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Courtney snorts behind me, and I turn around, flashing her a glare.
“Um, definitely not. Doesn’t mean I’d want him dead.”
“All right, go check on him while I check on Mia.”
“Okay.”
“Mia Montgomery is in 707, and Travis King is in 713, just down that hall.” The doctor directs us. We both thank him. “Just a few minutes,” he reminds us.
Courtney walks with me to Travis’s room but doesn’t follow me inside.
“I’ll wait out here so you two can be alone.”
I purse my lips and exhale. “Okay.”
I knock softly on the door before slowly opening it. I’m not sure what to expect, but I just need to visually confirm that he’s okay.
“Travis?” I walk quietly up to his bed, taking in his closed eyes and the bandage over his forehead. “Can you hear me?” I take his hand, feeling his warmth against mine, and wait for a response.
He has an IV in his other hand, his left knee is propped up on pillows under the sheets, and his face is bruised and swollen. I’ve never seen him like this before, and for the first time, he looks vulnerable. My chest aches, seeing his body lying almost lifeless, his chest slowly rising and falling, and I can’t help but want to kiss every bruised part of him.
Sitting on the edge of his bed, I keep his hand in mine and hope he can hear what I’m about to say.
“I don’t know if you can hear me, but it’s V.” I choke down tears and laughter. “I can’t believe I just called myself that.”
I wait, hoping he’ll respond and join in on our inside joke, but he doesn’t flinch. I watch his chest move up and down as the sounds of the machines fill the room.
“You look pretty awful, but the doctor says you should be back to your normal self in no time. Truthfully, seeing you like this is tearing me apart.”
I swallow and catch my breath, and then I begin to ramble. “I don’t know why you and Mia were together, and I honestly don’t think I want to know. I’m going to try to trust you, Travis. It’ll be hard because of our past, but I’m going to try to be more like Drew. It doesn’t faze him at all that you were with Mia, and it reminded me that although you’re an asshole most of the time, you wouldn’t do anything like that to Drew. Apparently, there’s some sort of bro code.” I shake my head at the thought.
“To be honest, I hope you wouldn’t do that to me either, but I don’t know where we stand and what we’re doing. When you get out of here, and you’re not hooked to machines like Darth Vader, we’re going to have to talk—like a real talk—about us. I need to know that we’re on the same page and where we should go from here. I want to trust you, Travis, and I’m going to try really hard. Please don’t make me regret wearing my heart on my sleeve.”
I sit next to him for a few more minutes, watching him sleep. Realizing I’ve been in his room way too long, I squeeze his hand, wishing he’d squeeze it back, but he never does. I stand and lean over him, careful not to touch or put weight on his chest and press my lips to his.
“Bye, Travis,” I whisper.
I walk toward the door, wiping my face as tears begin falling down my cheeks. I can’t stand to see him so vulnerable and broken—it’s tearing me apart. Before I can open the door, a nurse walks in and immediately studies my face.
“Oh, it’s okay, sweetie.” She flashes me a genuine smile. “Mr. King will have a full recovery in a few weeks. He’s pretty drugged up on painkillers right now, but I’ll let him know you were here.”
All I can do is nod and reach for the door.
I really hope this isn’tgame over.
CHAPTERTWENTY-FIVE
TRAVIS
The constant beeppulls me back to a harsh reality with whitewashed walls and numbing pain that coats my body from head to toe. I force my eyes open, and it’s hard to pinpoint what hurts the most. My throat is painfully dry, and the thick fog my head is swimming in makes it hard to focus in the bland room. I glance down at the countless tubes attached to my arm and broken memories cut through the confusion like shards of glass I can’t piece together.
The rhythmic tone of the machine I’m attached to and the low sound of the television pull my limited attention to the corner of the room. I can’t make out the words, and it takes everything I have just to turn my head toward the noise. Once I’m able to focus, I hear rustling and watch as Drew sits up from the chair. He rubs a hand over his face and flashes a small grin. He’s wearing his blues and badge, and it somewhat confuses me.
“The King lives.”
It hurts when I try to laugh and end up coughing instead. “Barely.”
“You look rough.”
