This Is Love, Baby (War & Peace #2)(42)

Pulling my hoodie over my head, I tuck my hair inside and shoulder the bag. War’s alive. The love of my life and father of my child survived being shot. I need to get to him. With Brandon on his way back any time, I have to make every second count. I avoid the elevators and head for the stairwell. I sprint down four flights of stairs, ignoring the ache in my calves and the wooziness in my head. When I reach the bottom, I peek my head out the doorway.

Brandon is striding into the lobby with a bag full of to-go containers in one arm and a bundle of red roses in the other. He’s smiling, like he doesn’t have a worry in the world, and it causes a slight pang in my chest for my friend. The old Brandon. But he’s no longer here.

Once he disappears into the elevator, I bolt from the stairwell and past the receptionist. The moment I make it outside, I veer to the right and trot down the sidewalk in search of a cab.

Cabs are everywhere so I quickly hail one and hop inside as soon as it stops.

“San Diego,” I blurt out, “hurry!”

The dark-skinned man turns and glares at me. “Too far. I don’t leave San Francisco.”

I jerk my head over my shoulder and look back at the entrance of the hotel. There’s no sign of Brandon, but I know it won’t be long.

“Fine,” I huff out, “take me to the bus station. Please hurry!”

He grumbles but peels out and into the traffic. I keep my eyes affixed on the hotel until it becomes a blur. Brandon hadn’t emerged yet. I breathe a sigh of relief and sag into the backseat of the cab, but I know it’s not over. He’s going to be furious once he realizes I ran.

It took everything in me to kiss him and smile at him when I wanted to shake him. For trying to control me. For lying to me. For hiding things from me.

He hid the biggest thing of all.

War.

Had I known War was still alive, I certainly wouldn’t have been sitting at that cabin with him and Gabe. I would’ve been in War’s arms. Kissing away his pain.

The tears start and they don’t stop, despite the annoyed looks the cab driver sends my way. I cry the entire way to the bus station.




The bus ride was several hours long but I managed to get in a nap. My sleep was disturbed, though, with interchanging images of both Brandon and Gabe. Each were taking their turns violating me. In the dream, War was dead and bloody. I couldn’t speak or move or cry. All I could do was stare into their eyes—a demented set of coffee-colored ones alternating with an evil set of greens—as they relentlessly f*cked me.

When an old lady woke me up to tell me we were near the bus station, I’d screamed. Actually screamed in terror. She’d scurried off, surely in a hurry to get away from the crazy, screaming teenager on the bus.

Now, I’m sitting in the back of another cab with the side of my head on the cold glass. It’s after midnight and I’m still on a mission to get to the hospital.

“We’re here,” the cab driver grunts out.

I dive my hands into my purse, inside my backpack, and pull out the last of the cash I had left over from the shopping trip with Brandon earlier in the day. After I shove a few bills into his hands and tell him to keep the change, I climb out of the cab and practically limp into the hospital. My entire body aches from the exertion. I’m sure it doesn’t help that all I’ve had to eat today since lunch was a Snickers bar I’d procured from the bus station vending machine. I can barely keep my eyes open but the adrenaline fuels me in my effort to find War.

“I’m looking for Warren McPherson,” I say to an older woman manning the front desk. Her long grey hair is pulled into a ponytail and she looks up at me with kind eyes.

“Sure honey,” she chirps, way too friendly for as late as it is. “Looks like he’s in room 1200.” The same number as his alarm code back home.





1-2-0-0


He’s alive. A feeling of warmth that I hadn’t felt since Gabe ripped me away from War coats my insides at hearing that room number.

My heart flutters in my chest and I beam at her. “Thank you!”

“Wait,” she says, and then frowns. “Visiting hours were over three and a half hours ago. I’m afraid I can’t let you go back there.”

The emotions from the past four months overwhelm me and I burst into tears. Loud, ugly sobs. She quickly stands and comes out from behind the desk to pull me into a hug.

“Oh, honey.”

“He—he—he doesn’t know he’s going to be a father…please,” I tell her through my tears. “I thought he was dead. I need to see him. Please.”

She pats my head and pulls away, gracing me with a kind smile. “Come on,” she says in a whisper. “It’s my break. I’ll take you there. You’ve been through a lot, honey. That much I can see.”

I hug her back to me. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

With her arm over my shoulder, she guides me down the complicated web of hallways and to his room. The hallway is dim. His door is pushed forward, but not shut. “Go on, honey. Go see your man,” she says and winks, “but if they catch you in there, you tell them you snuck in there yourself.”

Nodding profusely, I thank her one more time before slipping into the dark room. The sound of a heart monitor is music to my ears because it confirms he’s alive, just like Rita had said. But panic sets in. What if he doesn’t want to see me? What if he’s regressed and the thought of my touch horrifies him? I swallow down my fears and take a few steps into the room. Peeking my head around the corner, I nearly cry out with joy.