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If she was alive, she had a chance. We both did. Maybe Miguel could turn this situation around. Maybe me shooting her the way I did would give him an idea; she didn’t need to die in order for him to twist things how he wanted. He could salvage this.
That’s what I’d tell him. That, and that it had been an accident.
I waited a bit longer, though I did have to grab something from the eatery while I waited. I wasn’t too hungry, but I hadn’t eaten much the day before, either. My nerves had been too jittery with what I had to do. And now? Now I wasn’t really hungry, but I knew I had to force something down. The last thing I wanted to do was be lightheaded while seeing Giselle.
So I ate. I ate, and I drank two large cups of coffee—and then I got a third before heading up. My fingers curled around the to-go coffee cup, and I took the elevator to the floor she was on. The elevator music was unwelcome, as were the people that got on with me.
I got off on the floor she was on, and I strolled down the hall. I slowed once I neared her room, hoping Miguel had gone off on another business call or something. And, thank fucking God, he wasn’t in her room. She was, though, and I inhaled a lungful of air before walking inside, holding onto that cup of coffee like it was my lifeline.
Giselle scrunched up her face when I walked in, cluing me in to the fact that she was awake. I rushed to the side of the bed, unable to keep my cool. “Giselle,” I whispered her name. It was the only name I ever wanted on my tongue.
Not Piper’s. God, no, I didn’t want Piper. After everything I’d told Giselle, I hoped she knew that. I hoped she understood that I had only let Piper drape herself all over me at that house because we were outnumbered, and I didn’t want to insult our hosts.
No, if there was one girl I wanted to kiss, it was Giselle.
I took my time in sitting down in the ugly chair beside her bed, unable to take my eyes off her. “How are you feeling?” I asked, fighting the memory of her lips on mine. I’d kissed her—and the thing was, she’d kissed me back. She’d kissed me back, and it was the best fucking moment of my life. No question about it. The best.
And then I fucking shot her.
My insides twisted in the worst way, and my free hand reached out to hold hers. I squeezed her slender fingers, wishing I could confess it all to her right now. God, how I wanted to. I wanted to get on my knees and beg for her forgiveness, but I held back, kept it in, kept it buried inside. It would be too much right now. She had to get better—and I had to make sure Miguel wouldn’t try to have her killed again.
Giselle probably had next to no strength, but she still managed to pull her hand away from mine, and I let her do it, mostly because I had no right to hold that hand. No right to kiss those lips or imagine other parts of her body leaning against mine.
“I’ve been better,” she whispered. Her lips were cracked, her voice dry. Dark circles hung under her eyes, her hair a little greasy. I bet mine was too, along with the stubble on my jaw being longer than it typically was.
I should’ve showered when I went home and changed, but I could literally do nothing but replay shooting her over and over in my head.
I must’ve been staring at her with a strange expression on my face, for Giselle rolled her eyes and muttered, “Stop looking at me like that.”
My heart ached. Every part of me ached, and I knew it was a feeling I wouldn’t be able to shake, not anytime soon. Not until I knew things could get better. “Like what?”
“Like… like that.” It seemed whatever expression I wore caused her to be at a loss for words, and as much as I tried to rein myself in, I couldn’t.
I told her, “I can’t help it. I don’t like seeing you like this, Giselle. When I heard about what happened…” I sighed, not because I was angry with her, but because I was upset with myself. How could I ever look in the mirror again, knowing I did this to her? As much as I tried to rationalize it in my head, it still didn’t sit right.
You didn’t hurt the ones you loved, and I loved Giselle with all of my fucking heart.
She didn’t say anything. She also turned her face away from me, looking at another area in the room instead of at me. It was almost like she’d rather look at anything else, anything other than me, and that made me feel worse.
I took a sip from my coffee, measured in asking, “Did you see who did it?” We were alone in the hospital room, and yet I found myself glancing to the door to make sure Miguel wasn’t there. If he walked in and saw us, heard us, I could only imagine what he’d do. If he killed me, he’d come for Giselle next—and if I was gone, who would be there to protect her?
As much as she denied it, she needed someone. She needed someone on her side, someone who was willing to go against men like Miguel Santos to keep her safe.
“No,” she said. “It was a man, I know that, but that’s all I could see. It… it all happened so fast.” She closed her eyes right then, and I’d bet anything she was imagining it, what had happened, how she’d broken out into a run after getting out of the Playground, how she’d taken off in no particular direction, totally unaware she’d been followed.
And that it was me.
“I’m so sorry, Giselle.” I knew how she’d take it, but I meant it differently. I meant that I was sorry for it all, sorry for shooting her, causing her this pain. Sorry I couldn’t do enough to keep her safe.
“It’s not your fault,” she was quick to say.
But it was. It was my fault. I struggled internally, knowing what I had to ask, knowing it would seem like a perfectly normal question—something I had to ask because I was supposed to be her bodyguard, someone who was with her at all times when she left the house. It was stupid, but I didn’t want her to suspect.
I wasn’t sure if that was because I was afraid of my own broken heart, or for hers.
“What were you doing out, anyway? Where did you go?” I glanced back at the open door again, wondering if I should get up and close it. I didn’t see Miguel anywhere, nor did I see him walking by in the hall. “You didn’t go back to the Playground, did you?”
The look she gave me was enough. Giselle was normally a better liar, but I supposed I could give her some slack. This was not a normal circumstance by any means, for either of us.
