Zane (Inked Brotherhood 3)

Only his skin is as pale as the sheets, and it makes me feel sick. Still can’t wrap my head about what happened. Can’t believe it’s Zane they’re keeping in this tiny hospital room. Monitoring him. Making sure he doesn’t stop breathing, or choke on his own vomit. He has a catheter, I know, and the oxygen mask is always strapped on his face. A needle is strapped to his hand, pumping him full of antibiotics, fluids and God knows what else.

I sit by his side, holding his hand in mine, the blue curtains drawn around us to give a semblance of privacy.

“Wake up,” I whisper. “Come on, Zane. You’ve rested enough. Wake up already.”

Doctors say he probably will. But they can’t be sure, and I can’t take the possibility of him not waking. Not when I know for sure. When I know… I can’t live without him.

The doctors say to keep talking to him and let them know if he shows any sign of reacting. So I talk, and talk, and hope.

The Brotherhood has been in and out of this room so often I’m pretty sure the hospital is thinking of hiring a bodyguard to keep everyone out. They sneak in way past visiting hours and sit with Zane. Talk to him. Curse him. Command him to wake up.

It’s a good thing most of the other beds in this room are empty, or this wouldn’t work.

The girls are more touchy-feely. Erin strokes Zane’s cheek as she talks to him. Tessa puts her hand on top of his. Audrey puts both hands on his chest over the covers. Can he feel it? Can he hear it?

Then there’s the Damage Boyz—the boys Zane took in and who now work at Damage Control—Micah, Jesse, Seth, Shane and Ocean. They are quieter than the Brotherhood, not as comfortable with each other yet, but they sit with Zane, too, tell him about their day, and stare at him, expecting him to answer.

It’s heartbreaking. They look up to him, depend on him to guide them. I never realized how much responsibility he’s taken on his shoulders, how many lives he changed for the better.

They leave, and I return to my usual seat by his side. Four days, and it’s already a routine, a sad one. I haven’t slept in these four days. I can’t. The nurses are kind, and let me stay by his side.

Not sure it’s helping.

I brush my hand up his bare, muscled arm, over the tattoos and scars, up his neck to his stubbled jaw. His pulse beats strong there, and I let my fingers linger. Then I caress his cheek, his eyelashes, his brows, trail my hand down to his soft mouth, his strong chin.

My lips tremble. “It’s me, Dakota.” My voice is hushed, and I force myself to speak up, in case he can hear me. “I’m here, with you. Open your eyes to see me. Come on.”

I keep talking until my throat is so dry I can do no more than croak, and then I lean back in my chair and grab my drawing pad. Another new routine. Pencil in hand, lip pulled between my teeth, I draw him. I draw his beautiful face, his shoulders… Can’t see more of him, but I remember. I know what he looks like underneath the covers.

Then I draw dragons around him and spiders. Good luck charms. Protectors. I draw deathmoths with their skull designs, to counter death. I use magic.

“I’d dance naked in front of a bonfire and paint my breasts red if that would help. Hell, I’d open my veins and pour out my blood for you. I’d give my right arm for you to wake up and be all right. Can you hear me?”

Please let it work.

But the hours pass, and the time on my cell phone tells me the day is gone. He doesn’t wake up, and I can’t help fearing maybe he doesn’t want to.

I close my drawing pad and settle in for another night.

“I’d give you anything,” I say as I lean forward on the bed, propping my chin on my folded arms to gaze at his still face. I’d give up all control to you. I’d trust you in anything you want to do with me. I love you as you are. Just come back.”

Come back to me.

***

I’m sitting at the hospital cafeteria, my hands wrapped around a mug of tea long gone cold, my head bowed.

So tired. So empty. My heart can’t stop racing. My thoughts won’t stop spinning in useless circles.

Zane. They always return to him.

I sip at my cold tea, fighting the burning behind my brow. Just when I think I’m all out of tears, more keep coming.

Someone pulls a chair and sits across from me. Through the blurriness, I see Asher. His mouth is a thin line, and his brows are tightly knit together.

“He’s been calling out your name,” he says and just sits there, after dropping this bomb on me.

My heart bangs in my chest as I shoot to my feet. My legs tremble. “He’s awake?”