by Jo Raven
Only his skin is as pale as the sheets, and it makes me feel sick. Still can’t wrap my head about what happened. Can’t believe it’s Zane they’re keeping in this tiny hospital room. Monitoring him. Making sure he doesn’t stop breathing, or choke on his own vomit. He has a catheter, I know, and the oxygen mask is always strapped on his face. A needle is strapped to his hand, pumping him full of antibiotics, fluids and God knows what else.
I sit by his side, holding his hand in mine, the blue curtains drawn around us to give a semblance of privacy.
“Wake up,” I whisper. “Come on, Zane. You’ve rested enough. Wake up already.”
Doctors say he probably will. But they can’t be sure, and I can’t take the possibility of him not waking. Not when I know for sure. When I know… I can’t live without him.
The doctors say to keep talking to him and let them know if he shows any sign of reacting. So I talk, and talk, and hope.
The Brotherhood has been in and out of this room so often I’m pretty sure the hospital is thinking of hiring a bodyguard to keep everyone out. They sneak in way past visiting hours and sit with Zane. Talk to him. Curse him. Command him to wake up.
It’s a good thing most of the other beds in this room are empty, or this wouldn’t work.
The girls are more touchy-feely. Erin strokes Zane’s cheek as she talks to him. Tessa puts her hand on top of his. Audrey puts both hands on his chest over the covers. Can he feel it? Can he hear it?
Then there’s the Damage Boyz—the boys Zane took in and who now work at Damage Control—Micah, Jesse, Seth, Shane and Ocean. They are quieter than the Brotherhood, not as comfortable with each other yet, but they sit with Zane, too, tell him about their day, and stare at him, expecting him to answer.
It’s heartbreaking. They look up to him, depend on him to guide them. I never realized how much responsibility he’s taken on his shoulders, how many lives he changed for the better.
They leave, and I return to my usual seat by his side. Four days, and it’s already a routine, a sad one. I haven’t slept in these four days. I can’t. The nurses are kind, and let me stay by his side.
Not sure it’s helping.
I brush my hand up his bare, muscled arm, over the tattoos and scars, up his neck to his stubbled jaw. His pulse beats strong there, and I let my fingers linger. Then I caress his cheek, his eyelashes, his brows, trail my hand down to his soft mouth, his strong chin.
My lips tremble. “It’s me, Dakota.” My voice is hushed, and I force myself to speak up, in case he can hear me. “I’m here, with you. Open your eyes to see me. Come on.”
I keep talking until my throat is so dry I can do no more than croak, and then I lean back in my chair and grab my drawing pad. Another new routine. Pencil in hand, lip pulled between my teeth, I draw him. I draw his beautiful face, his shoulders… Can’t see more of him, but I remember. I know what he looks like underneath the covers.
Then I draw dragons around him and spiders. Good luck charms. Protectors. I draw deathmoths with their skull designs, to counter death. I use magic.
“I’d dance naked in front of a bonfire and paint my breasts red if that would help. Hell, I’d open my veins and pour out my blood for you. I’d give my right arm for you to wake up and be all right. Can you hear me?”
Please let it work.
But the hours pass, and the time on my cell phone tells me the day is gone. He doesn’t wake up, and I can’t help fearing maybe he doesn’t want to.
I close my drawing pad and settle in for another night.
“I’d give you anything,” I say as I lean forward on the bed, propping my chin on my folded arms to gaze at his still face. I’d give up all control to you. I’d trust you in anything you want to do with me. I love you as you are. Just come back.”
Come back to me.
I’m sitting at the hospital cafeteria, my hands wrapped around a mug of tea long gone cold, my head bowed.
So tired. So empty. My heart can’t stop racing. My thoughts won’t stop spinning in useless circles.
Zane. They always return to him.
I sip at my cold tea, fighting the burning behind my brow. Just when I think I’m all out of tears, more keep coming.
Someone pulls a chair and sits across from me. Through the blurriness, I see Asher. His mouth is a thin line, and his brows are tightly knit together.
“He’s been calling out your name,” he says and just sits there, after dropping this bomb on me.
