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Is he okay?
Is he not okay?
RAVEN: He’s grumpy.
No one is surprised he’s grumpy. But is he okay??
RAVEN: He looks like crap. He’s on a mission. But he’s up and moving.
Mission? What mission?
You know what? I’m coming back.
RAVEN: No, no, no, no. Stay there. Rest for the baby. We’ve got this.
No, I’m fine. I’ll be there.
RAVEN: I’m texting Gabby.
Don’t you dare.
If you don’t have to go to the bathroom, you get your sorry ass back into bed right fucking now,” Gabby growled viciously from the doorway. Dang it. Raven had texted her. I paused at the edge of the bed as I considered just how much of her wrath I wanted to incite.
“Killian’s awake,” I told her. “I want to go to the hospital.”
“Tomorrow,” she said. She stood in the bedroom door of our suite, arms crossed and chin raised as if ready to fight me. “We have your appointment at the hospital tomorrow. You can see him then. You need to rest.”
“I can walk!” I protested. “I’m fine.”
“Raise your arm and say that again,” she challenged and arched a brow. And Lord help me, I considered it. Even with my complicated sling on. Gabby smirked. “That’s what I thought. Sit your ass back in bed, continue your show, and figure out what you want me to order us for dinner. I’ll be in the living room when you’re ready.”
I made a face as she left the room, tempted to be sassy. I hated being stuck in a bed so damn uselessly. I understood why—at least I told myself I could understand why. More than anything, I wanted to be at the hospital with Killian and Nolan rather than be stuck in a fancy hotel room.
Instead of watching a show, I got comfortable on a pile of pillows with a book. The words floated around the page as my focus was anywhere but on the story.
“You always did that lip thing when you were reading sex scenes, but the eyebrow thing means it’s poorly written. So, how bad are we fucking talking?”
My head snapped up at the sound of his voice. Killian leaned against the doorframe with his hands in his jacket pocket and a weary smile on his face.
“You’re here,” I whispered.
“Don’t you move that ass out of bed,” he ordered when I tried to get up. I huffed with frustration. “Don’t give me that look, princess. If the doctor wants your ass in bed, we’re keeping your ass in bed.”
“Damn it,” I grumbled, making him chuckle. “All of you are so bossy.”
“I thought you liked it when I bossed you around?” he retorted quietly. Of course, I did, and he knew that. He closed the door to give us privacy.
“They let you out?” I asked. I tracked his every movement through the room as he kicked off his shoes and eased out of his jacket.
“Let me out may be a bit of a fucking stretch,” Killian admitted. “I’m sort of a missing patient.”
“Ian!”
“Please. They can’t hold me.”
“That sounds hypocritical,” I pointed. My heart dropped out of my chest as he peeled off his shirt. He was varying shades of black and blue with a long line of stitches under his ribcage. “I thought your uniform shirt was supposed to protect you.”
“It is.” He moaned as he climbed into bed next to me. He was careful as he wrapped his arms around me and pulled me against his chest. I breathed him in deep and made a face. He smelled like a hospital—sterile and old. Not a smell I liked. “And that is exactly why Beau and Lane are taking her weapons back to see why hers went right through my fucking uniform. How are you?”
