Page 112 of Wicked Deceit
“Woah, woah, woah.” I stop her momentum, trying to gently lay her back down. “What are you doing?” Ignoring my attempts, she sits back up and reaches into her gown to start removing the wire leads connected to her heart monitor. Fortunately, they muted the monitor earlier, so it doesn’t scream when it thinks she has flatlined, but the singular line scrolls across the screen. I rub my temple when she stares at me with those big, pleading eyes, begging me to do as she says. At any second I expect the nurses to barge into the room with the crash cart, screaming to move out of the way. I imagine they monitor every patient at the nurse’s station and Kaycee is no exception.
“Take me to them,” she demands in a raspy voice and cocks her weak head to the side. Every movement is shaky at best, and at this point, she’d crawl to get to Carter, no matter what.
“Fuck, Angel, you just got out of a coma. I don’t think it’s a good idea to steal you out of your hospital bed.” Seger grumbles, running a hand down his face. “When your parents, brother, and sister come back from coffee and see you fucking missing, they’re going to fucking flip and think you’re kidnapped again or something.” He blows out a breath, shaking his head like he’s about to protest, but then he looks at her again. I see the moment his resolve melts away, and he’s about to give into her every whim.
She blinks a few times, raising her arms. “Either you carry me to the other two, or I will attempt to walk.” Her chin raises in defiance, and we sigh in unison.
“Stubborn fucking woman,” Seger groans, looking around again. He points at the door with a determined look in his eyes. “You distract the damn nurses with whatever charm you have, and I’ll carry our pretty little princess to the rest of her princes.” He points toward the hall, making me huff.
“I have charm, you dick,” I mumble, flipping him the bird.
“No, I was born with the charm. You were born with the brains.” He snorts at his joke, lifting Kaycee into his arms. They untangle all the other lines, grab her IV bag, and walk toward the exit.
I guess it’s time to charm some nurses.
Thisisawkward.Like—reallyawkward. The need to see Carter and Chase overrides every rational thought. So, here I sit, nestled in Seger’s warm arms, carrying my own pee bag. Yeah—my pee bag is still attached to me. The doctors said I wouldn’t walk properly until I got into physical therapy, and even then, I’d walk with a walker until I got my strength back. It’s something no one talks about after a coma. You can’t just go back to everyday life and think it will be normal again. So, here I ride in the arms of my brave chariot, taking me to see my other boyfriends, who do not know I’m awake yet.
I wrinkle my nose, staring down at the clear offending bag in my lap. Make it purple or give it a sweater or something to hide the massive amounts of my urine just sloshing around all willy nilly. Granted, I can’t help it. Thanks to my injuries, I needed to go to sleep for two weeks. Despite that, a little discretion never hurt anybody.
I peer up at Seger through my lashes, noting the determination on his tight face. He didn’t bat an eye when he scooped me into his arms, retrieved my pee bag like it was a purse, and snuck out into the hall. It must be true love if he can handle my pee bag and a broken girlfriend.
Thanks to my amazing coma vacation, I barely remember a damn thing about my hospital experience. Needles and me? Yeah, we don’t mix. The last time they stuck me, I passed out. Scared the crap out of the helpless techs, so I’m thankful the last memory I have from the nightmare house is Carter’s whispered confession. But anything after that? Yeah, it’s a black hole in my memories. Half of me thinks I don’t want to remember how I got from the decrepit house with a knife sticking out of my stomach to lying in a hospital bed with my family anxiously awaiting my reboot. For now, I’ll chalk it up to memory loss and move on. I already have a shit ton of horrible memories floating around in my head from my time in the clutches of the evil bad guys.
I close my eyes, thinking of the happiest confession that came from the lips of the man who swore he’d never say them.I love you. I’m so fucking sorry I wasn’t able to say it, but I’ve known for a long time.When the wicked nightmares come, because I know they will, I’ll latch onto these words and bleed them dry to get myself through the worst times ahead. I was drowned, beaten, had a fingernail removed, and was stabbed by three psychos hell-bent on making money from my demise. All the while, my boyfriend had to pretend to enjoy my misery while counting down the seconds until he could get me out of there. So, yeah. I will have some mental distress and need a fucking therapist to survive the rest of my life.
No one will utter a damn word about the extent of Carter’s injuries. Believe me, I’ve asked multiple times, and their response is always the same. My mom side-eyed my dad with her lips rolled in and tears on her cheeks. And he squeezed my shoulder with love and told me Carter was fine and in a room down the way. Listen, I may have been in a coma for two weeks, and I may have been left for dead in a disgusting house with assholes who have taunted me for the last few months, but I’m not a fragile doll. I don’t need to be coddled and doted on—though it’s lovely—I just need some damn answers. And I need them now before I claw someone’s eyes out for holding back.
