“Shit.”
“Exactly.”
Silence fell between them. Or as much silence as their preternatural hearing would permit in a building this size packed with so many voices.
“I still think you’d be a fool not to tell her.” Eliana’s voice carried such sadness that he studied her. “I mean… don’t you get lonely?”
When her brown eyes met his, he swallowed hard at the stark pain he read in them.
He knew that pain, that loneliness well. One of the other reasons Seth insisted all Immortal Guardians have mortal Seconds who lived with them was to try to ease the loneliness that so often prevailed in their long lives.
Though it helped, it wasn’t the same.
“Yeah, I do,” he admitted.
She shifted her focus to Kayla’s still form. “I think Tomasso got it right. Though he’s destined to lose Cassandra in the end, they’ve had over a hundred years of love and affection and happiness together. I know losing her will tear his fucking heart out… but he’ll at least have the memory of those years together to keep him going.” Her throat worked in a swallow. “I would give anything for that.”
Regret filled him. Eliana was always so full of energy and had such a friendly, buoyant personality, often laughing and teasing, that he had never suspected her smiles might hide a deep loneliness and unhappiness.
He opened his mouth to say… he wasn’t sure what. What could he say?
The doors swung open, and a pretty Latina woman wearing scrubs entered. Her steps slowed as she approached them uncertainly.
Nick and Eliana shared a look. Crap.
Dr. Ranz rejoined them. “It’s okay. Isabel is going to take Kayla to another room where Dr. Kim will put a cast on her arm for me. Both moonlight for the network. I’ll stick with you until we reach Dr. Kim, then I need to catch up with Seth and lend him a hand.”
Nick relaxed.
Dr. Ranz returned to his cell phone conversation.
Isabel’s eyes widened as she approached them. “Are you Immortal Guardians?” she whispered.
He and Eliana shared another look, then nodded.
She smiled. “You’re the first ones I’ve met in person. Thank you so much for everything you do.”
Nick offered her a slight bow. “We couldn’t do it without the support of generous people like you and Dr. Ranz. Thank you for aiding us.”
She nodded to Kayla. “Is she your Second?”
“No. But she’s special to me.”
Her smile softened. “Don’t worry. We’ll take good care of her.”
“Thank you.”
Isabel drew on a pair of blue gloves, then held out a hand. “Let me take that for you.”
Nick glanced down and realized he was still holding the jagged piece of metal he’d yanked out of Kayla’s chest. “Oh. Of course.”
His hands finally stopped shaking as the panic that had flooded his body with adrenaline subsided. Kayla was going to be okay. But damn, it had been close. What if she’d died en route to the hospital? What if she’d been killed instantly in the crash?
Eliana was right. What the hell was he doing? Keeping his distance so he wouldn’t get hurt? Avoiding possible rejection? Not embarking upon a relationship with Kayla so he wouldn’t suffer in the end when she grew old and died?
She could’ve died today and he would’ve felt the same damn grief and emptiness inside without any of those precious memories Eliana had mentioned.
He fished Kayla’s arm out from under the sheet and clasped her hand. And he refused to relinquish it when Isabel and Dr. Ranz rolled her out of the OR, down a hallway, and into an elevator that was thankfully empty.
The hallway into which they disembarked wasn’t. There were a few people—both medical personnel and patients or relatives of patients—moving about.
“It’s just a few doors down,” Dr. Ranz murmured and led the way.
“Nicolas?” a male called.
Nick glanced over his shoulder.
An elderly man had just turned the corner behind them. His short white hair was thin enough to reveal the copious age spots that decorated his scalp. His body—almost skeletal beneath a loose suit that nevertheless bespoke wealth—wavered as he clutched his cane in a white-knuckled grip and leaned heavily upon it.
Nick didn’t recognize him and turned away, his mind on Kayla. The man must be talking to someone else. Sheer habit had made him turn at the name.
Two steps later, a hand clutched his arm. “Nick?”
He frowned and glanced down at the old man. There was something familiar about him, but he couldn’t recall where or when they had met. Was he one of Oliver’s relatives? Or a former network employee perhaps?
Dr. Ranz, Isabel, and Eliana slowed.
Nick reluctantly released Kayla’s hand and motioned for them to continue. “Go on. I’ll be along shortly.”
They did as ordered, Eliana casting the old man a curious look.
Nick turned back to him. “Can I help you?”
“It is you, isn’t it?” the old man said, staring up at him in astonishment.
“I think you may have mistaken me for someone el—”
“It’s me, Richard Roubal.”
Richard Roubal? Where had he heard that name?
Oh shit. Nick carefully kept his expression a blank, polite mask. Nick had met him back when Richard was a young man. An officer in the military, Roubal had been one of the thousands of “advisors” the US sent to Vietnam before the “police action” officially began. Vampires tended to flock to areas of conflict and had been wreaking their own special kind of havoc in the small Asian country, so Nick had been reassigned to aid the Immortal Guardians already stationed there.
He feigned ignorance. “I’m sorry. Do I know you?”
“Yes,” the man retorted. “I just look a hell of a lot older than I did when you knew me in Vietnam.”
“Vietnam?” Nick furrowed his brow in a practiced expression of confusion.
A man two or three decades younger than Roubal swung around the corner and approached them. “Sorry, Dad.” He took in the anger beginning to creep into Roubal’s features, then frowned up at Nick. “Is there a problem here?”
Nick shook his head. “I believe he’s mistaken me for someone else.”
“Bullshit,” Roubal blustered. “It’s you. I know it.”
Nick sent the son a disconcerted look. “He seems to have mistaken me for someone he knew in Vietnam.”
“Oh.” The son winced. “Sorry about that. It’s the dementia. Or maybe the cancer. I don’t know which. But the doctor said both the cancer and the treatment could increase his confusion.”
“I’m not confused,” Roubal snapped. “This is Nicolas Belanger. I knew him in Vietnam.”
Irritation flickered on the son’s face. “Dad, that was like sixty years ago. There’s no way this is the same man.”
Nick addressed the son. “Nicolas Belanger was my paternal grandfather’s name. He passed away when I was a boy, but I remember my dad saying he spent some time in Vietnam during the conflict.”
The son nodded. “That must be what it is. You must resemble him.”
“My grandmother always said I did.”