The Man I Love (The Fish Tales, #1)(60)

She cried into her hands at first, but then her fingers hooked into claws, her nails were in her forehead. She was scratching her face and then she howled like a widow, like a madwoman.

Erik peeled her hands away from her face, where already red welts were rising at her temples. He took her wrists, put them up around his neck, and he bent over the bed to hold her. Into his chest she screamed, her breath hot and wet in his sternum. No words, just a keening moan—a thick, drunken blur of despair.

He held her, knowing these tears would do her no good—they served no purpose, they would do nothing to fix her. But he didn’t say a word. Nothing he could say would console her. He wouldn’t insult her by even trying. He just made himself a strong and immovable wall for her to fling herself against. He held her tight and held still.

It was a long and ugly jag, with streaming eyes and running nose and dripping mouth all soaking into Erik’s shirt. Her hair a wild, sweaty tangle in his fingers and her skin hot like fire beneath her gown. She cried so hard she spiked a fever. She wept until she made herself sick, another moment Erik had never seen. Not once in twenty-eight months.

Daisy was particular about puking in private. She practically made Erik leave the state whenever she was hungover or laid low with a stomach bug. But now she was retching helplessly on her misery. A nurse was supporting her back. Erik was holding the basin with one hand, Daisy’s hair with the other, and he was helping her heave it up. As calm and unconcerned as the nurse.

“I’m sorry,” Daisy said, gasping between bouts.

“Don’t be,” he whispered, gently wiping her face with a damp cloth. “Just get it out of you.”

At Dr. Jinani’s order, the nurse put some kind of magic in Daisy’s IV line and within minutes she was out. Erik sat bedside, one hand holding hers, his other laid flat on her cooling forehead. Within his grip, her fingers twitching intermittently. Beneath his palm, her eyelids trembled and fluttered. She was asleep, but hardly peaceful.

Erik knew the fasciotomies were necessary and they saved her leg. Yet he sat with his insides twisting in misery. He could not bear to see her sliced open while he was whole and unscathed. The scales needed to be balanced. While he had no intention of putting his eye out or recklessly slashing himself, he still felt a desire to be scarred. He needed some kind of ritual injury, too. A permanent reminder.

Daisy, he thought. And he finally connected his love to an image of the flower, a little white-petaled ringlet. The spirit of Daisy, crushed and broken on the ground, trod upon and left to die.

I won’t leave. I will never leave you.

He set his lips on her temple. “I won’t let you die,” he whispered.

He had an idea.



*



He went to see Will. He still hadn’t had a minute alone with his friend. Either Will was asleep or in pain, or his parents were there, or Lucky. But right now he was alone, staring out the window, his heavily bandaged hand on his chest.

“What’s up, *,” Erik said, putting a bottle of pineapple juice on the bedside table. Will glanced at it and his mouth briefly formed a smile.

“Don’t steal my line,” he said.

“How do you feel?” Erik asked.

“Like I got shot. How do you feel?”

Erik breathed in and out. “Changed,” he said.

Will nodded.

Erik sat in the chair next to the bed. “How bad does your side hurt?”

“Percoset’s a beautiful thing.”

“How about the hand?”

Will held it up, letting Erik see it from both sides. “This is going to make jerking off difficult.”

“You’re a lefty?”

“Isn’t everyone?”

Erik laughed, but Will didn’t join in. He watched Erik with troubled eyes.

“Is Daisy awake? I mean… Does she know?”

Erik nodded.

“Bad?”

Erik shook his head. “Not good.”

Will closed his eyes, let his head fall back on the pillow. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“Sorry for what?”

Will turned his head toward the window. “I know why I was shot. But why he had to…put a bullet in her—”

“Hey,” Erik said, putting a hand on Will’s arm. “Hey. Look at me.”

Will breathed in and looked back.

“You talk to the police?” Erik asked.

“Yeah. A little last night but I was kind of loopy.”

“Kind of? You were stoned.”

“You saw me?”

“I came in. You don’t remember?”

“No.”

“You kissed me.”

Will’s eyes widened. “Did I really?”

“No.”

His face twisted. “Asshole. Anyway, the detective. Kary?”

“Khoury.”

“Right. He came back today and I told him everything.”

“Everything?”

“Everything. I know you tried to cover my sleeping with James and I appreciate it, Fish. God, I love you for it. You’re my f*cking best friend. But I wanted it all out there. If we try to hide shit it’ll only come back and bite us in the ass. And hide it for what? Because it will somehow justify what he did? He had no right…”