Can't Fix Cupid

Hesitantly, I open the door and slip inside, letting it shut behind me. I look around, surprised. Leave it to Warren Knight to have a swanky hospital room.

No standard hospital bed here. This thing looks like it’s from the Ritz. There are almost half a dozen flower arrangements scattered around the room, and a huge flat screen plays sports replays. There’s a sitting area for visitors, a mini fridge, and even a window seat that I suspect turns into a bed.

But my eyes are riveted on Warren’s pale figure as he lies unconscious beneath white sheets.

My feet are moving before my mind tells them to, and then I’m sitting on his bed beside him, studying his face.

He looks…bad.

Other than the times he’s been nude, Warren is either always in a suit or designer jeans. To see him wearing a hospital gown is just...wrong.

He has a bandage wrapped around his head from where he must have fallen down, and his skin tone has taken on a sickly shade. His stubble is longer than he likes, and from beneath the bandage, I can see that his hair is slightly dirty and lacking its usual shine. Dark circles shade the skin beneath his eyes, and the monitor hooked up to him beeps erratically, setting my nerves on edge with every shrill pulse.

Tentatively, I reach up and press my palm against his cheek. I let my thumb brush over his scratchy skin, the hairs scraping my fingertips.

The last time I saw him, Warren had looked at me like he hated me. Like he regretted everything that had happened between us. Like he wanted to toss away my most cherished moments.

“I’m so mad at you,” I whisper.

He doesn’t move apart from breathing, a

nd even then he has oxygen tubes up his nose to help him.

Speaking to him like this feels reminiscent of how I used to talk to him in the Veil. I used to confess all sorts of things to him back then. Every single day.

I’d tell him about what I did or didn’t do that day. I’d tell him my worries, my hopes, my complaints and my joys. It’s like we’re already reverting to that old distance that used to be stuck between us, and I hate it.

I want him to open his eyes and look at me with that softness that he reserved for just me. I want him to boss me around or surprise me by saying something sweet. I want him to wake up and for all of this to be a bad dream.

I drag my hand down from his face to fidget with the fabric of his hospital gown. “You know, the first time I saw you, you had mustard on your collar.”

I smile at the memory, despite the fact that tears keep filling my eyes.

“There you were, in all your glory, walking towards your building. I didn’t know anything about you then, but I could tell you’d just come from a business lunch. Harvey was busy schmoozing your group of clients, while you just looked damn hot in your perfect suit with your perfect hair, glowering at everyone with your perfect face.”

He’d stopped me right in my red-winged path that day. Warren always drew eyes no matter where he went, but it was beyond just his looks. He walked with dominating power. He had that magnetism about him that forced people to stop and pay attention.

“I knew instantly that you were the type to always want things just so. And that damn mustard on your shirt? That was not acceptable to you. You kept touching it. Fidgeting over the spot where you knew it was. I could tell it was bugging the shit out of you,” I laugh lightly.

I’d followed him into his office, all the way to the conference room where their group gathered, only to watch Warren excuse himself to go to the bathroom.

“You stripped down and scrubbed that stain, cussing it out the entire time and just making it worse,” I say, my smile widening. “You were so adorably pissed. All over a tiny little spot. I knew right then that I wanted to bring you love. I wanted you to channel all that intensity and devotion into someone else, and in return, have her teach you that a mustard stain is no big deal. So really, all of this started because you just happened to be sloppy at lunchtime. Who knew a mustard stain could lead to all this?”

I try to smile again, but my lip wobbles instead, and I drop my eyes. I take a deep breath, trying to stop myself from sobbing.

“You’re such an asshole,” I murmur as I lean down and gently lay my head against his chest. I need to feel him. I need to be close. I’ve missed him so damn much that it hurts all over. My body aches that he can’t wrap his arms around me and hold me tight.

“I tell you that I love you, and you go off and start dying on me.” A tear drips from my face onto his gown. “I came here to fix you, but I can’t,” I say, my voice breaking. “I can’t fix your heart. Not the way you need me to, and I’m so damn sorry.”

I blow out a shuddering breath, shocked to see when some pink mist slips out and curls in the air in front of me.

I shoot up in surprise, jumping to my feet, staring at the traitorous power. “No fricken way.”

Not wanting to test it out in front of Warren in case it affects his heartbeat, I walk into the bathroom and close the door, and then blow more Lust into the air. And it’s perfect.

After weeks of my power being total useless shit, it chooses now to work?

My back tingles at the show of power, probably popping up another feather or two from my skin.