My heart bangs in my chest as I shoot to my feet. My legs tremble. “He’s awake?”
“Maybe. Not really. Not yet.” He rubs a hand over his face, his eyes dim with fatigue and worry. “I don’t know.”
I leave without another word to navigate through the maze of corridors and staircases. I’ve memorized the way to the intensive care unit, or I’d wander in here, forever lost.
Rafe is coming out of Zane’s room as I approach, and he doesn’t seem to see me until he almost plows into me.
“Dakota.” His voice is gruff.
“Is he awake?” I try to brush by, but he grabs my arm, stopping me. “I have to see him.”
“The doctors are inside with him.”
“Dammit, is he awake, Rafe? That’s all I want to know.”
He shrugs. “Not sure. He’s mumbling things. That’s a good sign, right?”
Oh God, yes, it is.
I enter the room not knowing what to expect. What I don’t expect is to find Zane looking the same—lying there, still, silent, looking like he’s asleep.
The doctors are standing by his bed, talking in hushed voices. Their gazes flick over to me, then back to their papers, and they finally nod and say the best thing I’ve heard all week. Hell, all year. “He’s waking up.”
I stumble to a chair and drop in it, my legs too weak to hold me. “Oh, thank God.”
“Is he awake now?” Ash asks from the door, and I see Rafe and the others behind him.
“He’s asleep.” The doctor looks down at Zane. “It will take him a few days to recover completely. But we’re very pleased with his progress. Now you must be patient and give him time to get back on his feet.”
I’m vaguely aware of thin arms coming around me and Audrey telling me it’s going to be okay. Asher is standing behind her, a hand on her shoulder. Erin is hugging Tyler, tears tracking down her cheeks. Dylan is leaning on the doorframe, arms folded over his chest, a grin splitting his face, and Tessa for once isn’t looking at him but at me. She winks and smiles, even though her eyes are too bright.
“You need to get out, please,” the doctors say, and a nurse bustles in to usher us out.
“I’m staying,” I whisper, and when the nurse tries to tell me to go, I say more loudly, “I’m staying.”
One by one everyone drifts out, and the nurse talks to the doctors for a few moments, shooting me annoyed looks.
I don’t care. Not even when she comes back to me and says softly, “He’ll be all right now, girl. You need to rest, too.”
“I want to stay.” I plead with my eyes for her to understand. I can’t leave him alone again, not yet, not now.
“All right.” She sighs and shrugs. “I’ll be in the nurses’ room at the end of the corridor if you need anything.”
She draws the curtains closed and leaves. The door closes, and it’s just me and him again. I walk to the bed and take my usual seat, pull out my drawing pad and pencil, and dash a hand over my face, because my cheeks are wet.
“I’m here,” I say. “It’s me, Dakota, and I’ll be right here until you open your eyes and see me.”
“How is everyone?” I ask, cradling Mom’s cell between my cheek and shoulder as I open the door and step outside. Still haven’t had time to buy a new one. I can’t leave Zane alone.
It’s late afternoon, and the sky is full of colors. I breathe in the fresh air and close my eyes.
“Fine,” Dad mutters. “As well as they can be. When will you be coming, Koty? Aunt Carolina keeps as
king for you, and your mom… she’d like you by her side.”
“I know. You think I don’t know? But I can’t. Not yet.”
“Why? You said a friend of yours was hurt?”
“Yeah.” I swallow hard, a lump in my throat.
“Oh, honey…” He’s silent for a moment, and that’s good, because I need the time to pull myself together.
“He’s getting better.”
“Is he your boyfriend?”
I shake my head, although he can’t see it. Don’t know what Zane and I are. Doesn’t matter. “Got to go now, Dad.”
“Okay, Koty. Let me know if you need anything.”
“Will do.”
I disconnect the call and draw in breath after breath. Zane is mostly asleep, but the few times he’s been awake, he doesn’t seem to see me. It’s scaring me. The doctors aren’t sure what’s wrong.
“Dakota!” The male voice sounds urgent, and I turn on my heel to see Rafe running toward me.
