Wicked Restless (Harper Boys #2)(123)

Owen smiles, though, hearing me clearly. He nods.

“Yeah, she’s here. She’s barely left this room, and man is she going to be pissed at me when she finds out I told her to go eat and that’s when you wake up. I’ll go get her,” he says, and I close my eyes, nodding yes.

Yes. Emma. I need Emma.



* * *





Emma


I hand the last kid in line three candy bars, because that’s all I had left.

“You should get a reward for being so patient,” I wink. He smiles, reaching into his pillowcase to inspect the three chocolates I gave him.

I thank the nurse closest to me for letting me participate, then I tear a corner away from my granola bar, pushing part of it through and biting into the salty end. My stomach rolls in appreciation.

“Emma!”

Owen’s voice startles me, and I jump, turning to see him racing toward me, his phone clutched in his hand.

“Andrew?” I ask, shoving the rest of my bar in my mouth, chewing manically. Owen nods, laughing and crying at the same time.

“I was going to text you, but I run faster than I type. Just now. He asked for you!”

I’m chasing behind him, trying to keep pace with his long strides as he takes the stairs three at a time.

“He asked for me,” I repeat his words, smiling and pounding my feet as fast as they’ll go. I toss my wrapper into a trash that we pass on our way down Andrew’s hall after Owen buzzes us in through the large double doors. I see doctors and nurses all moving in and out of his room as I get closer, but I ignore them, weaving through and under until I’m at his bedside.

The instant I see his open eyes, I know—this is one of life’s good parts, too, the kind of moment I will hold on to forever. My eyes swell with tears, and I lunge to his side, grabbing his hand and laying my torso across him, wanting to hug tighter but knowing he had so many open wounds underneath.

I feel his hand squeeze mine, his strength weak, but his movement very much alive and well.

“Oh my god I’m so happy to see you,” I say, stepping back for a nurse to take vitals. I move around every person who needs him, but I never let go of my touch on him. His mom is sitting on the other side, her hands wrapped around his arm.

“How was your lunch?” he teases. His voice is scratchy, but I hear him underneath it all.

“You ass. I leave your room for five minutes, and that’s when you decide to wake up?” I move my head to his shoulder, laying my face against his arm, feeling the beat of his heart with my hand. This entire time, his heart—it’s been strong.

“You know me—flair for the dramatic,” he says, swallowing hard.

“Andrew, I’m going to work on removing the tube in your nose, and it should make it a little easier to talk. But I’m going to need you to lie still and just be patient for a few minutes, okay?” the doctor says.

Andrew nods, and I squeeze his hand again, threading my fingers tightly with his. I roll his hand over in mine, opening his palm, and with the tip of my finger, I write I love you again and again. Andrew keeps his promise to the doctor, and we don’t talk for almost an hour while they work around him, eventually removing many of the monitors and tubes attached to his body. My eyes never leave his the entire time, and even though he can’t speak, I see the love in his eyes for me.

Eventually, the room clears, and for a small window of time, Andrew and I are alone.

“I didn’t fight, Emma,” he whispers, his voice still raw. I lay my head flat on his chest, the welcome stroke of his hand over my head and through my hair keeping time with the rhythm of his heart as I watch the lines zigzag up and down on the monitor.

“I know. Thank you,” I weep against his chest. His hand stills as he leans forward as much as he can, his lips finding my head.

“That man…he would have found me eventually,” he says, and I lift my head to look at him, my brow pinched.

“They said it was some bookie or something, and he thought you owed him money?” I stare deep into Andrew’s eyes, and his mouth falls into a peaceful line.

“It was my demon,” he says, rolling his arm over and motioning to the deep burn scar on his wrist. “He wanted to torture me one last time, I guess.”

My eyes hover over his scar, and I pull his arm to my lips, pressing a soft kiss over the round mark, wanting to hide it all with my love. I rest my head back against him, knowing any moment his family will be back to break up our small bubble. They miss him too, but I’m selfish.

“Someone else took care of your demon for you,” I sigh. “Owen can fill you in more, but I guess the investigators figured out where he lived, and when they got to his house to question him, they found him in the living room dead from a gunshot wound.”

Andrew’s chest pauses, and I tilt my head up to look at him. I don’t like it when he’s not breathing. Not breathing…it makes me nervous.

“Do they know who?” he asks.

I shake my head no and return my focus to the feel of his fingers in mine. Andrew does the same, and we both lay silently, our hands making long, methodic strokes along each other’s skin. I can never get enough of the feel of him—life beating through his body, love pumping through his veins.

“My brother thinks you’re cute,” he teases after several minutes of quiet. I smile against him, turning my head just enough to press a kiss over his heart. “I mean, I’d understand if you want to jump ship and get on Team Owen. You could probably take Kensi in a fight.”