One Bossy Proposal: Enemies to Lovers Romance

My friend doesn’t stir.

I suck in a breath that burns and hold it while Wyatt snoozes through the rest of the exam.

After the doctor punches a few notes into his tablet, I can’t stand the suspense.

“Any clue when he’ll wake up?” I ask point-blank.

The doctor frowns.

“It’s hard to say, I’m afraid. I’m mildly surprised he hasn’t regained consciousness yet. Believe it or not, I have good news.”

“You do?” I’m almost afraid to ask.

He motions me over to the screen in the corner and pulls up what looks like a digital X-ray. He points at the two white cloudy spots floating against the faint outline of Wyatt’s chest.

“These are Mr. Emory’s lungs,” he says.

“Okay?”

He points to a foggy bubble on one of the ghostly balloons. “That’s ground zero, where the infection is being fought. It was significantly worse forty-eight hours ago. It’s clearing up, little by little, which means the drugs are working.”

Shit.

Positive news has been so scarce lately I almost fall over.

Propping a hand against the wall, I stand and move closer to the screen, taking a good, long look.

“You’re sure about that? I’m no doctor, obviously, but both of those lungs look pretty fogged over to me,” I say.

“I’d say the fluid is roughly thirty percent less than it was yesterday in the worst areas,” he assures me, pulling at his collar. “You see the bubbles, but what’s not so clear in the image is the infection-free tissue, which appears rather healthy. We may have caught him just in time before permanent damage set in.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose, exhaling slowly.

“Mr. Burns? Are you—”

“I’m fine, Doc. Damn. I’m just relieved. This is the first good news in a while.”

He smiles. “Well, with the infection fading, he should be on the mend, especially once he’s off the ventilator. This time next week, he should be breathing freely and regaining his strength.”

“Hope you’re right. Thank you,” I say, leaning against the wall.

I haven’t felt this relief since I was facedown in a combat zone, my ears ringing with a deafening blast, and that heap of shit crushing me was suddenly lifted away.

“No problem.” He looks at Wyatt and back at me. “He’s your brother?”

“Yeah,” I mutter.

The doctor frowns. “According to his chart, he was brought in from the streets. When he’s discharged, he’ll need real care, or he could wind up right back at square one.”

I toss my head, already determined to ensure that won’t happen.

“Understood. I won’t let him limp back to his tent, no matter how much he fusses. I’ve been trying to get him to move in with me for a while now, but he’s stubborn as a mule.” I heave out a sigh. “This time, I’ll just drive him straight to my place.”

“Good plan. I have to make my rounds, but I’ll be back this time tomorrow unless there’s any abrupt change in his condition.” He moves to the door and pulls it open.

That’s my cue to get the hell out of here and find some fresh air. I head down to the lobby, my mind numb.

When I step out, I think I’m hallucinating.

A blond pixie rushes over and comes to a dead stop in front of me.

“Lincoln?”

“Dakota?”

We toss each other’s names at the same time.

Shit. I wondered if my silence would bring her to me sooner or later.

This is not how I wanted to have this conversation, but the time for choosing is over.

She looks down, up, and covers her mouth with both hands as she meets my eyes.

“Oh my God. Is Wyatt okay? I heard something happened to him, but I didn’t realize he was in the ICU.” Her eyelashes flutter, soft green eyes misted with grief.

For a hellish second, I think she might cry.

She shouldn’t be here.

But since she is, I make the only move I can.

“Let’s talk outside,” I say, placing a hand on her arm and escorting her to the nearest door and the cool, waiting night.

She follows, darting small glances at me as we walk. When we’re finally outside and alone in the too-bright parking lights around the hospital, she looks at me and sighs.

“Is he...?”

“He’ll be fine. Supposedly. The doctor just gave me an update. He caught a nasty case of pneumonia, but it’s clearing up with the stuff they’re giving him. I’m sure he’ll pull through, even if he had me damn worried for a few days.”

Her green eyes are marbles, reflecting the same worry and relief I know too well.

“I’m sorry, Lincoln. If I’d known—I would’ve been here with you right away. But after what happened at the park, I just thought—” She stops.

I move my hand off her arm. I need the distance, and so does she.

The only thing more entanglement can give us is death by ten thousand cuts.

It’s slightly humid tonight, the air thick with tension. That’s not why it’s hard to breathe.