Page 61 of Make You Mine

“Babe…” I croak, forcing the word out like it weighs a hundred pounds. My eyes meet his. I hold his gaze. “Go home. Please. I’ll… I’ll be here.”

Each syllable feels like lifting concrete. I’m dragging each one just to make them reach my mouth. My tongue feels thick. My thoughts are garbled by static. But I push the words through anyway, because something in me screams to keep trying.

That it’s very important I communicate this to him. Even if I’m not yet sure why.

He studies my face like he’s trying to decode the hidden message in what I’m not saying. But he hears the insistence in my voice. He sees the flicker in my dark eyes and knows to trust me.

After a beat, he nods slowly.

“Alright. I’ll head home. Grab a shower. Check on the kids. Maybe sneak in an hour or two of shuteye if they let me.” He leans in and kisses my forehead. “I’ll bring them back to see you later. You just rest, yeah?”

I nod again.

He rises from the chair and adjusts the blanket over me like he’s afraid I’ll come undone the moment he turns his back.

“Press that button for the nurses the second you feel off. Don’t wait. Not for anything.”

“I won’t,” I murmur.

He looks at me a moment longer, and then he’s gone, his footsteps padding against the tile, the door easing shut behind him.

I lay my head back against the hospital pillow and close my eyes, urging the haze in my mind to clear out and for my thoughts to form more coherently.

The alone time actually helps. The peace and quiet to just rest and…think.

It’s another half hour before Mollie returns with the tray of light lunch that she promised.

“Lunch delivery,” she says with a wink. “Don’t get too excited, my dear, it’s not five-star dining.”

She sets the tray down on the bedside table and adjusts it with care before wheeling it gently toward me. The scent of warm, salty broth drifts up, mingling with the faint toastiness of dry bread. There’s a little paper cup of apple juice and a plastic spoon, all tucked in neatly on a tray patterned with cartoon flowers.

“Managed to send your husband off, finally,” Mollie adds, folding her arms with a soft chuckle. “He looked absolutely knackered. Wouldn’t leave your side all night, bless him.”

My throat aches as I grind out a few words. “Thank you. He… he takes good care of me.”

Mollie gives a kind smile. “That much is obvious. Couldn’t stop fretting over you. If I had a pound for every time he asked how you were doing, I’d be off on holiday.”

Before I can muster the energy to respond, the door creaks again and another nurse steps in. She’s a round-faced redhead with a clipboard in one hand and a gossipy gleam in her eyes, like she’s bursting at the seams to chitchat.

“Just here to swap the paperwork,” she says to Mollie, then adds with a grin. “Heard you had a run-in with one of the Hughes sisters yesterday.”

Mollie raises a dark brow, letting out a short laugh. “That I did.”

“Was it Chelsea or Claire?”

“Funny that,” Mollie replies, glancing over at me briefly as she lowers her voice a notch. “I thought it was Claire at first, but she said she was Chelsea. They’ve always looked alike and timehaspassed, so I didn’t press her on it.”

The redhead—Sarah, judging by her ID badge—hums. “You heard some of the rumors about them? Still, who knows what’s true? They’ve always been a bit odd.”

With a shrug, she slips out of the room as quickly as she came, taking the chart with her.

Mollie pats my hand gently. “You ring that buzzer if you need anything else, alright? I’ll be on the floor another few hours.”

She turns and starts to head for the door.

I stare after her, my breath catching on its way out. I’m so thrown by the sidebar conversation I just heard that it takes another second to grasp what’s been said.

“Sorry…” I choke out. “Did… did you say… Chelsea Hughes?”

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