Page 7 of Claimed By a King

“You can talk to him.” The nurse suggests as she moves around us to glance at a machine beeping at the top of the bed.

“Can he hear me?” Cara asks, and the nurse offers her another one of her warm smiles.

“It’s possible, and if he can, your positive words will help encourage his healing.”

Cara starts crying again as she steps closer to the bed, and I stay by her side, offering my support until she picks up Rocco’s limp hand and presses her lips to it.

“Te amo,” she whispers, her tears falling to his wrist.

Shit.

I can’t fucking help it. I choke up too.

If there were ever the right people to fall apart in front of, it’s Rocco and Cara.

Not that Rocco can see me right now, but that doesn’t matter. He’s family.

The only person missing right now is Zoe.

I need her here so fucking bad. I feel like I’ll be able to breathe better once I have her in my arms. Shit like this puts everything into perspective, and I know more now than ever that Zoe and the club are my whole fucking world.

As Cara sobs quietly, I stare at my lifeless friend in the bed, his skin pale and looking all wrong wrapped in the crisp white sheets.

Looking around, I see a bag under the bed in a basket, and rummage through it to find what’s left of his bloody clothes. They are all ruined. All except his cut, and I take it out andmove over to the hand basin on the wall where I start cleaning the dry crusty blood from it.

His name and title patch, which were once white, are now tinted pink, and no matter how much soap and water I use on them, I can’t clean the stain of blood from them.

Deciding it will have to do, I use half the roll of paper towels on the wall to dry the cut, before returning to Rocco with it, and I lay it across his body.

Cara’s red-rimmed eyes meet mine, and she offers me a small smile.

“Thank you.”

I go to speak, but a weird fucking squeak comes out as my words stay lodged in my throat.

Cara shakes her head and places a hand on my arms.

“It’s okay. You don’t need to say anything. He knows you love him.”

Shaking my head, because apparently I’m lost for fucking words, I watch as Cara releases Rocco’s hand and engulfs me in her arms.

“It’s okay, to be freaking out right now,” she says quietly, offering me the chance to let go.

I don’t.

I fight. I fight hard.

Sure my eyes burn like a bitch as I blink any fucking wetness from them. I will not fucking cry for Rocco because he’s not fucking dead.

Besides, right now, Cara needs me to be strong.

“He’ll be okay,” I rasp into Cara’s dark hair, and she nods against my shoulder, rubbing my back.

“He will be. He’s a strong son of a bitch. Nothing will stop him.”

The conviction in Cara’s words is reassuring.

She knows Rocco better than anyone. She knows how hard he’ll fight.

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