head.
She cupped my elbow, yanked me to my feet, and ushered me through anyway.
Only once the door swung shut and she stood in front of it to prevent me from slipping back inside did she remove her mask and study me.
She was younger than I’d expected. Brisk and all business, the fine lines of early aging caused by a high-stress job didn’t detract from her auburn, freckled prettiness.
“You must be his wife?” Her Swiss-German accent reminded me all over again of the foreignness of this place and the lostness of being alone.
I gulped. The time for labels and titles was obsolete.
I might not lawfully be his wife, but by God, I was in spirit. “I am.” Balling my hands, I did my best to keep my voice from wobbling. “Will he be okay?”
She pursed her lips, weighing her words before slipping into a doctor’s spiel. “We’ve achieved a successful resuscitation. The administration of lidocaine will help stabilise his rhythm. The aim is to keep his pulse steady and prevent another arrest.” She paused before asking gently, “I believe his heart was also restarted prior to arriving here, is that correct?”
I nodded.
She sighed again. “That could create complications down the line, but we won’t focus on those just yet. He’s alive, that’s all that matters.” She smiled. “Look, I’m aware you don’t want to leave him, and I’m sympathetic to the worry you must feel, but—”
“I’m not going anywhere.” Bracing myself for news I wouldn’t be strong enough to hear, I asked, “The complications...please tell me what they are. And anything else he’s suffering. I...I need to know.”
Pinning me with a brutal stare, she said, “Fine. His heart could have potential scarring from the prolonged use of high-voltage defibrillations. He might suffer a stroke if there are blood clots that have formed while his pulse has been intermittent. He might wake up in a few hours, or it might be a few weeks. This sort of trauma doesn’t come with a textbook, and his system might remain on shutdown for the foreseeable future.”
“He’ll be in a coma?”
“Possibly. It’s too soon to tell if he has brain damage from lack of oxygen. Even with the CPR administered, he may suffer neurological defects or lose cognitive ability. He might suffer amnesia and potential lifelong conditions that will require careful assistance.”
My mouth went dry.
The idea that he might not remember me.
That he could steal my heart and then not recognise me...
I moaned with pain.
I bit my lip until rusty blood filled my mouth.
Blinking back my blinding grief, I forced myself not to break down. “Anything else?” My voice cracked, but I held it together.
The doctor gave me a sympathetic wince. “He has a few cracked ribs—most likely from the CPR. A fractured tibia, shattered ankle, four broken metatarsals, not including the prior wound that’s already received medical treatment. And his other leg also has a contusion on his kneecap and a possible crack in his femur. Those are just injuries obvious enough from a physical exam. To ensure there are no more, I’ll need to arrange for X-rays.” She crossed her arms. “Can you enlighten me why his legs are in such poor condition?”
I dropped my gaze to the grey and white linoleum. “He fell out of a helicopter into the sea.” I waited for some inhale, some sign of shock. Instead, all I received was professionalism, and for that, I was grateful.
“Well, he seems to have survived that catastrophe, so I have hopes he’ll survive this.”
A pause filled in the gaps between us before she asked, “What was he doing prior to cardiac arrest?”
My cheeks pinked. “We’d just finished having sex.”
“Sex? In his condition?” Her eyebrows flew up. “His pain threshold must be immense.”
“I know it wasn’t advisable, but— Eh, he...” I lowered my voice, fighting awful tears. “He was determined, almost as if he knew he was going to die.”
“Why would he assume that?”
“Because he...” I chewed my cheek. I had no choice but to tell her about Tritec, but I wasn’t an expert. I had no idea the ingredients flowing in his veins or the possible fatal reactions to other drugs they might have to administer. “You’ll need to call his main doctor. Jim Campbell is aware of his history. He took a drug called Tritec...I’m unsure how it works, but it overloads the system and can cause stroke, heart attack, and coma.”
“And he willingly took such a drug, knowing the side effects?” Her voice pitched with concern.
“He didn’t have a choice.”
Because I was in danger, and he put me first.
Because he sacrificed himself for me.
Because he took away my choice to keep him healthy instead of dead.
I gasped as black, bleeding pain crashed through me. Tears spilled, and the urge to be sick and faint and scream attacked me all at once. I was itchy and snappy, lost and tired.
And I was afraid.
Absolutely terrified.
“Please...can you...will he be okay?”
Her gentle hand squeezed my shoulder. “You need to rest.”
“I need to be with him.”
“He’ll be okay. I won’t let him crash again.”
“You can do that? You can stop a man from dying?”
“I can try, and my track record is pretty good.” She let me go. “In all honesty, if he’s hung on this long, he has something to fight for. He’s in good physical condition. His heart is responding to treatment, but...”
When she didn’t continue, I flinched and asked, “But...?”
“Logically, we should wait seventy-two hours before attempting to set his legs and explore any further injuries. Administering anaesthesia so soon after cardiac failure can cause increased risk of perioperative mortality. However, his bones need setting, so we might cast and assess when he’s awake. If you are his family, you need to give us permission to continue with this course of care.”
“I give consent, but only if I can stay with him.”
“Does he have any other family?”
I flinched again.
Drake...
He killed him.
His parents?
He killed them too.
I shivered.
I was in love with a murderer.
But he was also my friend and future...my forever.
“No, just me.”
She nodded with a small smile. “In that case, stay by the wall, don’t be a nuisance, and we’ll do our best to piece your husband back together again.”
* * * * *
It took three days.
