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She smirked at me knowingly, the first sign of life I’d seen from her since we found her. “Can’t go without me for more than five minutes?”
I narrowed my gaze on her. “Not if I can fucking help it.”
She laughed, flinching as she got to her feet, walking around the wheelchair next to the bed.
“She should really be using that until the doctor goes over these x-rays,” the nurse pressed, indicating the wheelchair.
I lifted a brow at my Ghost.
She stared at me deadpan.
“Nah,” I said, reaching for her. “I got her.”
“Mr. Clayton, you can barely walk yourself. In fact, you should be using a wheelchair, too. Crutches at least.”
Ballsy, this one.
“She’s right,” my Ghost said, looking up at me with worry creasing her brow. “Your leg.”
It was my turn to smirk. “I’ll use the crutches if you sit your ass in that wheelchair.”
Her lips pursed.
“That’s what I thought.”
The broken pairof us used one another to stay standing as we walked back down the long hall toward the elevators. I choked on a breath, seeing my father standing behind the nurse in the box as the doors closed.
Not fucking real.
I squeezed Rook’s arm, feeling how solid he was.Thiswas real. I tried to make my tired mind remember the difference.
“Where did Grey go?” I asked.
Rook licked his lips, running his teeth over the piercing at the edge of his mouth. “Gone to tell Diesel what’s up. We’re headed down there now.”
His hand trembled where I held it in the crook of my elbow. I squeezed it, but the tremble didn’t quit. “Are you okay?”
A dark laugh passed his lips. “AmIokay?”
“That’s what I asked.”
He went from licking dry lips to biting them, his dark eyes downcast. A knot between his brows. He looked so pale, I realized. The hollows below his eyes were beyond normal Corvus levels and that was saying something.
Tonight,helooked like the Ghost. Not me. I wondered how long it’d been since he slept. If it was me, I wouldn’t have wanted to sleep until I knew he was safe.
Scratch that,I wouldn’t sleep.
At all.
I pulled him to a stop, making him turn his attention to me. Rook looked down at me with a question in his eyes. Deep brown overtaken with iris’ blacker than I’d ever seen them.
My hand found his chest beneath the leather jacket he wore, and I pressed into him, needing him to feel me. To know that I was here and safe. That he could relax the tension I could sense all over his body. Pulling his shoulders tight. Flexing in his legs and up and down his tatted arms. He was wound tighter than a fucking top.
“I’m here, now,” I muttered. “You can breathe.”
Humoring me, he took a long, slow breath, but it came out shaky, and when he bent his head to mine, pressing our foreheads together, I felt the cadence of his heart beating against my palm.
A thundering gallop in his chest.
