All the Pretty Lies (Pretty #1)(61)
Author: M. Leighton

And then I do. I see her pale face, turned to the side, facing the glass window of the room in which she’s been placed. Her eyes are closed, her expression is peaceful and, right here in this moment, I know I can’t live without her. I can’t even think of what I will do with myself if she dies. Tonight. Tomorrow night. In a year. In ten years. I can’t bare the idea of a world without her. Of my life without her.

Oblivious to anyone else in the room, I walk to the bed, I take her hand in mine and I drop to my knees beside her.

I press the backs of her cool fingers to my eyes. Then to my lips. They taste salty. And wet. I didn’t even realize I was crying until this very moment.

I stare up into the face that has haunted my dreams and my thoughts for months now, and I feel the crushing weight of sorrow. Already, I feel it, like I can see her slipping away right before my eyes.

“Oh God, please!” I beg quietly. “Please let her be okay. Please let her live. Don’t take her from me. Please don’t take her from me!”

The only thing I hear around me is the broken sound of my own voice. It’s caving in on me like darkness, swallowing me up like nothingness.

********

Like I do at least a few times an hour, I glance up at the monitor that assures me Sloane is still alive somewhere in there. I watch the reassuring blips as they dance across the screen. I listen to the reassuring whisper of air filling her lungs. I feel with my soul that she hasn’t yet left me. Not completely anyway.

A voice sounds from behind me. It’s gruff and annoyed.

“Has she opened her eyes yet?”

It’s Steven. He’s angry that I’m here at all. Like her father and her brothers, they come in, they hover over her helplessly and then, after a few minutes, they leave to go fall apart somewhere else. Somewhere that the eyes of a stranger can’t find them.

He stomps into the room, aiming for the chair that sits on the other side of the bed. Sloane is in the ICU now, where they can keep a close eye on her condition until the doctors can determine what’s going on with her. Or until she regains consciousness.

Aside from her father, Steven has visited her most. Despite his dickweed ways, it’s obvious that he loves her every bit as much as she loves him. After several minutes of staring silently at Sloane, he finally speaks. “You been home yet?”

“No.”

He doesn’t look at me. “You planning on staying here ‘round the clock?”

“Yes.”

I see his lips thin. I’m sure that’s not the answer he was hoping for.

“That pisses me off, but I’m sure you know that,” he gripes.

“Yes. Luckily, I don’t give a shit. I’m here for Sloane.”

That draws his eye. He glares at me across the bed. I know he’d just as soon plant his foot in my face as talk to me, and I’d just as soon he try. I think we could both use a little tension-relieving scuffle. But that wouldn’t do Sloane any good. And she’s the one I care about. She’s really all I care about.

“That would make her happy,” he mutters, his teeth obviously gritted.

“I hope so. I just want her to wake up. And I want to be here when she does. I want her to know that I’d never leave her. Not unless she asked me to go.”

“What if I asked you to go?” Steven asks. His expression hasn’t changed at all, but something tells me he might be actually teasing.

“I’d tell you where you could go.”

One corner of his mouth lifts up in a combination sneer-smirk-grin.

“After this is all over, I’m still probably gonna kick your ass.”

I shrug. “You’re welcome to try. After Sloane wakes up.”

He nods. “Fair enough.” We fall into a weird, somewhat amicable silence again. “Has the doctor come by yet?”

“Yeah. Said they’re still waiting for some test results. Still giving her fluids. Evidently she was pretty dehydrated. Plus the fever…”

“Dad said she wasn’t eating or drinking much for the last several days.”

He sends me a nasty look.

“Look, man, I know you blame me. And you know what? That’s fine, because I blame me. I hurt her. I hurt her bad. And I’d give anything—I mean, anything in the whole world—to go back and do things differently. And when she wakes up,” I say, stressing the when, in my speech and in my heart, “I’m gonna do everything in my power to make it up to her.”

“I hope to hell you do. And I hope to hell she doesn’t make it easy on you.”

I don’t respond. It’s possible Sloane may not remember forgiving me, may not remember the time right before she passed out. And if she doesn’t, I’ll have to deal with it. But at this point, I just want her to wake up. Even if she wakes up mad all over again, she can scream and yell, punch and kick. She can raise cane. I’d take it all. Happily. If she’ll just wake up.

********

The nurse is the same one tonight as last night, and she agreed to let me stay again. When she talks to me, she pats my arm and nods like she’s trying to make me feel better. There’s always a look in her eye that says she sees a desperate man. And she’s right.

Sloane’s dad wanted to stay, but he had some things at work come up —important things about his son’s case and the guys that shot up the house. I would never tell him that Sebastian had called me earlier with a witness, someone who knew the identity of the dirty cop dealer. I would never tell him that I’d passed that name along to Reese, who then informed his connection at the Attorney General’s office. I was just happy he was leaving and that I’d get to stay. I knew that if he wanted to press the issue, that if he wanted to stay, there would be nothing I could do. Except leave. And I’d rather die than leave Sloane’s side. Even for a couple of hours.

As is my habit, I glance over at the monitor. I see the waves and colored numbers that I always see, and they reassure me like they always do. I notice Sloane’s foot has shifted and is uncovered. I walk to the end of the bed and cup her heel, gently moving her leg toward the center of the bed. I try not to feel panicked by how cool her skin is as I tuck the covers around her feet. I guess I should be happy she’s not still burning up.

I’m just sitting down when I see her leg twitch. Then she kicks. Hard. Hard enough to jar the bed. I reach out to touch her arm and, just as my skin makes contact with hers, she starts to flail.

Sloane flings her arms and legs, shaking her head back and forth on the pillow.