“Not a problem. I’ll dim the lights.”
Nick settled into the chair. For what seemed to be a very long time, he watched Jannie sleep. Just his luck: he had found her again, only for this to happen. The thought that he might lose her made him sick, and he pushed it away.
Fate couldn’t be that cruel. Could it?
An attendant finally arrived with a wheeled cot, and never had asmall, lumpy bed on rollers looked more appealing. With a heavy sigh, Nick slipped off his shoes, then stretched out on the flimsy mattress, punched the pillow, and closed his eyes.
“Mom. Mom!”
She half-sat, slumped against the refrigerator, her face as chalky and white as the cabinets. His throat closed, and his chest felt like ice while his stomach felt like fire.
“Mom!”
Blood. She sat in a pool of it—deep, dark red. God, so much of it, spreading even as he watched, his eyes widening in horror.
“Mom!” he yelled.
Her lashes slowly lifted, and she fixed him with wide eyes that still conveyed all the adoration in the world, as they always did whenever she looked at him.
“Stay there,” he said, immediately realizing he sounded idiotic. With great effort, he stood, trying to ignore the pain ripping through his battered torso. Stumbling, he managed to reach the phone and call an ambulance, amazed at the calm that descended on him as he rattled off the address.
He hung up and returned to her side, the agony in his ribs excruciating as he crouched down beside her. He felt strange, as if he weren’t really the one living this hell.
He took her hand, alarmed by how cold and clammy it was. “Hang on, Mom. They’re on their way.”
She didn’t answer. Her eyes turned glassy.
He swallowed against the lump rising in his throat as her eyelids drifted shut. “Please hang on,” he whispered.
It seemed like a lifetime before the ambulance siren wailed faintly in the distance.
Nick awakened with a start, his heart slamming in his chest, adrenaline shooting like jolts of electricity through his belly and down his legs.
The nightmare.
Again.
Fuck.
Lifting his head, he glanced around.
Hospital room.
Jannie.
He sat upright so fast, his head spun.
She was still asleep.
He exhaled a harsh breath. Violet light filtered through the slats of the shutters, providing just enough illumination. Nick checked his watch: 6:00 a.m.
Rising and rubbing his sore back, he used the bathroom, washed his hands, and splashed water on his face. He’d have to find a toothbrush. Thank God he didn’t need to shave.
Drying his hands with a paper towel, Nick pushed the door open.
Jannie was awake. And she was staring straight at him.
Something stirred in his chest at the sight of the sadness in her eyes. He silently moved closer, reaching out to touch her shoulder, but hesitated. “May I sit?”
