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“Partner?”
“Yeah, I’m a cop.” I oversimplify. We undercover guys like to keep things on the downlow.
Amy’s blonde eyebrows lift. Her eyes go to my tattoos where I’ve turned up my sleeves as the night’s worn on. The one creeping above my collar, as well.
Finally, she nods. “So, Ms. Walker is the little sister?”
I nod.
“I see now. I had a similar situation when I was in high school. My older brother’s best friend asked me out while he was away at school. My brother flipped out.”
I sort of chuckle. Sort of, because it’s two in the morning, and I’m still worried. “What happened?”
Pausing in the process of gathering plastic wrappers and the litter from her task, she lifts her left hand, wiggling her spread fingers. A silver band circles her ring finger. She grins from ear to ear. “I married him.”
CHAPTER 12
Marco
It’s not like there’s anything prophetic about the nurse’s story, and yet, her words rattle through my brain. It must be fatigue that’s got my mind and emotions scrambled. Typically, any thought of matrimony and me in the same context would freak me out, but tonight, I’m strangely open to suggestion. Not with Annalise, of course, that could never work, yet…the old man’s commitment, his challenge, ring through me. Maybe I’m tired of the life I’ve been living.
And maybe I’m going to prison, so, yeah, bad timing on the whole looking-to-the-future thing.
I wedge the pillow Amy brought me behind my head and try to find a comfortable way to sleep. She turned off the overhead lights on her way out, so what remains is the glow from the equipment and the anemic light of a single canister above the door.
Annalise has been resting, peacefully it seems, for a couple of hours now. If she’s improved when she wakes up, I’ll rest easy and let the call to Tripp slide. If not…
I sigh. I seriously hope it doesn’t come to that. Things are better all around this way.
Watching Annalise—because who am I trying to kid? I’m not sleeping in this chair, no way, no how—I think, perhaps, her color is better. The unnatural flush has faded a little. Her hair is splayed across the pillow, and I’m sorry to say it’s a familiar sight, familiar because I’ve imagined this vision in another scenario.
I’m pathetic.
I drop my face to the floor. “Sorry, God.”
My guy brain has a mind of its own. Usually I don’t worry about it, it’s how I’m wired, but in this context I hate myself for it. Might be I’m no better than whoever got her into this situation to begin with.
Might be I’m as bad as the whiny, nasallyKyle, the culprit, I’m certain.
I’m a fine one to judge, aren’t I? I suppose there are worse guys than me, but practically speaking, I’m the counterpoint to the I’ve-only-ever-been-with-one-woman old man.
A thought I can’t say I’ve never had before but have never allowed myself to dwell upon springs to life.God, please don’t let me have left any of them in this situation:Pregnant. Alone.
Abandoned? Betrayed?
But haven’t I always made it clear from the start the extent of my commitment—or in my case, lack thereof? That’s enough…isn’t it?
This itchy introspection isn’t fun in the least, and before I know it, I’ve drifted off, uncomfortable chair or not. I’m aware of nurses and techs coming and going from time to time, but when I awaken for real, sun streams through the window. Annalise is awake again, too. “You’re still here.”
I can’t tell if that’s a good thing or bad, but I do know her lips are severely chapped and her mouth is dry, hindering her speech. I take the insulated mug the nurse filled with water and bend the straw to her lips. She sips it down greedily.
When she’s finished, she eases fully back to the pillow, gaze fixed at some point across the room. “You should go.”
I shake my head, but she’s not looking at me. “I’ll stay.”
“No, Marco. You need to leave.”
“No,” I reply simply, but I’m wilting with relief because I can tell she’s stronger than before.