Three days for the doctors to be confident in Sully’s strengthening pulse to attempt surgery on his ankle. I wasn’t allowed to follow as they wheeled him into the theatre to remove shattered bones and implant steel rods to repair the damage falling into the sea had done.
Sully hadn’t woken in seventy-two hours.
And I hadn’t slept.
My eyes saw double. My tongue slurred. And I paced and paced until the shiny linoleum was dull from my borrowed sneakers.
They took Sully to surgery in the early afternoon and returned him to me by early evening.
His bed was wheeled back into his private room where I’d been given permission to sleep on a cot beside him. Mrs. Bixel, Sully’s housekeeper in the Geneva manor, had brought me a few extra overly big clothes and a toothbrush. The hospital delivered my meals, and the longer Sully refused to wake up, the more I suspected their leniency toward my presence wasn’t because of my obvious distress but because Sully’s notoriety had paved the way.
That night, while he remained still as a corpse and white as a poltergeist, I padded from our shared room. I needed to walk. To exhaust myself. To find some way to turn off my terror and sleep.
Every time my mind blanked out from exhaustion, I woke a second later, screaming. A repeat of Sully falling off the bed. Of Sully grabbing his chest. Of Sully dying.
I relived that awful, awful moment.
I drowned beneath fear and failure.
I’d fallen in love with him while he’d played the role of god and monster. He’d captured my heart and stolen my trust, making me believe a fantasy that he could never be hurt because he was untouchable.
Those lies had now unravelled, and he was just a man.
A man still dancing on the border of life and death.
A man who might never wake up...
A man who might not remember me.
My eyes ached from three days of sadness as I patrolled the empty corridors and nodded at the night nurses. I found evidence of Sully’s sway in the hospital thanks to the cardiology wing and the patronage sign naming it Sinclair’s Triage.
Was it serendipitous his donations had been used to benefit the cardio ward?
Or fate playing a sick joke?
The sudden panic that he’d died after being in surgery urged my legs into a run. I bolted back the way I’d come and shot into his room.
A nurse nodded and passed me by, a regular visitor with her hourly rounds.
The interruptions, the tests.
I was grateful but also possessive.
She closed the door behind her, and my eyes soared to the heart rate monitor. My ears begged for the steady beep, beep, beep of a healthy heart.
The faint beep.
The comforting vision of Sully still lying in bed. Both legs had some version of a cast. One leg was almost fully encased, leaving just his thigh where the harpoon had shredded his muscle. That had been tended to and rebandaged, and antibiotics once again administered intravenously. His ankle and foot stayed above the bedding in a low sling while a white bandage wrapped around his torso to protect his cracked ribs.
His bruises and cuts from Drake’s fun and games stood out starkly against his sickly pallor. His cheekbones were sharper. His five o’clock shadow grown thicker with a short beard.
Dragging the yellow comfy chair from the window—sunshine yellow for hope and patient morale, I supposed—I sat beside Sully and took his cold hand in mine.
“Can you hear me?” I murmured. “Can you feel me touch you?”
I squeezed his fingers.
No response.
His eyelids didn’t flutter. His lips didn’t part. The heart rate monitor continued its beep, beep, beep.
I sighed and rested my forehead on the back of his hand, careful not to bump the IV. “I miss you, Sully.” I swallowed back tears, sick
to death of crying. “I’m so afraid.” My mind raced with so many things to say.
Threats to force him to wake up and know me.
Pleas for him to stay alive, even if he never knew my name.
“I’m sorry for being so mad. I’m sorry for losing you. I’m sorry that you had to come save me. But please...you have to wake up. Give me the chance to save you back.” I kissed his knuckles. “Don’t you miss your islands? Don’t you want to go home? If you open your eyes, we can go. We can return to Pika and Skittles, and you can get better on the beach.”
I sucked in a shaky breath. “I don’t like it here, Sully. It’s cold, and it’s snowing, and the sun is all wrong.” I glanced out the window where silver snow gleamed beneath the moon. The hospital grounds were expansive. Large gardens for patients to rehab and quaint flowerbeds to bring joy, but the air was dense with population, the scents of society strong, and the overall hum of humans in a congested city put me on edge.
I missed Goddess Isles.
I missed Skittles and Pika.
I missed Jealousy and sand and sun and—
A shrill ring broke apart my self-pity.
I jerked upright, glaring at the cell phone Mrs. Bixel had brought from the manor. Sully’s phone that he’d left on the bedside table. A phone I’d tried to unlock but had no success.
It rang again, flashing with an international number.
Swiping it from the small cabinet, I accepted the call before the person hung up. “Hello?”
“Eh, hi...Jinx? I mean...Eleanor?”
I slouched over Sully’s arm, wedging my elbows into the bed. “Dr Campbell.” Tears sprang anew. Damn blasted unwanted fucking tears.
I sniffed, doing my best to stay in control.
“What’s happened? Where’s Sinclair?”
I glanced at the man in question. I studied his slack mouth and the oxygen tubes stuck beneath his nose. I tried to convince myself that he was just sleeping. That at any moment he’d wake, and the brilliance of his blue gaze would sparkle with seduction, and everything would be better.
But the vision of Sully opening his eyes didn’t feel possible. Not here. Not while we were stuck in this snowy city with prodding nurses. Not while we were alone with no friends or familiarity.
He needs to go home.
He needs his islands.
He needs peace.
Fifth a Fury (Goddess Isles, #5) Page 13
