Page 109 of Hostile Love
If André was awake, he’d take control too. We’d probably fly to Sin Island where he’d sit under a parasol on the terrace while our babies sleep.
He’d watch me sip a frosty cocktail on the sunbed beside him and drag me onto his lap, so my hot skin rests on top of his inked chest.
Sprawled over him, he’d tell me stories to make me laugh and talk dirty in my ear.
But mostly, he’d listen to all the self-doubt running riot in my head. How I’m scared of being a shit mother. And how I can’t stop worrying about something bad happening again…my husband has the natural ability to make everything in my life feelperfect.
I sigh heavily.
The rest of the family would be back here first thing in the morning with fresh coffee, food, and company. Hopefully, by that stage, André should’ve woken up.
Teresa, on the other hand, she wouldn’t leave. Nor would her bodyguard.
She’s here to help me with the graveyard shift tonight. We take turns and she doesn’t question me when I flit from this ward and back to André again and again.
Grief fizzes through me. The constant trickle of loss I feel when I wish my own mother was sitting next to me.
My scalp prickles and I suddenly get the feeling Mammy is somewhere close by—offering me comfort in her memory.
I dig out a few coins from my baggy black sweatpants, thinking a coffee would get me through the next few hours.
“Where’s my wife?” A raspy voice startles the nighttime peacefulness.
My pulse skips a beat.
I look beyond the glass where Matheus and his girl are walking past the window pushing a wheelchair.
I swallow hard and hold a hand to my heart, aware my breathing is all over the place.
My fingers tingle and my eyes burn.
“André…” I choke out, stumbling towards the doors.
When they automatically swing inwards and my eyes find his, my legs turn to jelly and I sink to my knees, crying.
I can’t help it.
Relief hits me hard. All the tightness in my body unwinds and I cover my teary face with my hands.
There’s a grunt, a snarl, and a muttered, “Jesus fuck.”
“Sin…” His hands are on me, pulling my own away from my eyes and forcing me to look at him.
On his knees now too, he cups my cheeks in his big hands and kisses my forehead.
“Always kneeling for me, Wifey.” He chuckles, but everyone knows he’s playing. Especially when his tired voice wobbles with emotion.
I suck my lips between my teeth to stop my sobs and stare into his dark eyes, recognizing he’s still out of it. But right here in the moment, he’s with me—trying his best.
“I’ve missed you so much, Dré,” I whisper, gently resting my hands on his shoulders, so I don’t hurt him in any way.
“Are you okay?” he asks, the tips of our noses brushing.
I laugh lightly, a little deliriously. “Never mind me, hotshot. Are you okay? Why the hell are you out of bed?”
He strokes the strands of hair stuck to my wet cheeks away from my face and kisses a tear clinging to the corner of my left eye.
“Your eyes are so fucking pretty, Sin,” he mumbles, nuzzling my face and breathing me into his lungs.
