Page 62 of Merging Wright

Body lifted.

Peace in nothingness.

+ + +

Something beeps nearby.

Opening my eyes, drop-ceiling tiles are overhead.

Wherever I am is dark.

I can’t seem to will my body to move, so I close my eyes again.

My name is spoken.

Mach-ilicious, whispers through my mind.

+ + +

When I wake next, my body is sore. The back of one hand is stiff and pinching where an IV needle pierces my skin. Gingerly, I roll my head on a pillow, registering I’m in the hospital.

Mach sits in a chair beside the bed. His head rests on the edge. One of his hands is on my forearm. He looks peaceful with his lids closed and his mouth slightly agape. His salt and pepper facial hair is a little fuller than normal. The flannel shirt he wears hugs his arms. He looks good casual or classy. I’m jealous how easily he pulls it off.

I risk moving my arm, reaching for his hair. My memory is fuzzy. How long have I been out of it?

Mach’s head springs upward at my touch. “Hey.” His voice is full of sleep and strain, and he scrubs a hand over his face before looking directly at me. “You’re awake.”

“How long have I been sleeping?”

Mach huffs. “Sleeping? You were out cold, baby. Do you remember what happened?”

The tree. The river. My boot.

“I was stuck.” My forehead furrows, and something pinches my skin. I move my hand with the IV despite the tight pull of my flesh. Reaching for my head, I discover a square bandage near my hairline.

“You hit your head. A couple stitches up there. You’ll still look beautiful.” Mach’s voice rasps with the compliment.

“What happened?” My forehead furrows again and I flinch at the tug of flesh.

“The second I saw you slip, I was down that riverbank.” Mach sits upright and shifts so his hand slides underneath mine on the bed. “I couldn’t get to you fast enough.”

“You went in the river after me?”

Mach and I lock eyes before he frowns. “You’re my wife, Jane.”

“So what?” I huff a laugh.

He didn’t need to risk his life for my stupidity. I slipped. I got stuck on a tree trying to climb it while it bobbed in a moving river.

His hand tightens around mine, and he shakes his head slowly, lowering his gaze to our fingers. When he peers back up at me again, those dark eyes are a storm cloud of emotion. Instead of speaking, he lifts my hand and cups it with his other one before pressing his lips to my knuckles. His lids lower.

“I couldn’t lose you, baby,” he mutters to my fingers.

A tear escapes the corner of my eye. I hadn’t felt it form.

“Mach,” I whisper before closing my eyes. I don’t want him to see me cry, which is ridiculous as shutting my lids won’t keep him from seeing the tears. My hand is dropped. The chair’s metal feet scrape across the tile floor. The mattress depresses, and a warm hand cups the side of my face. I try to shake my head, willing away his touch. When Mach’s lips come to my forehead to the side of the bandage, another tear seeps free.

“You’re okay, baby. I wouldn’t have let anything happen to you, especially not that damn river.”