Page 5 of Forsaken Devotion: Part 2
“We’ve placed her in the suite,” she said, heading toward the door at the end of the long eggshell-colored hall, with numerous rooms lining the right-hand side and a busy nurse’s station to the left. Melodie propped open the door. “I made sure to clean her up.”
Within seconds, I was beside the bed. Josephine lay with a blanket tucked around her waist. The top button of her gown was loose.
I didn’t want her to be cold.
The door shut behind me, but I didn’t bother looking. My harsh breathing mingling with the beep of the monitor were the only sounds in the room.
Carefully, I reached for the two sides of the clothes, pushed the button through the hole, and smoothed it over her chest. Her silky hair lay around her face in a mess. I leaned down to press my lips to her forehead.
“Josephine,” I whispered. I closed my eyes, breathing her in. The pressure in my chest pulsated, making its presence known.
I dropped to my knees at her bedside, slid my hand in hers, and lay my head on her pillow, hyper-focused on the rise and fall of her chest.
I wouldn’t breathe or function until she opened her beautiful brown eyes.
2
So much pain.
Writhing, hotagonythat flowed through my veins and made me want to let go.
He rejected me.
My eyes popped open, and I found myself staring at a white ceiling. I adjusted the slightest bit on the uncomfortable mattress, and shards of pain sliced through my muscles. I scanned the sterile room with a quick sweep. The steady beep of the monitor next to the slim bed elevated with my ragged breathing. To the right of it was a bedside cabinet with water, hand sanitizer, and blue circular bags specifically for vomiting.
Lucian sat on a chair pushed up against the bed, the front of his body slumped on the mattress, head pillowed by his arms as he faced me. His eyes kept flicking behind his eyelids, his hair was disheveled, as well as his wrinkled, gray button-down, which was stained and torn.
I rememberedeverything.
Dad . . .
I restrained a sob. Lucian jerked in bed, his hand squeezing my ankle. He blinked to reveal clear, tired, red-rimmed eyes. Awareness flickered through them as they settled on me.
“Josephine.” He stood so fast the chair thudded on the ground. He grabbed my face, cradling it in his palms. “Josephine.” My name on his lips sounded like it meant something to him.
The scoff stuck in my throat.
Mean something to him? After everything he’d done? His wretched rejection, his disgusting actions with that—thatwoman?
How he’d walked away from me. How he’d let thatbitchtouch him.
I shoved his hands off my face with a growl, managing to fling his touch away. Even doing that hurt. I wish it were only physically, but the action even broke my heart. All I should be worried about after a murder attempt was curling up in his embrace. In seeking comfort from him. My lip trembled and I stiffened it. No, he wouldn’t see me fall apart.
His dark eyebrows furrowed.
“Josephine?” His knees smacked into the side of the bed. “Love, come here.”
He reached for me.
I rolled toward the side, off the bed, only the tug of the needle in my arm stopping me. My knees buckled, but I stiffened them, using the clinic bed to keep myself upright.
“Josephine,” he snapped. “Get back into bed.” The concern in his voice. So false, sofuckingfalse.
“Love?” I hissed, the bitterness coating my voice thick. “Ha!”
Lucian cocked his head, the furrow now taking over his forehead where his dark, messy locks kissed. Looking at him physically hurt. Sending a pulsing throb through me with each beat of my heart.
“What’s wrong, Josephine?”
