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"He said he was fully capable of walking, and that a true gentleman never denied a lady a chair." Tyler gave Gen a wink.
Their banter should have made her feel better, but the undercurrent of seriousness told her it wasn't because things were rosy.
"Lyda is in the ICU, so she has restricted visiting hours," Tyler said as they rolled down the hall. "Only two people at a time. We won't be able to get you in to see her for about another hour. You can see Noah now." He paused, and Gen sensed a look passing between him and Marguerite behind her. "He needs to see you. He's been having some trouble."
"Trouble?" Gen looked up at Marguerite.
"He refused to stay in the bed, refused to be away from either one of you. They had to sedate and restrain him." Her boss spoke carefully. "They moved him to a psychiatric unit when his agitation disrupted other patients. Tyler arranged for Brendan to stay in the room with him, but you can help calm him down some. If you're up for that."
"Yes. Definitely." It made her all the more anxious to see him. When they arrived at the psychiatric wing, seeing the buzzer on the locked door, the nurses' desk like a guard station, made her nauseous again. "He can't be in here, Tyler. He's not crazy."
Tyler put a hand on her shoulder, his strong fingers a soothing caress over sore muscles. "I know that, Gen. It's to protect him. He has injuries that need care, bed rest, and this is the best place for those they can't keep in bed in the normal ways." He squatted next to the chair, laced his fingers with hers. "Brendan or I have been with him at all times in there. You know I wouldn't let anything happen to him."
"I know." The reassurance was nice, but she knew the words were more than that. He was preparing her for what she was going to see.
Only one person was allowed to go with her, and she chose Marguerite, because she sensed she needed the person with her who was most like Lyda. As they were buzzed in and Marguerite rolled her down the hall, Gen could barely keep herself in her chair. She could empathize with Noah. But she also knew enough about him to know why it was different as well. Tyler had expected her to understand the situation without excess explanation and she did. She accepted that as a privilege, not an obligation.
His door was open. While there was a protective mesh on the window, it did allow sunlight into the room, making it more cheerful. A TV was on, low volume. She paid no attention to it. She had only one focus.
Why did everyone look so pale in the hospital? He was a sailor, a man who worked for a nursery out in the Florida sun, and he looked pallid. And hospital gowns always made everyone look so horribly fragile. His hands were bandaged, and his face had a multitude of cuts. Someone had brushed his hair and clipped it out of his face, but right now the usually appealing look just made him look thin and strained.
Brendan rose from the guest chair as Marguerite rolled her in. "Hey there," he said with effusive warmth. "Noah, you have a visitor."
Noah's eyes blinked open. From his disorientation, she could tell he'd been drugged. Suddenly she was so angry she could barely speak. Why didn't they understand? They could have set him up in Gen's room, if Lyda was too injured. That was all he needed. Of course, as Tyler said, Noah had to have a bed for his injuries, and the rooms were private singles. There was probably some kind of hospital policy that couldn't be circumvented, even by two formidable forces like Marguerite and Tyler. They'd made sure he wasn't alone, though, that he'd had Brendan.
Her freaking out wasn't going to help Noah in the slightest. Marguerite had wheeled her up to his bedside. When she closed her hand over his, his grip turned, bandaged fingers clamped around hers. They'd been torn up by glass and rocks, isn't that what they'd said? Holding onto her so tightly must hurt, but he didn't ease up in the least. A metal clank drew her gaze down to his wrist.
Though the three-inch-wide cuff appeared to be a comfortable fleece-lined leather, hooked to a manacle on the bed rails, it still twisted something hard in her gut to see him restrained by them. "So I see you figured out a way to get a nurse to slap cuffs on you," she said in an unsteady voice. "Lyda is going to be pretty pissed about that."
Struggling through that drugged fog, he reached out with the other hand, only to find it brought up short by the cuff that held it to the opposite rail. When he yanked against it, confused frustration filling his face, she was pushing herself out of the chair. Fuck the hospital. She unbuckled the cuffs. His thrashing had dislodged the blankets and shown her his ankles were cuffed as well, but right now she ignored those and leaned over him. As Brendan steadied her swaying body, she focused on making sure Noah didn't try to rise toward her. The gown was pulled to the side enough she could see the bandaged ribs.
She pressed against him, holding him. "You asshole," she muttered against his temple. "You knew the damn car was going to fall."
His arms slid around her, clumsy, uncoordinated but tight as a vise. When he spoke against her ear, a mere whisper, she choked on a sob.
"I know you'd do anything for us. I know that." She pressed her palm against his face, her forehead now against his as she gazed into his brown eyes. "You're going to have to do something for us now, okay? I hate this. I hate seeing you like this. You're going to let the nurse move you to a normal room."
Her voice strengthened. She channeled that inner Domme Lyda had helped her discover. It felt quite natural, fueled by the strength of her emotions. And even better, she saw it penetrate that haze on Noah's senses like nothing else would, except a command from Lyda herself.
"We're going to try to get you as close to my room as we can. But you have to stay in your bed, listen to all the nurses the way you listen to Lyda. Because that's how we need you to take care of us right now. I've only got a concussion and some scrapes, so I'll come be with you as much as possible, and we'll get phones and text one another so you'll feel like I'm right there with you. Okay? We have to pull it together so we can take care of Lyda. She's going to need us to take care of her, and you know how much she's going to hate that. She's going to be a pain in the ass. We're going to wish we pushed her off that mountain. Tell me you understand."
In response, he pressed his forehead harder against hers. "Sorry." His tongue was thick, but she shook her head, tears dropping onto his face.
"There is utterly noth
ing to be sorry about it. You saved our lives, Noah. But if you'd gone down with that car"--her eyes locked with his--"you would have killed us. We love you, you moron. You're special to us. One of a kind. Irreplaceable."
Did he understand what that meant? How much it meant?
His lips curved, but there was pain in his gaze, such tiredness. She nuzzled his face, pressed her lips to his, tasting him, savoring him, trying not to press too hard because his bottom lip had a cut on it. He didn't care, shifting his hand to the back of her head, holding her fast, making the kiss fierce, needy. She refused to think it would have meant the same to him, whether he'd saved them or Elias or any faceless Domme who claimed him. She didn't want to think about the fact he didn't know how to choose anyone, which might mean he didn't know how to love anyone.
No. That was wrong. He knew how to love. Even if it wasn't the way that normal people loved, that didn't matter.
In such a situation, things like that became a lot less important. Just like Dot had said.
*
Marguerite and Tyler hadn't known Dorothy's contact info in Gatlinburg. Once Gen provided that, Chloe called her, glad to tell her Noah was okay in the same sentence she had to tell her he'd been in a car accident. As soon as he took care of getting Noah moved, Tyler went to retrieve her so she could come see her grandson.
