“He’s improving,” Crusher breathes out the word and there’s so much emotion in it that even I can hear it. Whoever this Cross is, he evokes devotion and care from every single person in his life, from his child, his men, and Rory.
What would that be like?
Hell, I have no idea. I’ve been alone since the day I left my hometown and I didn’t look back, didn’t allow myself to—at least while sober.
“He seems to be. I’ll have some additional tests run through the day and I’ll of course let you know the results as soon as I’ve studied them.”
“Sounds good, thank you, doctor,” Crusher says and the doctor shakes his hand, nods to me and leaves. “Fuck! He’s coming out of it. I knew he would if he could just understand what was waiting for him,” he growls.
“I don’t think I’d get too excited just yet Dawson.”
“You’ve met Rory, spent time with her. Wouldn’t you fight like hell to come back to her and your son?” he asks, and fuck, he has me there. If a woman like Rory was depending on me, I’d fight the devil himself. There’s only been one other woman in my life I’d do that for…
“Rory and Ryan think he’s dead,” I tell him, rubbing the back of my neck. “I don’t think Rory understood about the alarms and what they meant.”
“Shit. I’ll head out there.”
“I’ll stay here in case the doctor comes back or something else happens,” I tell him lamely. Really, I just want my turn to talk to Cross.
I needn’t have worried about making an excuse. Dawson leaves without a second glance, leaving me alone with Cross.
“You don’t know me Cross, but the plain truth of it is that I know everything about you,” I tell him, sitting in the chair by his bed. “I’ve made it my duty to learn everything about you, not because I really give a damn about you, but I do care about Rory McDaniels.”
Maybe it’s because I’m a cop and trained to take shit in, or maybe it’s because I’m looking for a sign. Whatever the reason, I see Cross’s hand jump against the bed. I grin, part of me glad, even if it means bad things for me and a chance with Rory. Then again, I’ve always been a complicated fuck. There’s only one woman who ever truly understood me, and there are times these days that I wonder if I imagined that she knew me at all.
“From where I’m standing, a man would be stupid as hell not to fight to come back and claim that woman,” I tell him, but there’s no further response from him. He’s listening though. I don’t know how I know that, but I do. So, I push. “Right now, that woman is out there holding your son and they’re crying over you. I wouldn’t know, there’s not many in my life that have given a damn if I kept breathing, but it seems to me you got two damn good reasons to fight and pull your ass out of this. Those two are gifts that not every man gets. If you don’t want to fight for it, there will be men in line to take over for you,” I warn him and it happens again. His hand curls, his fingers moving into a loose fist and I grin sadistically. “I don’t mind telling you man, I’ll be right there in the front of the line, hoping she gives me a shot.”
An alarm goes off on one of the monitors. I look up to see Cross’s heart-rate is rising. I look back down and this time it’s his eyes staring straight at mine. My message has been delivered. I’m not going to get a shot at Rory, but that’s just as well. That woman out there deserves a man with a whole heart and I left half of mine in the cold, frozen snow of Maine years ago.
The doors open and doctors scatter around, I step back to let them work, but I keep my gaze trained on Cross and he keeps his on me.26Diesel“Fuck, man. It’s good to have you looking at me,” Crusher says from above me. My eyes dart to him briefly, but they move around the room.
Searching.
The asshole who said he was waiting on Rory, is gone. I heard every word he said. My brain is addled and nothing is making sense. I feel like I’m buried under water and everything is so damn heavy I can’t move. Even moving a finger takes so much effort it is exhausting. I feel like I’m choking. I can barely move my head and I can tell there are tubes running down my neck and through my fucking nose. I want them gone. I jerk my hand—or at least I think I do—but I can’t lift it. I look down at it in panic.