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I don’t realize he’s talking about me until someone grabs my arms and makes me lie down next to Marcus, saying something about shock and possible injuries. In the distance, sirens wail, and my dizziness intensifies, bringing with it a surge of nausea.
Rolling onto my side, I retch, and by the time my stomach is empty, we’re surrounded by a swarm of paramedics.
47
Emma
“Emma? Kitten?”
The raspy sound of Marcus’s voice jolts me awake, and I jump to my feet, nearly knocking over the chair I’d fallen asleep in.
“You’re awake! Thank God, finally.” I seize his right hand in both of mine, so overcome with relief I barely register the pain in my back. “How are you feeling?”
He blinks up at me slowly, and I know that he’s still connecting the dots, wondering why my eyes are wet yet I’m smiling. But that confusion is normal, expected. The important thing is that after eighteen hours of not regaining consciousness, Marcus is awake and knows who I am.
“What…” He dampens his dry lips as I perch on the edge of his bed. “What happened?” His gaze sharpens. “Wait. The cab. Are you—”
“I’m fine. Here, drink this.” Releasing his hand, I hold a cup of water with a straw to his mouth and watch him take a big sip, the muscles in his powerful throat working as he swallows. My chest squeezes at the sight, my joy so intense it verges on agony. With a heavy stubble covering his lean cheeks, the right side of his jaw swollen, and a huge white bandage wrapped around his head, he looks as terrible as a man that magnetic can look, but he’s awake and functioning.
He’s going to be all right.
“What happened?” he repeats when he’s had his fill of water. His voice sounds like his throat has been rubbed with sandpaper, but his blue eyes are clear and sharp as he takes in the cast on his left arm and all the IVs and monitors hooked up to him.
I set the cup of water down on the bedside table. “Tell me how you feel first.”
“Like my skull’s been sawed open and filled with broken glass.” He touches the bandage on his head with his uninjured hand, wincing when his fingers brush over his swollen jaw. “Also like I’ve been hit by a car. Is that what happened?”
“Yes.” I take a breath to steady myself. “You pushed me out of the way of that cab and took the full impact yourself. In the process, you broke your arm and split your head open on the pavement. You’re also bruised and scraped all over. The doctors said…” My voice is beginning to shake, my throat closing up, so I drag in another breath. “They said it was a miracle there were no internal injuries or other broken bones, and that they didn’t think you sustained any brain damage, though after the first few hours, they started getting concerned that you weren’t waking up.” I squeeze my eyes shut to contain the tears, but it’s a futile effort. They leak out from under my closed eyelids, and when I open my eyes, I find Marcus gazing at me tenderly.
“What about you, kitten?” Pushing a button to raise the bed to a half-sitting position, he lays a gentle hand on my knee. “Were you hurt? I pushed you pretty hard.”
A half-sob, half-laugh bubbles up my throat. “Yeah, you basically tackled me football-style. Did you play that in college or something?”
“No, just in high school. Freshman year. Afterward, I switched to lacrosse and soccer. I figured all that head-bumping couldn’t be too good for the brain, and I needed every neuron for the future I had planned.” He grins; then worry returns to his eyes. “So were you hurt?”
I shake my head, a watery smile touching my lips. “No, not really. I hit the ground pretty hard, but my back is only a little sprained and bruised. The shock was the worst of it; they kept feeding me sugary liquids in the ambulance so I wouldn’t pass out or throw up again.” My smile fades, and I swallow as my throat swells up again. “They said you might’ve saved my life. With how fast that cab was going and the angle he was coming at me from—” My voice cracks. “And you could’ve also been killed, or gotten severely injured. If you’d hit your head any harder or fallen a different way…” A shudder ripples down my spine. “Never do this to me again, you hear me?” I grip his hand, the remembered fear chilling my insides. “Promise me, Marcus. Promise you’ll never do something this crazy again.”
His jaw flexes. “I can’t. When I saw that car coming at you and realized it wouldn’t be able to stop…” He squeezes his eyes shut, his fingers tightening on mine as he relives what must be a horrible memory. And I know exactly how he feels. I will never get the image of him lying unconscious and bleeding out of my mind, never forget how I felt in those terrifying moments before I felt his pulse and knew he was alive. If I’d lost him, if he’d been killed because of me… God, I can’t even imagine that agony; the mere thought of it is so painful it’s like having my soul ripped apart.
