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So, I wait and wait. It might be an hour or two, but I wait. And when Matthews appears again, I’m on my feet, trailing him towards Xander’s room.
My stride is fast, ready to get there, for this to end, but the unknown causes my palms to sweat and my heart to thump between my ears.
Rounding the doorframe, I’m struck speechless by the vision of him staring at the windowsill—at the Sylvanians—with tears in his eyes. There is no mistaking his fatigue, the haze around him evident in the slow swaying of his head from side to side and the distant look in his striking blue eyes. I swallow over a lump in my throat.
My hothead.
Slowly, I approach him. “Baby…” The low utterance falls from my lips like a desperate plea, a gush carrying unrelenting emotion and significance.
His gaze rolls to mine, and I whimper under his tangible attention, swept up in the brutal beauty of this man. Everything inside me vibrates. Even in this state, he’s the same, tragically stunning, a devastating vision of a man composed of both violence and charm.
He has machines hooked up to him, tubes and cords covering his body. The sheets are pulled up high to keep him warm. On the left side of his scalp is a drain filled with red fluid. It doesn’t bother me at all. That’s my hothead.
“Baby,” he murmurs like his jaw is too heavy to work, his voice weak, leaking from his lips. The sound burrows right into my chest, but I know it’s just for now.
His fragility is not forever.
He’ll be strong again.
Not forever, Kaya.
The shaking, the tremors, the vague expression, it’s all to be expected. He’s alive. That’s what matters.
Without a second more, I climb onto the bed and gently tuck myself beside him, careful not to tangle in the tubes. I wrap my leg over his, not able to connect us further without hurting him. Miraculously, more tears spill from my eyes.
He sighs. “My head hurts.”
I almost laugh,‘cause… Of course it does, Hothead. I don’t know what to say. Words halt around the tears. It feels like it’s been years. But, in reality, it’s been less than a day. It feels like I’ve been dragged to Hell and back, but I’ve hardly left the hospital. I feel…
I just grip his hand.
“I’m so sorry,” he tries to speak, but it’s slurred and lazy, the end of each word trailing off with fatigue and confusion.
A sob hiccups from me. “I love you, Xander.”
His hand squeezes mine, reassuring authority in it, but not with the same strength he usually holds. He winces. “I heard it. I heard you. I knew. I know.”
God.
I cry quietly into his side. “Are you in pain?”
“My head…” is all he says, the words dwindling to a long, deep exhale. Then he’s heavier on the mattress, his hand is limp in mine, but his breath… is strong, intense, passionate—fighting.
He sleeps.
And I stay.
CHAPTERFORTY-TWO
xander
Three days later
“Clay. She hurts us, Clay.”
“Get up. I need to tell you that I love you. I forgot to tell you. I forgot to say it. You have to hear it before… God, please, you should hear it before…”
I hear you.
