Delayed by Nathan Kingsly (the false prince TXT) 📗

“You don’t have the lung capacity that you had before. You’ll get out of breath more often, being exposed to some illnesses will have a longer recovery time, and you’ll have a closer relationship with your family doctor. We’ll keep a close eye on you while you’re here to be sure you don’t develop any complications.” Her gaze strays away from me, and she moves towards one of the cabinets and opens it, then opens another. I look over at Emma, but she’s watching the good doctor too. My stomach starts to roil at the bruises spanning her neck I hadn’t noticed before.

With the doctor finding what she needs, her movement towards me recaptures my attention. She places a plastic tower about as tall as my palm, with a blue tube and white mouthpiece. “This breathing treatment will be your new best friend. You’re going to hate it.” This lady's made of granite. If I had to guess, all that restraint here, she’s wild in bed. “It’ll lower your chance of infection and help rebuild some strength into your lungs.”

“I’ll be back tomorrow around mid-afternoon if you have any questions.”

“My restraints?”

She looks at my hands as I pull them again from the bed rails. “The police have asked for them to stay on until they have a chance to talk with you. Until tomorrow.” Becky follows the sexually pent-up doctor out.

As soon as the door click shuts, my mom and sister start in on the questions, but my attention is elsewhere because I have questions too.

"Can you give us a minute?"

Emma's eyes grow, and she shakes her head, her arms moving around like a broken windmill out of control. If someone were to walk by, they would lose their head. "I can wait until you've had some time with your family."

Mia clears her throat, but I cut her off. “They will understand if I need a few minutes with you, right?” Tilting my head, I give them a side glance.

Mom looks between the two of us and then rests on my face before she starts nodding. My sister points a finger at me. “Doesn't mean you’re off the hook.”

“Consider me at the end of your line. Plus, there are things our family needs to discuss too.” My eyes drift to mom, and her eyes shift away from me. She stands and walks around Emma, and Mia signals she’s got her eyes on me before following my mom out.

We wait until the door clicks shut, the air stills around us, and neither of us ready to break the stillness of the moment. Yet, as I look at her bruises again, there’s no way I can stay silent anymore.

“I’m sorry.”

Her brows furrow. “For what?”

“For what they did to you,” I explain.

“That wasn’t--”

“Also, for not protecting you from them.”

“Liam--”

“Give me a second.” Coughing around my words, it takes me a few seconds to regain my breath. “There’s much I need to say.”

“So do I.” She looks down; she’s tugging her sleeve.

My chest aches. “That’s why I need to get this all out now. I don’t have the time.”

Her head comes up, and she opens her full lips. “Are ...”

“Please, let me have this.” I wish I could massage my throat or drink some water; my throat stings every time I use it.

She nods, but I can tell she’s not happy about giving this to me.

I nod. “Thank you. Now, I know what happened was not ideal ...”

“Ideal? They were going to kill us, and with you, they nearly succeeded.” Her mouth twists into a grimace.

“Fine, it was a fucking disaster. Better?”

“More realistic than ‘not ideal’.” She makes quotation marks as she says it. When she rolls her eyes, I can feel my lips turn up, and her returning smile eases something in my chest.

The sinking feeling doesn’t stay gone long, and I adjust as best I can before I start to speak again.

“What if I never get over you?” I search her face, and find her looking back. “What if I wake up, every day of my fucking life, and want you so badly I destroy who I am because I no longer want who I am without you?” My heart starts to race as her face twists into another grimace.

“I don’t deserve you, not after what happened, but I also can’t be in the same place I was in when you left me in that hotel room. I can’t not know where we stand. I need to know that you won’t run again. If I'm left to hope, I'll waste away with my bones still gripping on, waiting for my phone to ring, a message to come, a letter to appear, or for God to grace me with a sign that never comes? What if you were my one, but I wasn't yours? So, if you’re not sure I can call you mine, then I need you to walk out of this room and never look back.” My throat is on fire, but so is my whole body. It burns with uncertainty, and the few seconds it takes for her to answer may do me in, letting the flames consume me. Anything would be less painful than hearing the words that I know will come.

“But you are,” she whispers. My heart freezes in my chest, and my ears have a conversation with my head to double-check.

“You want me?” I question.

Her giggle is unexpected, and she brushes the hair that’s fallen in her face. “Why wouldn’t I?”

I pause, my heart in my throat. “How …?, I mean .... After what I let happen.”

Her expression softens. “Don’t be a martyr. You’re not Almighty or God. You didn’t have much say in the matter. If you recall, I even made you go into that fight without your weapon. Most things happen without our control.”

“Didn’t take you as the religious type, and you couldn't have known they would be there lying in wait.”

“Exactly! I didn’t, and neither did you. I’m