Shit. “What’s going on? Did something happen?” My heart booms.
“No. He’s okay. He’s just…” Rafe bends over panting. “He asked about you.”
“He did?” Hope flares, burning bright. “Is he fully awake now? I’m going to—”
“Dakota, wait.” He tucks his blond hair behind an ear as he straightens. “He’s a bit confused.”
“What do you mean?”
“He thinks…” Rafe frowns. “He thinks you’re dying.”
“What?” I gape at him.
“Are you sick?”
“Sick?”
“He said… He said you have cancer.”
I shake my head, speechless. “I don’t have cancer.”
Rafe looks relieved. “Told you, he’s confused. Doctor said he might be after waking up, and dehydration can do funny things to your head.”
“Maybe he’s mixing me up with his sister.”
“Maybe.” Rafe kicks at a stone. “Dammit.” He sighs. “Go see him before he falls asleep again. I swear I’ve never seen anyone sleep so much in my life.”
I leave him to his musings and rush inside. As I take the by now familiar route to Zane’s room, I consider Rafe’s words. The doctors warned us Zane would be doing a lot of sleeping the first week. Coming out of a coma isn’t easy. I know that. I know it better than anyone. I’ve been there, and I know not everyone comes out of it the same as before.
The thought Zane might not recover completely hurts like a stab wound.
Stop thinking like that. Zane will be okay. He’s strong. God… he has to be okay.
My steps echo as I turn a corner and see his door. I turn the handle and enter his room, then stop to catch my breath. It catches in my throat.
Zane is alone, but that’s not what shocks me.
He’s sitting, his back propped on a mound of pillows, his hands in his lap. He’s wearing a green hospital gown that leaves his arms bare. The oxygen mask is gone. And he’s staring straight ahead, his gaze not even flicking when I walk toward him.
“Zane.” I sit on the bed, and reach for his hand. When I curl my fingers around his, they’re cold and still. “Rafe says you asked for me.” Sort of. “It’s me, Dakota. I’m here.”
His lips move. His brows pinch together. “Dakota,” he whispers, and I almost fall off the bed.
“Yes.” My voice cracks. Hell, my heart almost cracks with joy. “Yes, it’s me.”
His lids twitch, and he lets out a long breath. “Can’t find her. Have to find her.”
“I’m here. Right here.”
“She’s dying. Have to find her—”
“I’m not dying.” What the hell is going on? I squeeze his hand. “I’m not, Zane. I’m fine.”
“She’s dying.” It’s eerie, hearing his scratchy voice repeating these strange, ominous things. “Everyone’s fucking dying.”
“Well, I’m not.” My chest is too tight to breathe. “Look at me, Zane.”
“It’s cancer. Not looking good. Must tell her I know, and it doesn’t matter. Fuck, it doesn’t matter. I’m not leaving her. I’m staying. I’m—”
“Zane!” I grab his face in both my hands and turn it toward me. “I said I’m not dying. I’m not sick. Can you hear me?”
He blinks and frowns. “She can’t die.” His dark eyes shimmer with the sudden sheen of tears. “I love her.”
My heart flips over in my chest. God, he really thinks I’m dying, and… and he loves me?
“I’m not sick,” I say, my voice choked. “Why do you think that I…?”
“I got the message,” he whispers, his frown deepening.
What message? There must be something I can do to snap him out of this daze. I’ve drawn his image, wept for him, talked to him, shaken him, and nothing seems to work.
It’s time for more drastic measures. Crazy measures. I mean, I don’t believe in magic, not really… But I believe in Zane, and that’s why I lean forward, cup his face in my hands and kiss him.
Chapter Fifteen
Zane
I’m lost inside a dream. It’s dark—a dark gray mist where things and faces move, appearing and disappearing. Sometimes my eyes are open, sometimes they’re closed. Sometimes I think I talk, but maybe I’m just thinking. Sometimes I hear words, but they don’t make a lick of sense. The sounds come from a distance, distorted and twisted.
Emma is gone. Dakota is leaving, and I need to find her. That’s all I know. All that matters.
