Balto didn’t look at me. “Yes.”
“How do you know that?”
He turned to me as he rolled the pole next to his bed. “Because he has something live for.”
I sat on the couch in the living room because I didn’t want to sit there and stare at Heath’s broken body. I didn’t want to watch the doctor examine him and describe his injuries, describe his pain.
It was too fucking much.
Balto came back into the living room.
“How is he?” I whispered.
“He’s going to be asleep for a while, which is a good thing. He’s got enough painkillers to keep him comfortable and to get through the night. The next few days will be rough for him, but we’ve got good shit for him.”
My cheek was pressed into my palm, my eyes down.
“His ribs are broken, his shoulder popped out of the socket, but we popped it back in…”
I shut my eyes tight.
Balto seemed to understand how sick it made me, so he stopped with the details. “But nothing life-threatening. He’ll just need some time to get back on his feet…and some help.”
“I can do it.” I opened my eyes again, my cheeks soaked with my tears.
He sat on the other couch, his elbows on his knees as he stared at me.
“I’ll take care of him.” I didn’t feel obligated because it was my fault. I just wanted to do it, to make sure Heath could relax and not worry about anything as he put himself back together.
“Do I need to worry about Damien?”
I turned to him, my lungs aching. My brother was the last thing on my mind right now. “No…he let me take him away.”
“Alright.” He turned his head the other way, staring across the room at nothing in particular. “I’ll grab some groceries so you don’t need to worry about that. Are you planning to sleep here?”
I nodded.
“Want me to grab anything from your apartment?”
“Yeah…just some clothes. My makeup bag. Some pajamas.”
“You got it.”
“I’ll give you my key—”
“I don’t need it.” He rose to his feet. “I’ll stop by and check on him from time to time. You have my number, so call me if you need anything.”
“Alright, thank you.”
“I’d stay with him, but now I have work to do.”
“What work?” I whispered, looking up at him.
“Heath wouldn’t want his men to know what happened to him, that he’s too weak to lead. So, I’ll do it.”
“Won’t they still know he’s too weak?”
He raised his right hand, where his skull ring now sat. “Not if I pretend to be him.”
Heath was asleep for almost an entire day, twenty-four hours straight. I had to constantly press my hand to his chest to make sure he was still breathing, he still had a heartbeat.
That night, I was too afraid to leave him alone in case he needed anything, so I slept on the couch with a pillow and blanket. I would have lain directly beside him, but I was too afraid to disturb him, to accidentally touch him and cause him pain.
The next morning, he still wasn’t awake, so I went into the kitchen and made something to eat. I passed the time watching TV, going back into the room to check on him. When Balto delivered the groceries along with my belongings, he checked on him too, but he didn’t make small talk before he left.
Later that night, Heath woke up.
I was sitting in the armchair and reading a book, facing his bed so I would know the second he was asleep.
He hadn’t changed his position once, not since Balto had laid him down. He was practically in a coma, and he didn’t look much better than he had once he’d gotten into that bed. He looked as terrible as I felt.
“Baby?” His deep voice came out as a quiet whisper, entering the room like a gentle breeze.
I dropped my book in surprise, expecting to see him stir before he actually spoke. “You’re awake…” I pulled the chair up to his bed and looked down at him, careful not to touch him.
He opened his eyes and stared at me, his face different from all the swelling and bruising, his eyes almost impossible to see.
Now I understood why he couldn’t look at me after he’d saved me—because it was too fucking hard. The sobs came out of nowhere, shaking my body, like a rocket going from standing still to breaking the sound barrier.
His hand moved to mine, and he interlocked our fingers. “Shh…”
I forced my sobs to stop, afraid the noise was hurting him, antagonizing a migraine.
“It may not look like it, but I’ve never felt better.” His thumb brushed across my knuckles, moving slowly, stroking me like I was the one who needed to be comforted.
“Is there anything I can get you?”
“Yes,” he whispered. “I’m starving.”
“Of course.” He’d been asleep a long time, and he probably didn’t get much nourishment in my brother’s basement. I rose to my feet and pulled my hand away. “I’ll make you something good.”