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Mine came as I slowly blinked my eyes open to find myself propped up in a bed in the ER with an IV drip in my arm—and it suddenly struck me that I had never been in a public hospital before. Back in our old life, we’d had a private family doctor who made house calls. Even for my birth, my mother had been at home, comfortable in her bed, with what amounted to a fully staffed and stocked hospital room around her.
This too bright, sterile environment, where I could hear the person in the room beside mine vomiting up everything in their stomach and another down the hall yelling that they wanted pain medications or else they’d sue the hospital, was the farthest thing imaginable from every other encounter with doctors I’d ever had. Those visits had always been calm and serene, even the one after I’d broken my arm running down the large spiral stairs when I was six.
I let my eyes drift closed again. My throat felt scratchy and dry, my tongue like sandpaper.
Most of the last several hours felt like a blur, but as I sorted through the chaotic thoughts and images in my head, everything began to solidify. My father. My talk with Bishop. My mother—
Oh God. Mom!
Mom had overdosed.
Fuck. Why was I the one laid up in the hospital bed? Where was she?
I blinked up at the fluorescent lights, eyes hurting a little as I tried to sit up. A firm hand settled on my shoulder, pushing me back down onto the bed.
“Easy, tiger. I don’t think you’re ready to move all that much right now.”
Bishop.
A dozen emotions clogged my throat as if they were all trying to escape me at once. Tears pricked my eyes. I wanted to be angry with him, because I had been angry with him, but I couldn’t find any of that inside myself anymore.
“My mom—”
“Is fine,” he said. “She’s recovering right now. Pumped her stomach, put her on a drip, and she’s not gonna be left alone, not until the doctors can be sure that she’s not gonna try something, and not till they understand what happened.”
Wasn’t it obvious? She’d tried to kill herself…
I sniffled, swallowing against the lump in my throat.
“You’re here…” I muttered. I looked over to where he sat next to my bed. He’d thrown a shirt on, and he looked tired. The mesmerizing hazel of his eyes was a little dull, and there were circles under his eyes. “You’re here. You helped.”
“Yeah. Of course I did, Cora.” He shook his head, looking almost insulted even as concern still darkened his features. “The fuck kinda person would I be if I didn’t?”
He had called me Cora when he’d called for me in my house too. Had he heard my scream from all the way across the street? Impossible. He must’ve already been close to the house when I yelled.
“Why… why did you—”
“Because I was an asshole, and I shouldn’t have said that shit to you about your dad.” He ducked his head to avoid my gaze, looking almost uncomfortable. “But don’t worry about that right now. You kinda went into shock. So don’t strain yourself too hard.”
Bishop withdrew his hand from my shoulder, and part of me wanted to ask him to put it back. To let me feel the weight of him touching me, the comforting, grounding warmth of his hand. To put it back where it belonged.
I kept silent though. He had already done so much for me. Helping to save my mother. Getting us to the hospital. Staying with me. It was more than any stranger should be asked to do for another.
Then again, we really aren’t strangers anymore, are we?
I knew him better than I knew my own parents. The thought was sobering, yet somehow comforting. I had fought with this boy, I had kissed him, I had hated and desired him. We had both confessed fucked up things about our lives to each other, and somehow, no matter how messed up the situation was, it was something that gave us a connection.
At this point, I wasn’t going to question it. I just wanted to hold on to the feeling of having someone beside me for once. I hadn’t even realized how alone I’d been for so long until he and the other Lost Boys had stepped in to fill that empty space in my life.
My gaze caught Bishop’s, and even as he pulled his hand back, he scooted his chair a little closer.
It wasn’t close enough, but I’d take it.
“Princess…”
He licked his lips, like he was trying to taste the words before he spoke them, and I lifted my head off the pillow a little, leaning toward him. But before he could finish his thought, his phone buzzed. He frowned, glancing down at the screen, and my stomach clenched.
My immediate assumption was that it would be another call like the one he’d gotten the night I found out just what it was the Lost Boys did for a living. He didn’t swipe to answer though, just read something that flashed across the screen. Then he snorted, sounding both resigned and amused.
