Sin & Suffer (Pure Corruption MC #2)(39)

He’d always been a light sleeper—explosively coming awake if he heard a noise or, as he used to say, “a disturbance in the force.” He wasn’t a Star Wars fanatic but he’d seen the movies enough in his youth to quote it at the strangest of times.

But … nothing happened.

Arthur …

His breathing hitched but he didn’t flinch away or open his eyes.

Ice entered my heart.

Wake up!

I slid my fingers over his cheekbones, moving to trace his mouth.

Still … nothing.

Oh, God.

Sitting upright, I swallowed back a rush of nausea and nudged his shoulder. “Arthur.”

Old wounds caused by eight years apart ruptured inside me, bleeding, drowning with panic.

I tapped his cheek harder. “Art. Wake up.”

My wounds continued bleeding, flowing with no tourniquet, filling me with horror.

“Arthur.” I shook him. “Wake up.”

His large body twisted, a lethargic arm swatting at me. He mumbled something, then slipped back into slumber.

He’s still alive at least. He could just be super tired from the stress of finding me and everything else that he refused to share. Or he could be slipping from me.

I would never let that happen. My veterinary training kicked in. I searched for vitals, sought out his pulse and temperature. What was the proper medical attention for a concussed man who couldn’t wake up?

My brain rushed with textbook solutions while my heart fisted and pained.

I shoved him hard. “Arthur Killian, wake up this instant!”

I couldn’t shake the concern that he was far worse than a simple concussion. I hated him so quiet, so lifeless. “Arthur!” He couldn’t leave me. Not now. Not ever. Why would life be so damn cruel? To let us find each other again and then tear us apart?

Grabbing his cheeks, my hair fell over my shoulder onto his chest. “Arthur, open your eyes. Please, open your eyes.”

He moaned, his forehead furrowing into deep tracks.

“Yes. That’s it.” Come back to me. Don’t leave me. “Arthur, wake up!”

His eyes cracked open.

My world ended and began again. Jitters hijacked my muscles; oxygen refused to stay in my lungs. The greenness of his gaze was just as vibrant, just as stunning.

He’s okay … please let him be okay.

Confusion flickered, followed by alarm. “Wh-what?” He grimaced, shuffling higher against the pillows. “What’s so important?”

His voice was a blanket, putting out the flames of my panic. Oh, thank God.

My insides stopped bleeding but my heart galloped like crazy. “What’s so important? I’ll tell you what’s so damn important. How about the fact you wouldn’t wake up!”

My temper replaced the feeling of helplessness and my healing knowledge took over. There was strength in becoming a nurse rather than a grieving spouse. It was comforting to go through the motions of checking his pallor, counting the beats of his heart, reaffirming that the soul I loved so much was still firmly anchored in his body.

“Buttercup, what the hell are you doing?” Arthur smiled, his voice sleep-soft.

He wasn’t slurring; his eyes weren’t unfocused, but I didn’t trust he was fine—not after the struggle to wake him. “I want to call the doctor. Something’s not right.”

He scowled. “Just because I slept like the dead doesn’t mean you have to go all iron-handed.”

“It does if you should be in the hospital.”

He groaned under his breath.

Needing to test, to make sure he was okay and fully with me, I arranged my shaking hand into a Girl Scout salute. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Eh.” Arthur blinked. “You know, homework first thing in the morning isn’t exactly my idea—”

“Just answer me. Humor me. Laugh at me if you must, but answer the damn question.” I shoved my hand in his face. “How many?”

Rolling his eyes, he winced and jammed his thumbs into his sockets, rubbing sleep away. Yawning, he took his time—deliberately antagonizing me.

He narrowed his gaze. “Seeing as my multiplication skills so interest you, I’ll put you out of your misery and say three.” A smile played on his mouth. “Want me to recite the three times table while I’m at it?”

Relief slammed into me. I dropped my arm, growing numb with delayed shock. “That might be an idea.”

Prove to me you’re whole and maybe I can relax.

He chuckled but a shadow suddenly crossed his face; he shook his head. “On second thought, it’s still too early.” Tossing his arms above his head, he stretched. “How about you quit pestering me and come back to bed.” He looked like a giant jungle cat. All he needed was a palm tree as a scratching post.

My tummy clenched but I still couldn’t shake the fear. “How are you feeling?”

Tell me the truth.

Yawning again, he rubbed his temples. “Surprisingly, better than yesterday.”

I collapsed against my pillow. “Oh, thank God for that.”

“Don’t worry about me, Buttercup.” He rolled onto his side, throwing his arm over me. “I’m fine, really.” His words said one thing, his voice another. He wasn’t fine—his tone just admitted it.