Tryst (Take It Off #8)(43)
Author: Cambria Hebert

“The hospital has been holding a spot for me to come back, to finish up my residency. They’re getting tired of waiting. I had a meeting here that day so we could talk about.”

I remembered the way he was dressed the day he walked in on Blake and me. He likely just arrived home from the meeting. “Are you coming back to work?”

“I don’t know,” he said, his voice drifting far away again.

In that moment, I felt like I was holding on to a long string… and he was the kite attached to the end of it. Sometimes the wind wouldn’t blow that heavily, and I was able to reel him in. Get him close. But then the wind would pick up and start pulling at the corners of the kite and lift it back up into the sky so it floated farther and farther away.

“You know a doctor should know better than to live off snack cakes.” I teased.

He made a rude sound. “Nothing comes between a man and his snack cakes.”

I smiled, but it quickly turned into a yawn.

“You should get some rest, sweetheart.” Damn if he didn’t punctuate those words by pressing his lips against my hairline.

I didn’t want to go to sleep. I wanted to stay in this moment with him. I knew he might not be here when I woke up.

But he was too warm and too comfortable. My eyes began closing, taking longer and longer to reopen. I tried to tell myself to fight it, to stay awake. In this moment, the wind had died down. He was close. So close.

My last thought before I succumbed to slumber was to wonder how long until the wind started to blowing again, how long until he was yanked back into the sky.

29

Talie

I was alone when I woke the next morning.

I suspected I would be, but that didn’t stop the little pang of sadness when I reached for him and he wasn’t there.

I hoped things weren’t as bleak for him in this new day. I hoped that telling someone about what happened to Dani helped him heal, if only a little.

There was no clock on the table beside the bed, and the curtain was partially pulled around, concealing the wall clock, so I pushed up and leaned forward to get a peek at the time.

My movement was cut short when pain stopped me in my tracks. I was so sore. Even more so than yesterday. They told me I would be, that it was part of the healing process. The healing process sucked.

It made me think longingly of pain medicine.

And then I remembered.

I remembered I was pregnant.

A smile curved my lips and I put a hand to my belly. “Hey, peanut,” I whispered and stretched my arms and legs slightly, trying to work out the soreness. I needed to move around. Lying in this bed was only making it worse.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed and used the IV stand as support to stand up. My feet were bare and the tile floor was cold. I was dressed in one of those stupid, too-large hospital gowns and it hung down past my knees.

My entire body felt like a giant bruise, but I kept moving. After maneuvering the IV stand, I used the facilities and washed my hands. Then I scared myself by looking in the mirror.

My hair looked like it hadn’t seen a comb in weeks, my face was pale, and there was a large purple bruise along my jawline. A small, red cut was near my left eyebrow, and I saw the top of a bruise under the neckline of the gown. It seemed to be a mark from the seatbelt. My left wrist was in a soft brace from the sprain and the skin inside it itched like there were ants on patrol in there.

I heard the door to my room open and click shut so I called out, “I’m in here.”

I didn’t want the nurse or Claire to think something happened to me.

The door to the bathroom was practically ripped off its hinges seconds later. The sudden action scared me and I jumped. My weight transferred onto the IV pole, which was on wheels, and unable to catch my footing, I went sliding backward toward the toilet.

“What the fuck are you doing?” someone growled in a tone that was sooo not the nurse or Claire.

“Gavin?” I gasped.

He came forward, catching me around the waist and swinging me up into his arms.

“What are you doing?” I demanded.

“Stopping you from falling and killing yourself.”

“Oh, please,” I muttered. “Put me down. I want to walk.”

“No.”

“How dare you argue with a woman in the hospital!” I snapped.

“You’re the only one who’s arguing.”

I gave him an evil look. “You’re pulling on my IV.”

He set me down but kept a hold on my arm like I was helpless and couldn’t walk.

I opened my mouth to tell him what I thought of being treated like a ninety-year-old lady, but he narrowed his eyes. “Don’t you sass me. I’ll smack that fine, bare ass.”

I gasped and reached around to close the back of the gown.

He smirked. “Ain’t nothing I haven’t seen before,” he leaned down and whispered in my ear.

Memories of all the times he’d seen my naked body burned through my veins. “I need to get some clothes,” I muttered.

“Claire’s out in the hall, flirting with Stitch.”

“Some friend she is!” I said without heat. In truth, it was nice to see her flirting. It was something she so rarely did.

I made my way back to bed. Gavin matched my slow, small steps the whole way and never complained. He didn’t support me, which I would have hated, but he did stand close so that if I needed him he was there.

The aroma of baked goods and coffee wafted toward me and my stomach practically attacked my abdomen to get out. There was a brown paper sack and a couple of coffee cups sitting beside the bed.

I looked at Gavin. He was still dressed in the same clothes he wore last night. His hair was still a wreck and his clothes were more wrinkled than before.

“You haven’t been home?” I said, surprised.

“No.”

“You were gone when I woke up. I just assumed—”

“I went to get some decent coffee and some food. I thought you might be hungry.”

I paused beside the bed. “You stayed here? All night?”

“Yes.” He nudged me into the bed and then pulled the covers around my legs.

“But why?”

The door opened and Claire breezed in, looking a little bright-eyed. Flirting must really agree with her. “Hey, Claire.”

“Hey,” she said, carrying a bag of what I hoped was clothes and a hairbrush in one hand and a coffee in the other. “Thanks for the latte, Gavin.”

“Anytime,” he replied, handing me a tall, white cup with a lid. “Here, don’t burn yourself.”