His eyes brim with tears. His face dissolves and comes back into focus.
“Please, Russell. Promise me.”
He wipes the hair from my face. “Don’t talk.” He breathes out through his nose. “Fuck. Damian! Get over here.”
“Please.” I beg with all my being, with everything I’m capable of. “Please, Russell.”
“Yes, damn you.”
His voice is breaking, or maybe it’s my hearing that’s slipping away with my sight.
“Tell me you understand.”
He forces a smile. “I understand.”
I sag back on the floor, suddenly too tired to hold myself up. “Thank you.”
“Lina.” Damian kneels beside me.
The hurt lifts, and for a moment I feel fine. My senses are sharper than ever. I see Damian clearly, every line on his face. I feel his breath on my lips as he cups my head. I smell his skin, sweat mixed with citrus.
“I’m sorry, Damian. I’m sorry for everything we did to you.”
His lips part. They move, but he’s not making a sound. His tears drip on my cheeks and run down my neck. I want to tell him it’s all right. I don’t need him to tell me what I already know. We don’t need wasted words.
Cupping his cheek, I whisper what’s on my heart. “It was perfect.”
I feel it in my body and in my soul. I feel it in my smile as I let go.
Chapter 25
Damian
I wanted Lina’s smile for so long, and now that picture will haunt me forever. Rubbing my hands over my face, I hang my head to relieve the ache between my shoulders. My eyes burn from a lack of sleep. I haven’t moved from the hospital chair since they brought Lina from surgery.
It’s been a day and night. The surgeon reckons she’ll be fine. No organs were damaged. She was damn lucky. I wouldn’t be surprised if she has a guardian angel. Angels would definitely watch over someone like her. Her words come back to haunt me.
It was perfect.
I don’t deserve her. I gave her a prison. She gave me her life. She gave me her smile. Her fucking smile. I press the heels of my palms against my eyes until I see white spots.
The door opens. Russell pushes inside with two Starbucks cups and puts one on the nightstand next to me.
I still feel like strangling the motherfucker. I hope he can see it in the killer look I’m giving him. No matter what I threaten him with, he won’t budge. He won’t change his statement. He hard-headedly maintains Lina pushed Dalton off the tower after he’d shot her. I got the best lawyer in the country, who said Lina would’ve been charged with manslaughter and gotten off with self-defense under normal circumstances, but since she’s officially classified as mentally unstable—a nicer term for insanity—she can’t be put on trial. Did she realize that before she convinced Russell to lie for her? Is that why she took my guilt on her shoulders? I have an inkling it’s got nothing to do with getting off scot-free with murder, and everything with her heart. It’s just how Lina is. It’s how she’s always been. A physical pain lodges under my breastbone as every time I think about what I need to do.
Russell motions at the paper cup. “You going to drink that? ‘Cause you look like you can do with some caffeine.”
My gaze slips to Lina’s pale hand that lies on the white sheet. She’s hooked up to an IV line and heart rate monitor. As so many times since I planted my ass in this chair, I almost touch her. It takes enormous effort and some more to hold back. Touching her will only make what I have to do harder.
“You can do with a couple of hours of sleep,” Russell continues. “Maybe shave before she wakes up. You look like a caveman.” He scrunches up his nose. “Starting to smell like one, too.”
Lina has regained consciousness, but she’s on morphine. I doubt she’ll remember I was here. Maybe it’s better like this. The doctor said they’re reducing her pain and sleep medication from this afternoon. She’ll wake up soon. The surgeon said if she remains stable, she can go home in a couple of days.
It’s time.
My palms start sweating at the thought. Wiping them on my pants, I force my legs to stand.
“Are you staying?” I ask, hating, envying, and sadly appreciating Russell right now.
“Yeah.”
I slap his back. “I’ll have that shower, after all.” Before taking care of other business. “I’ll send you a cheque.”
He grabs my arm. “For what?”
I look at where his fingers dig into my skin. When he releases his grip, I say, “For services rendered.”
“Fuck you. I did it for Lina, not for money.”
“Doesn’t matter. You did your job. You’ll get paid.”
“Hart.”
I stop in the door.
He looks at me warily. “What’s going on?”
“I’ll send you instructions.”
“What instructions?”