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The paramedics swooped in, trying to split her and Damon up, but neither would release the other’s hand. Brock moved in to keep the paramedics at bay as they moved toward the ambulance.
“Can you hear me, Mr. Knox?” asked one of them.
“I can, but I think the explosion may have caused Miley some hearing issues.”
“Most likely all it needs is a little time. Did either of you take a blow to the head?”
“No. We managed to get under the part of the ceiling that we didn’t think would collapse as well as against a wall.”
“We’d like to take—geesh, I don’t even know her name,” said the paramedic sheepishly.
“Her name at the moment is Miley Stuart,” said Damon.
“Is that likely to change anytime soon?” asked Brock with a smirk.
Miley found it incongruous that someone that big and that muscled up could smirk, but he could. She also found it rather endearing.
“I was just pressing her for an answer to that when all hell broke loose.”
“I doubt it ruptured her eardrums permanently,” said the paramedic, “but the doctors at the hospital want to see both of you. Some guy named Fitzwallace wants bloodwork done, as he said you were drugged. He also wants to make sure that neither of you have a concussion and if the doctors think it’s needed, a full neuro work-up.”
That sounded like Fitz. Little by little, her hearing was improving, but being able to lip read in addition to hearing the muffled voices was helpful. Damon would not be separated from her in the ambulance and held her hand as they drove through the streets of Charleston, sirens blaring away. It wasn’t hard to hear them, and they were giving her a headache.
They were separated briefly at the hospital when each was being evaluated. When they moved her onto the examination bed in the emergency room, Miley tried to sit up. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she felt herself slump back onto the bed. The last thing she heard was Damon roaring at the hospital staff. She smiled. It would be nice to let someone else deal with them.
She drifted or slept through whatever procedures they put her through. She heard some talk of staying the night and was vaguely aware when the nurses tried to shoo Damon out and he pulled rank by calling the CEO of the hospital, who wanted one of their star patrons to be accommodated in every way possible.
It was still dark when Miley finally started to wake up in a meaningful way.
Damon was immediately at her side, smoothing back her hair, holding her hand, and kissing her forehead. “It’s okay, sweetheart. All the tests came back clear. Can you hear me?”
She nodded. “Water?”
He held up a cup with a straw for her to sip. “Better?”
“Yes, thank you. You’ve been home to change,” she observed.
“No. Cerberus has cleared the house. Percy and Hattie are back home, and Brock brought me clothes and my shaver. I scandalized the nursing staff and used the patient shower. It wasn’t nearly as much fun as it could have been with you.”
“How long have I been out?”
“Just a few days. The doctors felt it was better to let you rest under medical supervision. For the record, Hattie didn’t agree.”
Miley grinned. “I have a private room, don’t I? You made them give me a private room. I think I remember the head of the hospital all but genuflecting at your feet.”
Damon chuckled. She must be getting better as she could feel the sound and vibration tingling her skin again. She liked the feeling.
“I am a major contributor to the hospital. Money and power, like rank in the military, have their privileges.”
Fragments of things that had happened were flooding her brain. “Did you tell Brock we were getting married? You do know between him, Seth, and Sawyer in London, it’s a contest to see who’s the biggest gossip.”
“No, but I did tell him I asked you to marry me. I’m still waiting for an answer. If you need time to think about how long you want me to wait before you accept, you could have just said that. The whole blowing up the Acosta mansion and hospital stay were a bit melodramatic even for you.”
“I amnotmelodramatic,” she said, defending herself.
“Really? What do you call it when instead of explaining to Georgina and the two security guards who you are and that Mr. Fitzwallace had asked you to join us, you knock the shit out of them and toss them into the room, then complain about your manicure.”
“I call that expediting the conversation. You were giving Fitz a hard time—please note my use of ladylike language—about having anyone, much less a woman, assigned to your case. I simply cut through all that and impressed you with my skills.”
