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"For someone who’s been unconscious for two weeks, you seem to have retained most of your strength," I mutter.
"No doctor," he rasps. I glance up to find his face is definitely a few shades paler than earlier.
"You are in a hospital and you’ve just emerged from a coma. I really do need to call the doctor."
"No," sweat beads his forehead, "no doctor." He glances between my eyes. "Please," he seems to force the word out, "no doctor."
"Look, I am not sure why you are having such a panicked reaction to the idea of a doctor checking you out, but they saved your life. If it weren’t for them, you might be dead."
There’s still no response from him. His hold on my arm seems to tighten. Jesus, this man must have been in peak physical condition if he’s this strong emerging from a coma. To be fair, he had moved so quickly when he’d stepped in front of me that I hadn’t even realized what was happening. Not until I’d heard that sickening thwack of the bullet piercing through his flesh and then… I swallow. Then, a part of me had known how close to death I had been. As he had stumbled back, I had known he'd stepped in front of me to protect me. I had jumped forward to try to catch his fall and had half collapsed under the weight of his body before sinking to my knees with him sprawled across my lap. And even then, I had not known who he really was, until Christian had taken off the stranger’s mask and I had seen Xander’s face, as if resurrected from the dead. My heart begins to race in my chest as I take in the features of the man on the bed. Even now, I can’t believe just how similar the two of them look.
Christian and Xander were twins, but they hadn’t been identical. But this man, he resembles Xander so much, it makes my chest hurt just looking at him.
"Okay," I nod, "no doctor…for now, but someone is going to come and check in on you, eventually."
He doesn’t reply, doesn’t let go of my arm either. "Who are you?" he asks again. "Do I know you? Have we met?"
"Not until you stepped in front of me and took the bullet."
He winces.
"Does it hurt?" I glance at the bandage around his head, "Damn, I knew I shouldn’t have agreed not to call the doctor. Look, I don’t want anything to happen to you, okay? They need to come and check you out and make sure that you are okay and—"
"I’m okay," he rasps.
"You don’t look okay." I take in his features, which have definitely gone paler in the last few seconds. "You look like you are about to lose consciousness again, and that’s not good, that’s really not good, I—"
"Will you calm the fuck down, woman?" he growls.
"Excuse me?" I stare. "What did you say?"
He blows out a breath, "I am fine. I don’t need you making a fuss over me."
My chest rises and falls. I’ve been waiting for him to wake up all this time. I had practically chained myself to the bed and kept vigil and prayed that he’d open his eyes, and now that he has... He tells me to fuck off?
"Let go of me," I say through gritted teeth.
"Not until you tell me how the hell I came to be in this hospital room."
"That’s what I have been trying to explain, if you’d put your paranoia aside for one moment and listen to me."
"Paranoia?" He scowls, "What the fuck gave you that idea, anyway?"
I glance down at where his fingers are still curled around my wrist, and his grasp tightens.
"You’re my insurance," he says in a hard voice. "I am not letting you go until I understand what kind of a situation I’m in."
"You’re in a hospital and I should have called a doctor, who’s going to be pissed that I didn’t at the first sign of your waking up; that’s the kind of situation you are in," I scold. "Now, will you let go of me, please?"
"Why are they keeping me here? Who are these brothers you spoke about?"
"You don’t remember?” I study his face. “And for the record, as I have already explained, no-one is keeping you here. You were shot, so they brought you to the hospital—'
"Who’s they?"
"The paramedics who your brother Michael called?"
"Michael?" He frowns, "And he is...”
