Page 140 of Off-Ice Misconduct
“Good. C’mon, let’s get you back over there, okay?”
“O-okay.”
I get him settled in the chair. He takes Dad’s hand.
“There. Is it warm?”
“Yeah, it’s warm.”
“That’s a good sign,” I lie. Or I dunno, it could be. I’m not a doctor, and I don’t know shit, but he needs to calm down a little. If I have to keep Dad’s fiancé calm for him while he’s fighting for his life, it’s the very least I can do. Sometimes, a few little lies are necessary.
East’s breathing settles into a regular rhythm, but he shivers, teeth shattering. I pull the blanket around him.
“He needs a bit of sugar, or he’s going to go into shock,” a deep voice from the door says. “I brought this for you, but we’ll get another one later.”
Luke. Thankfuck, it’s Luke.
“Not sorry. I couldn’t wait out there. Be mad at me if you want,” Luke says, striding into the room.
Something inside me unclenches. Everything’s still awful, but it feels survivable. Luke’s here. I tried to push him away, and he burst through my bullshit defenses despite me.
“I’m not. I’m glad you came.” I take the bottle of hydration drink from him and pass it to East. “Take little sips, okay?”
I wave Luke closer. East barely notices the giant man, unable to rip his eyes from Dad long enough. Luke hesitates, but I say fuck it, yanking him to me. It’s only been a heartbeat, but myworld’s changed. I shouldn’t be pushing Luke away, ever. I need every minute with him, because minutes aren’t guaranteed.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, voice catching as he wraps his arms around me. My insides stop thrashing, and my ocean of turmoil crashes against him where it ends and dies.
“Sorry? I dunno, I liked the idea of being in the mafia. It would be a lot easier to keep eyes on you at all times.” He smirks.
I whack his big shoulder. “I was unhinged. Now, say you forgive me.”
“Nothing to forgive, baby. Push me away all you want; I’m not going anywhere.”
We sit on the bench by the window together, but I don’t leave his arms.
Now, firmly under the protection of my personal impenetrable fortress, I turn my attention back to East. Watching him like this, so devoted and wrecked, it tugs my focus just enough to make me forget, for a second, that there’s still a chance Dad might not make it through another night.
The quiet buzz of machines hums like a dreadful lullaby. None of us speaks. Not really. East stays curled in the bedside chair, barely blinking, his hand wrapped around Dad’s like it’s the only thing tethering him to the Earth. Luke sits next to me, one steady hand on my thigh, thumb brushing slow, mindless strokes that keep me from floating off into a panic.
Time’s weird in here. Feels like it’s stopped and sped up at the same time. Nurses come and go. Lights dim. I think someone brings coffee, but it goes untouched.
Eventually, my body gives out, and I doze off, head on Luke’s shoulder, lulled into sleep by the rise and fall of his breath. The last thing I hear before the darkness swallows me is East whispering something to Dad, too soft to catch the words, but not the ache behind them.
When I wake up, my mouth tastes like ass. Luke’s still out, which means his body’s reached the end of its endurance because he’s usually up at the drop of a pin. He can’t be comfortable, twisted as he is, and he’s gonna have the world’s worst kink in his neck, but I won’t be able to convince him to leave to get some sleep. Don’t want him to leave—having him here’s a must.
The doctor stops in early, and I find out Dad’s got a bruised lung, hence the intubation, and a compound femur fracture, which caused him to lose a lot of blood. He’s high risk for clotting, and a whole bunch of other post-surgery shit they’ve got to watch him for, like making sure he doesn’t end up with sepsis or fat embolism syndrome.
“We’re gonna take good care of him,” he promises. And it’s nice, but they said that about Mom too, and she still died, so it doesn’t give me much comfort.
By noon, I officially declare East a zombie. He won’t talk, and he won’t let go of Dad’s hand, except to run to the restroom to piss … and once to puke again. He must be puking up bile at this point.
“Will you be alright if I step out to grab us some essentials, princess?” Luke says into my ear, so East can’t hear, though it’s doubtful he would even if he shouted it. “I want to take you with me, but someone needs to stay with him.”
Yeah, East’s on the edge. He needs twenty-four-hour surveillance.
“I’ll be fine, but try not to be too long, okay?”
“I shouldn’t be more than an hour,” he promises. When he’s gone, I feel the loss of his big presence, how much it was silently holding me together.
