Page 127 of Make Me Sin (Bad Habit 2)
His smile turns wicked. “Not yet.”
Carefully, because I just can’t contain myself, I kiss A.J. all over his face. “I love you,” I murmur with every press of my lips against his skin. “I love you. I love you so much. You saved me, A.J. You saved my life.”
“We saved each other, angel,” he murmurs, and then falls back asleep.
Five weeks later, after A.J. has recovered enough to undergo brain surgery, he’s admitted to the hospital again, this time to have the tumor removed.
We’ve moved into a small house we rented in Laurel Canyon while we decide what the next steps should be. So much depends upon the outcome of the surgery, it’s difficult to plan in advance, but I didn’t want to stay in my apartment and A.J. no longer wanted to live in the hotel, so we found a place that would serve as our new temporary home together, with Bella, where there are no bad memories to spoil a single second.
We’re living on borrowed time.
There’s no guarantee the surgery will be a success. In fact, the surgeons have informed us it’s highly risky; blindness might not be the only side effect. The list of terrible things that could go wrong is daunting, including paralysis, but A.J. is insistent he wants it. If there’s even a small chance it will allow him a few more years, he’s taking the chance.
In the meantime, we’ve prepared for the worst.
“Do you have all the paperwork? I can’t find the paperwork. And what have I done with my reading glasses? I’ll definitely need those. I bought the new Grisham book, but I can’t read without my glasses, especially in hospital lighting.”
“Mom, calm down! I’ve got the paperwork. And your reading glasses are right there on the counter, next to your purse.”
My mother is coming with us to the hospital. Since she found out that A.J. was, in his own messed up way, trying to do the heroic thing by letting me go, she’s his new biggest fan.
Also taking a bullet for me didn’t hurt.
My father still has his reservations, but he’s stopped growling at A.J. and is begrudgingly giving him some respect.
Naturally, I never mentioned my little walk-in on A.J. and Heavenly. I think even the most supportive parents would have a hard time with that one, no matter how well-intentioned they are.
Speaking of Heavenly, we’ve reached a truce. I still don’t like her—probably because she’s too beautiful to have any sympathetic feelings toward, and she was naked in the same room as my man—but after several discussions, I’m convinced she really does just want the best for A.J. and me. She’s meeting us at the hospital, along with the rest of the gang.
“Here they are!” My mother beams momentarily as she finds her glasses, right where I told her they were, but just as quickly her face falls. “Should we bring pillows? Those waiting room chairs are terribly uncomfortable.”
“Mom, stop! We’re going to be late as it is! Help me with my handbag, please, I’ve got my hands full with all this other crap.”
“Language, dear,” she scolds.
I’m the only woman in the western hemisphere whose mother considers the word “crap” foul language. She’s even gotten A.J. to stop cursing. Around her, anyway.
“You upsetting grandma again?”
My mother and I turn to see A.J. amble into the room. He’s smiling, looking relaxed, while I’m a bundle of nerves.
“No one’s upsetting anyone, we’re just running late.” Scowling, I try to hoist my duffel bag containing clothes, toiletries, books, and other items to keep me distracted while I wait to find out how A.J. will fare in his operation. It will probably be another all-nighter, but regardless of the length of the operation, I’ll be staying at the hospital until he’s released, which could be anywhere from two to five days. I’m looking
around frantically for my Kindle when a pair of strong hands encircle my upper arms.
“Angel.”
I look up at him. “Yes, sweetie.”
“It’s going to be all right. I’m going to be fine.” His gaze is warm and steady, the pressure of his hands reassuring; he knows I’m freaking out.
I swallow around the lump in my throat. “Okay.”
He pulls me into a hug. I bury my face in my safe spot, the crook between his shoulder and neck, and breathe him in.
“How’s my girl?” he whispers, stroking my hair.
I sniffle a little, determined not to cry. “I’m good.”
