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He cups my face and leans down, touching his head to mine. “It’s okay now, you’re safe. You’re—" He inhales a shuddering breath. “Fuck, mouse. I thought I’d lost you. I thought…” His lips press gently against my forehead, and I sense his apprehension.
Whatever happened is bad.
Really bad.
“I can’t remember anything,” I admit, the words heavy on my shoulders. “After Gravestone Hall, I can’t remember anything. Where is Cade? Is he—"
Bexley goes rigid, a low growl rumbling in his chest. “Don’t worry about Kingsley, Mia. All that matters is that you get better.” He slowly pulls away, his eyes running over my body as if he can’t quite believe I’m here.
“Will you please tell me what happened?”
Before he can answer, Sasha appears at the door. “Mia, thank God.” She hurries over to my bedside, tears glistening in her eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”
My brows pinch. “What do you mean?”
I glance from her to Bexley, just in time to catch him shaking his head at her.
“Oh, I…”
“Hey.” Channing lingers in the doorway. I gasp at the sight of him. He looks like he just walked out of a war zone, his face littered with cuts and bruises.
“Oh my God, what happened?” I ask as he approaches.
“Don’t worry about me. It’s just a few scratches.” He glances at Bexley, and I frown again.
“What aren’t you telling me? Why can’t I remember?”
They all glance at one another as if I’m some science experiment. And I hate it.
I hate that no one is telling me a damn thing.
“What—”
“Ahh, Mia, it’s good to see you awake.” A doctor enters the room. “I’m Doctor Henson. Let’s take a little look at you, shall we? I’m going to need your friends to give you some space.”
Sasha and Channing back away, waiting over by the window, but Bexley doesn’t budge.
“Mr. Easton,” the doctor says. “I can’t do my job if you don’t—"
“It’s okay.” I nod at Bexley, and reluctantly, he steps away.
Doctor Henson pulls out a small flashlight and shines it in my eyes. “How do you feel, generally?”
“I feel like I got hit by a truck.”
“That’s to be expected, given the circumstances.”
“And what are the circumstances exactly?” I ask.
“Mia…” He lets out a small breath, shoving the flashlight back in his pocket. “You were in a—"
“Doc,” Bexley growls. “Philip said—”
“Phillip is not my patient. Mia is.” He glances over his shoulder. “And she deserves to know what happened to her.”
“Just… just let me do it, okay?”
The doctor hesitates but then gives a small nod. “Let me finish my observations first.”
