Page 104 of Waging War
“You know the room number, right?” she asks.
I nod, amazed by the lack of jealously I feel. Every part of her is the complete opposite of me, yet I’ve never felt more sure of who I am than I do right in this very moment.
“Take care, Hazel.” Sam steps around Jackie, who waves at her before following me toward the elevator.
“Hazel, wait.” He places a palm over my shoulder. “I’m sorry for all of this.”
I’m shocked by his apology.
I’ve dreamed of all the ways I was going to punish him for what he did to my father, but second chances have a way of changing a person.
I squeeze his arm. “What happens to you now?”
After releasing me, he fiddles with a gold ring on his index finger. “Well, Félix has kept his word, and I’ve been given immunity. He’s working on taking down the casinos with Sasha’s help as chief, and I guess I get to go back to boring mayor business.”
“Oh, I doubt it’ll be boring with having to fight off the rest of those piranhas.”
He chuckles as I glance down at his expensive leather shoes.
“I can’t believe it’s really over,” I say.
He nods in the direction I’m headed. “Just make sure you give Ben a little hell. He’s had enough time off.”
We share a smile before I turn away.
“Oh, and Hazel?”
“Yeah?” I step into the elevator, excusing myself as a small group exits around me.
“He came back foryou.” The doors slowly begin to close as my throat bobs. “Don’t forget that.”
It takes seconds for the elevator to hit the next floor and minutes to cross the bridge and up another elevator toward his room—but it feels like a lifetime separates the two of us.
I stare at the numbers etched onto his hospital room door.
“What will I even say?” I mutter.
Hey, Ben, glad you’re alive. By the way, I love you.
I could open this door and see a man I don’t recognize. Not because of his injuries, but because what we had was volatile and was once birthed in the embers of our hatred.
I’m terrified that I’ve fallen in love with a man who liked the idea of me, but not the reality thatisme. That it was nothing more than hot, explosive sex and a little comfort for our lonely desperation.
Now that we’ve removed those rose-colored glasses, what if all that’s left is nothing but ugliness and unhealed wounds?
The metal handle twists until I hear a faintclick.
“Ben?”
Gentle beeps sound from a machine perched on the wall beside his worn body. Clear tubing running fluids to his veins hangs from an IV pole, and an oxygen cannula hangs limply from the side of his bed.
A week in the hospital with a gunshot wound looks like too-pale skin and deep-set circles under his eyes. I step up beside his bed, roaming my gaze over his sleeping form, which is covered in a simple hospital gown with wires running every which way from his chest.
“Oh, Ben.” I press the back of my hand against my mouth.
He winces as he moves his legs and cracks one eye open, then the other.
My hand flies to his bicep to keep him steady. “No, no. Don’t move. I-I just came by to see you and make sure you’re okay.”
