Page 29 of Blinded By Forever
I always have since I was a kid.
The long waits, the needles, the bad news some people get here.
I got news that I wasn’t going to live a completely normal life. I was going to be watching over my blood sugars every day for the rest of my life and pricking my finger or giving myself insulin.
I hate hospitals.
I didn’t stop walking, didn’t even pause at the front desk except to flash the room number that Rowan texted me. I moved on instinct, like my body knew where to go even though my heart had been screaming since my phone rang about thirteen hours ago.
It’s the middle of the day here in California. I was on a plane for about eleven hours and it felt like the longest flight of my life.
Rowan tried calling me and texting me, saying that I didn’t need to come to California and that he had it all under control, but nothing could have stopped me from coming to see Hayden.
Hell, I still have my duffle bag with all of my clothes because I couldn’t afford to not stop by the hospital first to see Hayden.
I stand in front of Hayden’s room door and take a deep breath.
Room 307.
I grip the handle and push it open.
Hayden’s here.
Lying still.
Too still.
Machines hum softly, wires connected to his chest, a small beeping sound confirming that his heart is still beating even if everything else about him looks lifeless.
My throat closes.
He looks so pale and cold. He has bruises on his face and the white sheets around his waist make the angry red bandage across his abdomen seem even more violent. His knuckles are scraped and he has a cut on his eye.
But his face still looks the same.
Like Hayden.
Just asleep.
I walk up to him slowly. My eyes burn but I won’t cry. Not yet.
“Hayden,” I whisper, brushing his hair back from his forehead. “You’re an idiot. An absolute idiot.”
My hand lingers there, my fingers trembling. I want him to open his eyes. To smirk, to say something cocky or sarcastic. I would have taken anything from him at this moment.
Him threading his fingers in my hair and whispering, “It’s going to be okay. I’m okay, princess.” If it meant I don’t have to stand here and feel this ache in my ribs like I’m the one who got shot.
The door opens behind me.
I don’t have to turn around to know who it is.
Killian De Luca.
I can feel the air change, cold and smug and unwanted.
“Well,” he says quietly, “I wasn’t expecting you so soon.”
I stand slowly and turn to face him.
