Mercy (Salacious Players Club, #4)(90)

“It was on your app, you know? That’s how we found each other. Beau took the quiz—"

“He did?” His head snaps up with a look of shock.

Slowly, I nod. His gaze is practically burning a hole through me as I watch him work out the rest. Beau’s sex life is none of Emerson’s business, but it doesn’t take a genius to piece together that puzzle. Now that everyone and their mother knows my quiz results, it’s not hard to imagine what his were if it paired us together.

“Is it serious? Between you two?” he asks with a soft gaze on my face.

“Yes,” I reply proudly. Then, because it feels like a rip the bandage off kind of night, I add in the kicker. “He’s coming with me to Phoenix…permanently.”

I might as well have knocked all the air out of him. His nostrils flare as he forces a swallow and looks away. Then I watch with pity as he crumbles, dropping his ass to the curb with his back to me. I have to swallow the emotion building like needles in my throat.

“Emerson?” I ask after a few minutes.

“I just need a minute, Maggie. It’s a lot to absorb.”

“I understand,” I whisper.

We sit in silence for a while, and after almost an hour goes by, I start to feel like I might die of impatience. Just as I’m about to walk back in and ask for more answers, a man in scrubs finds us outside.

“You’re here for the man with the head wound?” he asks.

Emerson and I jump up at the same time and stare at him with matching hopeful expressions on our faces.

“Yes, how is he?”

“He’s stable,” he says, and we both let out heavy sighs. “He’s awake and in recovery. He suffered a severe concussion and will need to stay for at least the next twenty-four hours for observation. They’re taking him back now for a CT scan to rule out a TBI.”

“Can we see him?” I ask.

“I can let one of you back there for now. We can move him upstairs in the morning, where he’ll be allowed to have visitors.”

My head snaps toward Emerson and my heart falls because I know he’s going to fight me on this. My heart is aching to see Beau, just to rid my mind of that awful vision of him bleeding on the concrete. I need to replace that image with one of him lying peacefully in a bed, awake and alive.

“Would you mind giving us a minute?” Emerson asks the doctor, who nods politely.

“Let the nurse at the desk know and she can take one of you back for just a few minutes. He really needs his rest.”

“We understand. Thank you.”

We watch in silence as the doctor disappears through the sliding glass doors. The moment he’s gone, I work up the courage to fight this battle.

I can’t only wear my dominance when it’s convenient, when Beau and I are in a scene or sex is involved. I’m tired of being passive and compliant when it suits someone else. And right now, Beau needs me to fight for him.

Before Emerson can get a word in, I grit my teeth and mutter, “I have to see him, Emerson. He’s mine.”

His reaction isn’t as surprised as I expected. Instead, he nods as our eyes meet. “Just go. But tell him I’m here. As soon as they move him upstairs, I’ll go see him.”

“I will,” I reply, and I’m itching to run through those doors.

When he drops onto the bench next to the hospital doors, I pause. I should apologize or say something, but I’m not sorry and what I said was true. I wish I had a moment to appreciate how lighter my shoulders feel without all of the weight of this secret and all of my guilt.

But instead, I sprint through the automatic glass doors and straight into the hospital.





Rule #36: Listen to your Domme—and your nurse.





Beau





Normally, I like getting bossed around by a woman in bed, but it turns out the exception to that is hospital beds and mean nurses who won’t let me fall back to sleep.

“Until those results come back from radiology, your eyes better stay open,” she snaps, after fussing with my IV.

“Yes, ma’am,” I mutter with attitude, side-eyeing her with a scowl. I notice the way she tsks in response. Whatever they wiped my face with smells terrible, and these pain meds aren’t doing shit for the itch in my scalp.

This is fucking miserable.

And to make things worse, these assholes won’t give me any answers. I don’t know if Maggie is okay or if that waste of human flesh hurt her, too, after he knocked me out with that fucking crowbar.

I’m about to throw a royal fit when a familiar face appears through a crack in the door like an angel. As soon as our eyes meet, Maggie’s expression contorts into anguish before she rushes into the room, right past the mean nurse and directly up to my bedside.

“Oh my God,” she cries as she wraps her arms around me, burying her face in my neck. “Are you okay?”

Her touch is like heaven. She’s all warm hands and sweet perfume, but most importantly, she seems perfectly fine. Her embrace is strong and desperate, and the weight is lifted from my shoulders when I feel her in my arms.

I’m in a hospital gown to cover my chest, since they had to cut my shirt off to put in my IV. I’m still covered in crusty blood and dirt. I look like shit and feel like shit, but Maggie doesn’t care about any of that. She’s just here to see me.