“Um, would you mind leavin’ while I cross to the bathroom?” I didn’t want to get up with my hospital gown flapping open like a backwards flasher.
“Okay, but don’t lock the door. And I know it goes without saying not to wash your hair. Also, don’t stand up in the shower.” The look Pete gave me was medical-grade stern. “You can’t afford another fall right now. And don’t take more than ten minutes . . . or I’m coming in after you.”
“Got it,” I said, kinda wanting to give him a sardonic salute. But honestly, I didn’t have the energy to spare.
Approximately ten minutes later, I’d sufficiently showered and brushed my teeth and was back in bed. My eyelids were beginning to droop when Pete showed up to crown my head with a frozen bag of peas.
“You’re quite the Boy Scout, Cadet Davenport,” I murmured, losing the battle with consciousness.
He chuckled. “Comes with the territory.”
“Seriously.” I gazed up at him, all the emotions in my heart shining through now that my defenses were down (not to mention my inhibitions due to the two magic pills I’d just swallowed). “Thanks . . . for everything.”
“You’re seriously welcome.” He gave me a strange smile before drifting to the window to peer out.
“Not much of a view, I’m afraid,” I said around a yawn. “Why I hung the pictures on the wall . . . dream about Paris . . .”
He clicked off the lamp and leaned over to brush his hand over my hair. “See you soon . . .” I thought I heard him say before I was out like a light.
Little boy soldiers in plumed hats were lined up in arrow-straight rows. Raising their swords in a Hitler-like salute to a navy and gold flag with a roaring lion head on it. Everything was pristine and sparkling under the sun. Even the horses were decked out with gold buckles and ribbons, their tails swaying in the wind the only movement. The pageantry of the moment seemed out of place with the flag, which slowly dripped blood—from the lion’s open mouth. Nobody seemed bothered by this except me. I was desperately searching a sea of blank faces for Andrew. Couldn’t find him anywhere.
I noticed a boy up front. Smaller than the rest. Something about the block shape of his head looked familiar to me. I could see he was the only one with real features on his face. Fighting my way through lines of robotic boys, I frantically ran to him and grabbed his shoulder. When he turned around, it wasn’t Andrew . . . it was Mikey.
I cried out, and a low voice soothed me. Sure hands stroked my arm in rhythmic caresses that melted my fear. Must be dreaming. This dream is better. I drifted off again.
I was awoken, not by the nerve-jangling sound of the alarm going off, but by the same soothing voice from my dreams murmuring words of encouragement. I was at the bottom of a deep well. With a wall of concrete pressed against my chest. I couldn’t push it off. It was ten times—a hundred times—heavier than me. I wanted to cry for help but felt like it would be muffled and not worth the effort.
Warm hands stroked my back. Strong, capable hands helping me. Calmer now, I was still in deep though not alone. “Kate, you need to open your eyes for me,” that same velvet voice exhorted me.
I felt like I might could do it. With his help. A dim light went on. A pinprick really, from the bottom of the hole, but it was something to focus on besides the darkness. I wasn’t so lost now.
“Kate, wake up.” Ow. A slight stinging sensation on my face. “Kate!” The voice was no longer velvet but insistent now. I groaned. Coming up was hard work. I needed a minute. “Open your eyes.” The voice thought I was being lazy. I would try harder. As I drifted up to the surface, little flickers of involuntary reflexes were going on.
“Hmmm.” There. That was good. I needed praise for that.
“Come on, honey . . . open your eyes.”
Awareness slowly settled in. The pain helped, a reminder. The flickers I could control with some regularity now—my fingers, then my eyelids. At last, I pried my eyes open to see bottomless black pools staring down on me. Relieved.
“Welcome back . . . again,” Pete said.
I felt warm just from his smile. Now that I saw him sitting here, on my bed, I was sure I was out cold again. Or in a drug-induced hallucination. No matter. I wanted to fall back to the darkness and bring him with me. My eyes drifted closed again.
“Oh, no you don’t!” He patted my face again.
How could he do that to me? He was a gentleman—nothing gentle about that. I halfway tried to cover my face with my hand, but it was too much effort. “Stop,” I pleaded.
“I’ll stop if you open your eyes again.”
“Deal.” I drew in a deep, drugged-up breath and willed my eyes open.
Flashy teeth greeted me in the darkness. “Remind me to only give you one of those pills next time.”
I gave him a loose, groggy smile. Now that I was awake, I wanted to talk all night. Settled for staring at the moment.
Pete blew out some air. “Whew—you had me worried there for a minute, Katie-Kat.”
My smile gained momentum. I liked the way my nickname sounded coming from his mouth. Oh God! That mouth. I focused solely on it. Sexiest mouth I’d ever seen. My hand fluttered up, but Pete caught it midair, shaking it a little, as though a reprimand. This wounded me more than my wound.
“Thirsty?” He held up a dark bottle with one of those bendy straws.
I took a couple of sips, surprising myself by not dribbling it down the front of my shirt. During this exchange, I had a chance to inhale him and almost swooned in ecstasy. If he wanted to wake me up, he should’ve just leaned over—woulda worked better than smelling salts in bringing me round. That scent could raise me from the dead.
“What’s that smile for?” His eyes warm and teasing.
I shrugged a shoulder. “You smell nice.” I finally spoke, and it was to say the biggest understatement of the year. Maybe second only to: you look nice.
“She speaks!” Pete broke into a grin. “And even better—to give me a compliment.”
I huffed out an embarrassed chuckle. “What are you doin’ here?” I mumbled, thick tongued. “If my father catches you in here, he might send you packin’ back to California with his shotgun pointed at your back.”
Those lips I was staring at quirked up. “Your father is passed out on his recliner, and won’t be getting up too much before . . . oh, say noonish tomorrow.”
I raised brows at this bit of news, but made no comment.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
I took a breath, assessing. Ecstatic he was here, for one. Kept that bit of intel to myself. “A little sore and a lot of achy,” I answered.
“Imagine how you’d feel without the meds.”
“Don’t wanna.” I sat up and winced from the effort of moving my head. “When did you get here?”
“I never really left,” he revealed. “Just sat on the couch watching sports with your father until he passed out. Then came in here.”
“Oh.” I was sure there was more to the story; better not to ask questions. “How long have I been out?”
“About three hours. It was time to see if you could wake up. How’s your stomach?”
“Holdin’ steady,” I said, giving it a little reward pat.