I look for her, but I can’t locate her. I call for her, but I can’t see her. So I step back into the dark, let it close over me.
Except this time I’m not allowed to sink again. Small hands press on my cold face, shocking me with their warmth.
“I’m not dying,” a voice says, warm like the hands, a familiar voice.
Her voice.
You are, I think, or say, not sure which. I know you are. I got the message. You’re dying. You’re leaving me, too, and I don’t know how to keep you with me. I don’t believe in miracles.
Her touch feels so good, so fucking good that my breath catches in my throat. Her scent rises around me, familiar, delicious, fascinating. I want to touch her, but all I manage to do is curl my fingers on the covers, snagging them on the thin cloth.
Then softness presses on my mouth, warmth spreads through my lips. She tastes of caramel and salt—blood and tears. Sugar and bitter almonds. She tastes of all the hope I’ve ever held inside me, and I want to believe it.
My hands curl and uncurl. They shift on the covers.
She breaks the kiss and draws back. “Zane.”
I blink. The gray parts, thins. I can see her face, her wide blue eyes. The mist lifts, and reality rushes back. “Dakota.”
She nods and smiles. She has tears in her eyes. “Hey.”
Seeing her hurts. It hurts like a bitch, because I know she’s dying, but it also hurts in a good way, because I missed her. I can’t stop leaning toward her, needing her, wanting to be with her forever.
“What are you doing here?” I rasp, my throat like sandpaper. I glance around, at the drawn curtains and the machines. “You hate hospitals.”
She laughs, the sound turning into a sob. “You’re here. Of course I came.”
I let out a long breath. “I know you’re sick,” I say and my chest feels so tight I think my ribs might break. “I don’t care. I wanna be with you. If you want me to.” I close my eyes. This is like chewing nails.
“Zane. What are you talking about?”
Why is she denying it, making it harder for me? “I got the message,” I force the words out. “I know.”
“What message are you talking about?” Her voice breaks. “I’m not sick, Zane. I’m not dying. What do I have to say to get it through to you?”
My eyes snap open. “Voicemail. On my cell phone. This man… he said the results were in, that you…” My throat is so damn dry it aches with each word. “That you have cancer. I just…”
I just lost it for a while. Went kind o
f mad. But I can do this. For you.
“Oh my God.” Her eyes go round, and her hand tightens around my arm, her fingertips digging into my flesh. I welcome the tiny pinprick of pain. “Zane, that was my dad.”
Here it comes, the confession. Her dad called me to let me know because she wouldn’t tell me herself.
“I gave him your number because my phone has been acting up,” she goes on. “Oh God, now I understand.”
“Okay.” I’m so tired. I don’t understand anything anymore. “Why didn’t you tell me you were sick?”
“Zane.” She’s shaking me. “It’s not me who’s dying. It’s my aunt. Aunt Carolina.”
Her words go through me like bullets, and I jerk. What?
“My mom’s sister. She has cancer. She’s in hospital. She’s the one who’s sick, not me. It’s not me, Zane.”
“Not you?”
“Not me. Not me at all.” She puts her arms around my neck and gathers me close. I let her, limp and blinking, dazed. “I’m fine. I promise.”
“You’re fine.” I have to repeat the words until they sink in. Could it be true? “You’re not sick.”
“I’m not leaving you. Not going anywhere,” she whispers against my neck, her weight sweet against my chest. She curls up next to me. “I love you, Zane Madden.”
She does?
Warmth spills in my chest, flowing into my limbs. My heart beats in my throat, in my wrists, everywhere, faster and faster.
It takes me a while, but I finally manage to reach up and put my arms around her, holding her close. I feel like I’m about to shatter and yet stronger than ever before. I feel grounded and yet light as if I’m floating.
I feel hope for the first time.
I’ll be okay. The doctors say there doesn’t seem to be any damage to my brain or organs, something they were afraid might happen. Yeah, so my body’s still messed up, heavy and cold, and my pulse is still a bit too fast—but I’m much better.
That was a close call, the doctors say, prodding and talking, until I say I understand and that it won’t happen again.
And I mean it. No more drinking for me.
