Page 60 of Make You Mine

Declan stirs, his head snapping up. The moment he sees my eyes open, he darts over to my side and scoops my hand up in his.

“Christ, love,” he breathes, kissing the back of my hand. “You’re awake.”

It takes him another few seconds to fully process this. More waves of relief crash over him before he bends forward and presses his lips to mine.

“You scared the bloody life out of me. Do you need anything? Water? Another blanket? Just say the word and I’ll get it.”

I try to speak, but it takes a few attempts. My throat burns and my mouth feels like it’s been lined with chalk.

The weirdest part is that speech feels unnatural, like my brain refuses to cooperate with putting the words together like it usually would so seamlessly. Probably a side effect of my collapse.

With some effort, I’m able to force three simple, hoarse words out.

“I love you.”

Declan loses any last composure he had left, kissing me all over—my forehead, my lips, my cheeks. He kisses me as if in reassurance, like some sort of apology.

“I love you too. You have no bloody idea how much,” he murmurs, brushing my hair back from my face. “Let’s get the nurse in, yeah? She needs to take a look at you.”

He fumbles for the call button and presses it without looking away from me, his thumb still gently stroking the back of my hand.

A nurse appears in the doorway not long after, a blonde in blue scrubs with a clipboard tucked under one arm and a badge ID that reads Mollie.

“Well,” she says, stepping closer. “It’s good to see you back with us, Amerie. You gave us quite the scare. Especially your husband. He’s hardly left your side since you’ve come in.”

I blink at her, still trying to piece together everything that’s happened and why. It’d be easier if I didn’t feel like my brain were steeped in fog.

“Your glucose levels have been improving steadily,” she continues, checking the IV and the monitor as she speaks. “That’s encouraging. You may still feel disoriented, possibly nauseous or foggy. Your body’s adjusting. Your brain went without glucose for quite an alarming period, which explains why you collapsed the way you did. But your readings look better now, which is a very good sign.”

She looks at me kindly, then over at Declan. She mentions bringing in a light lunch of chicken broth and toast, stating that it should help with how weak and disoriented I feel.

“And now that you’re awake, maybe your husband’ll finally go home for a bit of rest. We’ve promised we’ll keep a good eye on you while he’s gone.”

The nurse leaves with a rustle of scrubs and a gentle promise to check in later, the door clicking softly behind her. Silence falls over the room except for the monitors and their steady beeps and pulses.

Declan stays seated beside the bed, his hand still wrapped around mine, thumb stroking absently across my knuckles like he’s not even aware he’s doing it. I can feel the roughness of his skin, the quiet tension still wound tight in his fingers despite the nurse’s reassurance. His other hand smooths back a loose curl from my forehead, gentle but hesitant, like he’s afraid I might slip away again if he presses too hard.

I swallow with difficulty. The ache in my throat intensifies, raw and irritated from hours of forced stillness. But I manage a breath, then another, and push the word out through the gravel of my voice.

“The kids?”

It’s barely audible, another rasp that feels so difficult it’s exhausting.

His brows furrows and he leans in until he understands what I’m asking.

“They’re all right,” he murmurs. “Chelsea brought them by last night, just for a bit. You were still out cold, but Willow stuck by your side. It was getting late, so I asked her to take them back home for the night.”

I nod, though the movement makes my temples throb. He notices and strokes my hand more deliberately, like he’s trying to calm both of us.

“I couldn’t leave you, love. I stayed here. Couldn’t bear the thought of not being by your side.”

Anxiety unspools in my gut. I don’t know the source yet, but it sets me on edge as my mind works through the fog.

I gather my strength and squeeze his hand, willing my voice to obey me.

“Go home,” I murmur.

He blinks. “Amerie, I’m not?—”

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