“Why is Carter in the hospital? Did he do something for me?” I mumble, keeping my eyes on Zepp as he stands near the nurse’s station with a smirk.
Seger heaves a breath, tightening his fingers on me, and pulls me closer to his rumbling chest. “Angel,” he pleads in a soft voice. I almost falter when his warm green eyes stare down at me with concern—almost. But this woman never backs down when it comes to the boys she loves, especially if one of them is in the hospital because of me.
“Seger,” I mock through a hiss. “I need to know what you’re taking me to.” I beg—I fucking beg—because I need to know what we’re walking into. Is he in a coma, too? Will he wake up any time soon? The need to know is drowning anything else out, and his safety, Chase’s safety, and the twins’ safety are at the forefront of my mind, begging me for answers. “I need to know if he’s okay,” I whisper with burning tears filling my eyes. And it must do the trick because he curses under his breath and rolls his eyes toward the ceiling like I’m way too much for someone who just woke up.
Bingo! One for Kaycee, zero for Seger’s secret-keeping ass.
Pursing his lips, indecision crosses his face. He gives in with one last little huff when we stand outside a closed door. “They shot him in the chest four times.”
Someone punches me square in the chest, knocking the breaths from my lungs. I suck in a sharp breath, nearly gasping from the news. Colors swirl before my eyes, blending with the tears filling my eyes again and spilling over. Soon, the world is nothing but a blur before my eyes.
“He’s okay, Angel. He was damn determined to come back to you, and he did. You won’t believe how often he’s snuck out of his room to sit with you and forgot his damn boxers. We couldn’t keep him down or away. He’s fine,” he mutters with darting eyes, checking the hallway for any doctors or rogue nurses wandering the halls. Thankfully, it’s the middle of the night, and almost all activity has ceased.But wait, did he say he forgot his damn boxers?
Tears fall from my eyes when a memory slams into me out of nowhere. A familiar voice rings through my mind repeatedly, letting me know Seger’s words are true. Carter snuck out and spoke to me while I rested, and his words came through even though I was fast asleep and healing.
“It’s just you and me, Sweetheart. The others are grabbing dinner. I think your dad finally likes me—all of us.” He laughs softly, squeezing my hand in his. The pad of his thumb lightly brushes over the top of my hand. “When we leave here, I’m never leaving your side. Wherever you go, I go. I can run CC Tech from anywhere. I love you, Kaycee Cole.” His voice wavers and heavy emotions clog his throat.
“I love you, too,” I whisper in my mind, wanting to lean into his warmth and reassure him I’m here forever.
Reality rushes back to me, and the moment between past Carter and me passes in a flash. It’s strange to remember whispered words, spoken to someone they assumed couldn’t hear because they were down and out. No one tells you what you can listen to, feel, and absorb when you’re in a deep coma. Every word. Every breath. Every confession. It’s all there in the back of my mind, their sweet whispers of love and encouragement. Their tears spilled when they held my hand, begging me to heal and come back to them.
Seger sighs, pulling me out of the memories flooding back. He adjusts me against him, looking around one last time, and opens the silent door. I swallow hard when the room’s darkness swallows us whole once the door shuts and the hallway light evaporates. The moonlight leaks through a crack in the curtain, streaking light on a hospital bed in the center of the room. A large lump lays curled up under blankets. I squint my eyes, trying to get a better view, but I can’t break through the shadows engulfing the room.
My soul sags with relief when two distinct, soft snores greet us from within. I smile, relaxing in his arms at the sound of their breaths. Their breaths blow into the air like a melody I haven’t listened to in so long. My mind rejoices in their symphony. A heaviness takes my eyelids prisoner, drooping with heavy exhaustion. Since before the Christmas Charity event—hell—before Thanksgiving break, we’ve slept side-by-side in each other’s arms in the warmth of our gigantic bed.
He walks in on his tippy toes, carefully navigating us around the darkness. We come to our first stop in front of my blonde lump, snoring on the tiny loveseat shoved into the corner of the room. His knees curl into his bare chest, barely fitting on the tiny couch built for sitting, not housing a six-foot muscular football player. A blanket lays across his curled-up legs, and a small, flat hospital pillow rests beneath his head. His muscular arms clutch to the pillow, hugging it against his scrunched-up face. A groan slips from between his lips, and his body jerks like he’s reliving a nightmare. Bandages stick to his arms and side, reminding me of what my parents told me.
“Chase is fine, but he has some burns,” my mother said grimly. “The house is gone, baby. There was a suspicious fire, and Chase was inside. By some damn miracle, he’s not more injured. I think someone was watching over him that night.” Tears streamed down her face when she told me in more detail what had happened.
“Aww! Ain’t he precious, Angel?” Chuckles rumble through Seger’s chest as we stare down at Chase. His brows scrunch in his sleep, almost as if he detects us hovering above him, but then he turns over, readjusting his position on the couch.
