Blue-Eyed Devil (Travis Family #2)(94)

At daybreak Gage came to the hospital and told me he was going to drive me back to my apartment so I could shower and change. I didn't want to leave Hardy, but I knew I looked like something the cat dragged in, and it was probably a good idea for me to clean up some.

Hardy had woken up when I came back at seven, and he was not pleased, to say the least, to find himself in a hospital bed and hooked up to monitors. I walked in to hear him arguing with a nurse, demanding that she take the IV out, and categorically refusing the pain medicine that he obviously needed. He didn't want to be poked and prodded, he said. He felt fine. All he needed was a bandage and an ice pack.

I could tell the nurse was enjoying the argument with the big, blue-eyed male who was at her mercy, and I didn't blame her a bit. He looked lost, a little anxious, and utterly appetizing.

And he was mine.

"Hardy Cates," I said, coming into the room, "you behave, or I'll step on your tube."

The nurse seemed taken aback by my unsympathetic bedside manner.

But Hardy's gaze met mine in a moment of bright, hot voltage, and he relaxed, reassured in a way that cooing sympathy could never have done. "That only works if it's a breathing tube," he told me.

I went to the tray on the bed-table and picked up the Vicodin tablets the nurse had been trying to get him to take, along with a cup of water. "Take these," I said. "No arguing."

He obeyed, shooting a glance at the nurse, whose eyebrows were slightly raised. "She's little," he told her, "but she's mean."

The nurse left, no doubt wondering why such a hunk hadn't been able to find a nicer girlfriend. When the door had closed, I fussed over Hardy a little, straightening the covers and readjusting his pillow. His gaze didn't stray from my face.

"Haven," he muttered, "get me out of here. I've never been in a hospital before. I can't stand being hooked up to all this crap. All I need is — "

"Surrender to the process," I told him, "and you'll get out of here a lot quicker." I kissed his forehead. "Will you behave if I get in there with you?"

Without hesitation, Hardy maneuvered himself over to the side, grunting in pain at the effort. I slipped off my clogs and climbed in carefully, resting in the crook of his arm. He sighed deeply, a sound of contentment.

I nuzzled gently into his warm neck, breathing him in. Hardy smelled antiseptic, medicinal, like he'd been sprayed with eau-de-hospital. But underneath the sterilized blankness I found the familiar fragrance of him.

"Hardy," I murmured, stroking his wrist, "why did you take that stupid deal from Dad and T.J.? And why'd you call it off?"

His hand found mine, long fingers folding over my palm. "I went a little crazy after I saw my dad on Friday night."

"Really? I hadn't noticed."

"I bailed him out and dropped him off at a motel with some money. And I told him to get lost. But what I didn't tell you . . . I should have . . . is that he and I talked for a few minutes. And he said — " Hardy stopped, gripping my hand more tightly.

I waited as he took a few unsettled breaths.

"He got pissed when I told him what I'd do to him if he ever called Mom again," Hardy muttered. "He said that was funny coming from me, because . . . I was the reason they'd gotten married. Mom had stopped going out with him, but then she had to go back to him because she was pregnant. It was my fault she ended up with the son of a bitch. Her whole life has been hell because of me. She's suffered — "

"No. Hardy . . . " I lifted up and stared into his dark blue eyes. My chest ached with sympathy. "You know that's not right. You know it wasn't your fault."

"But it's a fact that if I hadn't come along, Mom wouldn't have married him. And once he got her, her life was ruined."

I understood Hardy's feelings even if I didn't agree with his logic. But his anguish and irrational guilt couldn't be solved with convenient platitudes. He needed time, and love, to come to terms with the truth. And I had more than enough of both to give him.

Hardy kissed my head. His voice was deep and rough. "I hate being his son. I hate the half of me that's him, and I can feel it, that part that's a bad, low, worthless son of a bitch, and when Churchill and T.J. came to me with that deal, I thought why the hell not. I was going to have to leave you anyway. Because I loved you too much to drag you down with me."

My hand crept up to caress the rigid line of his jaw. "Why'd you change your mind?" I whispered.

"After I calmed down a little and had a chance to think, I figured . . . I love you enough to try and deserve you. I would do anything, be anything, for you. Last night I went to your apartment to beg you to give me another chance. I was shaking in my boots, thinking you might not forgive me for Friday night."

I flushed as I remembered the long, erotic hours with him in the darkness of his bedroom. "Of course I . . . I mean, there's nothing to forgive." My voice lowered to an abashed whisper. "I wanted to do all that with you."

His body had turned so warm, I wondered if he was blushing too. "I thought it might have been too much for you. I pushed you too hard. And after what you'd been through with Nick . . . well, I was afraid you wouldn't want me in your life anymore. So I was coming to your apartment to tell you how sorry I was. How gentle I would be from now on. And even if you don't want me now, I wish you'd just . . . let me be near you, at least. In case you ever need me for anything."