Page 92 of Just This Once

But none of it compares to the relief that courses through me when I remember the doctor’s words.It will be a long recovery, but he’s a strong young man. He’ll be as good as new in a few months.

I believe the doctor, but I also can’t wait to see Dante. To prove it.

After making myself look as presentable as possible, I find a few vending machines at the other end of the hall and purchase a cup of coffee that might as well be dirt on my tongue, but it’s warm and is the first sustenance I’ve had since dinner yesterday.

So much has happened in the last forty-eight hours, it’s almost impossible to wrap my head around it. How fast life can change.

I text my kids and my brothers, as well as Marianne and Clara, who stayed over at my house last night after Griffin explained what happened. I let them all know I’m not leaving the hospital anytime soon. As expected, my brothers and best friends tell me not to worry about a thing. Then I call my assistant manager at The Nest to inform him that he’ll need to take over my duties for the next day or so, at the very least.

I return to the waiting room, where Dante’s parents are speaking to a nurse. My heart drops, an anxious gasp escaping my throat before I can stop it, stealing their attention.

Angela holds her hand out to me, and I immediately closethe distance between us to take it as she smiles brightly. “He’s awake.”

I sag. “Oh, thank god.”

“He’s still pretty out of it,” the nurse explains, “but if you’d like to come back one at a time, that’ll be fine.”

I look to Angela, expecting her to be the one to go first, but she nudges me. “Go ahead, sweetheart.”

“Really?”

Dante’s father echoes my sentiment. “Really, Angela?”

She whips her head to her husband. “Yes, Robert. I know my son will want hers to be the first face he sees. That’s what you want when you love someone—what’s best for them. But I’m sure that’s news to you.”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes before flicking his hand like he doesn’t care anyway. If this were any other time, I might high-five Angela for that one, but instead, I face the nurse. “I’m ready.”

Angela takes my coffee, but I warn her. “It’s not very good.”

“Like I know the difference at this point.”

And I laugh for what feels like the first time in one hundred years.

I follow the nurse through the doors and down the hall to a room with its door half open, the beep of monitors reaching my ears before I even step inside.

But when I do, I don’t see or hear anything except for Dante.

His head is faced away from me, but when I step up next to his bed, gripping the sides of the railing, he slowly turns, eyelids fluttering. Seconds pass until those dark eyes of his focus and another few until he speaks my favorite word in a shadow of a rasp. “Duchess.”

I fold in half, my forehead on the backs of my hands and sob. Great heaving sobs that send tremors down my spine andclog my lungs. Relief and gratefulness fill my veins, the cloud of terror and worry still hanging over my head. All I wanted was to see him again, but now that I have, it pains me to see him lying here, only half conscious and strapped up to more wires than I can count.

Something tugs on my scalp, a few strands of my hair being pulled, and I force myself to lift my head. Dante watches me under heavy lids, his lips parted like he wants to speak, but all he can get out is a grated, “Taryn.”

“I’m sorry.” I lean over to kiss his temple. “I’m so sorry.”

Even in his state,hecomfortsme, his hand moving like it’s not really attached to his body as he pats my arm. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay.” I back up, shaking my head, anger replacing everything else. “You’re here because of me! Because I pushed you away.”

Again, he starts to talk, but I cut him off.

“I was so scared I would never see you again. That I could never tell you I love you.”

His eyebrows slowly rise, and if I weren’t already out of breath from crying, I might have laughed at the slight spark of amusement on his features. The edge of playfulness in his slow whisper. “You…love…me?”

“Of course I love you!” I whack at the air since I can’t whack him. “You have been so annoyingly perfect, how can I not? You built me a shed to make my pottery and…” I sniffle, dabbing at the corners of my eyes with my knuckles. “I saw the curio you made. When did you do that?”

He closes his eyes and swallows, sluggishly lifting his shoulder. “I want…to put it…in the living room.”

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