It’s just a voice, really, an ordinary, mid-range man’s voice, and yet, like a peace lily craving warm sunlight, I turn my face to it. Every knot in my chest loosens a little. Even the rapier filleting my forearm feels a lesser foe. Because that voice belongs to a man who sings like faulty plumbing. Who never dances in public, only in front of his peace lilies. Who only dances with me.
And he’s holding my hand.
“Rash whisperer.” I try to lift myself up with my good arm, except stars litter my vision when I do. I sink back down. “You came back.”
“Yeah. I did.” He strokes my hair. “Some of us are trying not to run when things get ugly. It’s really, really hard, though.”
Luke strokes my cheek and plays with my hair, his soothing voice stretching and warping.
Snippets of the scene in the bar drift back to me. “Tell me about it. Smashing things is much easier.”
He laughs, filling me with joy.
“How are you feeling?”
“Fine.”
“And how are you really feeling?”
Luke merits more thanfine. Ashamed, embarrassed, and hungover would be good places to start. Those women at the bar deserve free drinks forever, and Ez deserves…I’m not sure there’s a big enough apology invented. I’ve trashed his—our—fucking livelihood.
“The doctors say my arm will take about three to six months to get back to full function, if I follow the rules and do the physio properly.” I study the pristine white cast, debating whether to sock myself over the head with it and put everyone out of their misery. “Whether I ever make a full recovery from my serious case of stupidity remains to be seen.”
Laying my arm gingerly back down on a mound of pillows, I let my eyes shutter closed. I sound coherent, to my ears at least,but I’m still pretty woozy. “I’ve made a mess of things, haven’t I?”
Luke shuffles his chair closer. “With Ez? Yes, a bit.”
A lump coming to my throat, I steal a quick peek at him. He’s bundled up in his navy hoodie, his pale anxious face peeping out, and my heart fuckingsqueezes. “I didn’t mean with Ez. With you. Shouting at you. Telling you to fuck off.”
“No.” He shakes his head. “I deserved it. I should never have left. I should have stayed and tried harder. Maybe if I had, we wouldn’t be where we are now.”
That sounds ominous. Does he mean here in the hospital, or is it a commentary on the state of our relationship? Is he still holding my hand because that’s what nice hospital visitors do? Alaric held it, briefly. Ez would too, probably, if I hadn’t trashed his bar.
Ah well, only one way to find out.
“Are you still… I mean, are we still…us?” I sound pathetically needy, even to my ears. The anaesthetic drugs swilling around my bloodstream are to blame. I temper it by stealing Ez’s words. “We had a sweet little thing going, for a moment.”
“Yeah.” Is that a glimmer of his cute nervous smile? Please, say it is. “We did, didn’t we?”
“What I’m asking,” I persist, metaphorically crossing everything, “is—am I gonna...um…get to see your well-trimmed and pretty deck again?”
Go me; groggy, in pain, one-armed, losing my sight, and probably my livelihood, yet still flirting like a rom-com hero.
“Yeah.” Luke’s soft little giggle strikes sweeter than any chord I’ve ever played. “I mean, if you want.”
Thank fuck. A giddy, morphine-fuelled smile spreads across my face. I feel it happening, happiness floating through me on a fluffy cloud. In a moment, I’ll drift off on my own cloud, back to that nice druggy sleep I was enjoying.
Luke brings his mouth closer to my ear. I hope he’s about to kiss me. I’ve missed his kisses. “Unless you don’t need me,” he whispers, naughtily, “Now you’ve thrown a big tantrum and got it all out of your system.”
A hot and fresh tide of shame blooms under my skin. No one’s going to let me forget that any time soon. I’ll be grovelling to Ez and Jess long after the sting of my surgery fades. But with Luke in my corner, even that thought can’t wipe the grin off my face. I give his fingers a squeeze. “Hey, of course I do. Why do you think I only damaged one arm? So I could keep this hand free, rash whisperer, for you to hold.”
Seems I come out with all my best lines when I’m under the influence of something. It works on Luke, anyhow, because now I do get a kiss, here in the middle of the ward, where anyone could walk around the curtain and see him. No tongues, which is more me than him, because I reckon I smell like a three-week old tuna sandwich.
“I was starting to worry you were seeing someone else when you went away,” I admit, still bloody needy.
Luke laughs. “As in dating or hallucinations? The latter would have been more likely.”
He kisses me again. Maybe I don’t smell so bad after all.
