“I love you.” The words came out a bit more gruffly than he’d intended, but they were out.
Mick grinned. “I know you do.” He pecked Eddie’s cheek. “I love you, too.”
“Well, don’t get all mushy on me,” Eddie said with a little growl. He wasn’t big on public displays of affection.
Mick snorted and rolled his eyes. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Eddie chuckled softly and settled back against his chair. His anxiety for Whitney had lowered substantially. She wasn’t out of the woods yet, but he had reason to hope she soon would be. Mick’s assessment of the situation calmed him. He trusted in Mick’s professional judgment.
Eddie inhaled deeply and enjoyed the sensation of Mick’s fingers against his. He leaned his head against the headrest and let his eyes close. For the first time in almost a week, Eddie was surrounded by the two people who owned his heart. It wasn’t as nice as sharing a bed, of course.
But it was close enough.
Whitney struggled against a weird blanket of confusion. She hovered in a dreamlike state, half awake yet still half asleep. Her eyelids fluttered. Every blinking movement scratched her dry eyes. Bright light burned her retinas when she finally opened her eyes fully. She winced and closed them again.
As the fog lifted, Whitney became aware of a dull, deep ache in her chest. The annoying beep of a machine drilled into her eardrums. There was a strange low hissing sound, too.
And something in her throat.
Panic gripped her belly. Her eyes flew open as she raised her hand to slap at her face. She encountered a strange tugging sensation along her elbow and looked at her arm. An IV line ran from the crook of her elbow, over the rail of a bed, and up to a pole. Wild and afraid and still confused, she glanced around the room. The thing in her throat hurt and made her gag. She wanted it out.
“Whitney,” Mick’s calming voice filtered through the fear. “Don’t do that. Just relax.”
Her gaze whipped to the left side of the bed where he sat. Slowly, Mick rose from the chair next to her bed. He brushed hair from her face and smiled down at her. “We’re weaning you off the ventilator, sweetheart. I know it’s uncomfortable, but it won’t be much longer. Maybe an hour or so.” He kissed her forehead. “You’re doing so well, honey.”
She tried to swallow but gagged again. Her eyes watered. That panicky feeling punched her gut. She didn’t know if she could last another hour.
Mick placed his cheek against hers and stroked her face. His lips hovered near her ear. “I’m right here, Whitney. Breathe deep through your nose. Relax your throat.”
Even in the frustration of that moment, Whitney thought of how terribly tawdry that sounded. Mick must have recognized it too because he chuckled. “Sounds like something Eddie would say, huh?”
Whitney would have laughed, but that damn tube down her throat made it impossible. She clutched Mick’s shoulder, her fingers curling in the blue fabric of his scrubs as she held on for dear life and prayed the doctors would decide to remove the tube soon.
Mick talked in that soothing voice of his. He told her about coworkers who had come to visit and the plants Eddie had taken home and repotted for her. He gave her the latest gossip from her favorite bloggers and the rundown on the missed episode of her vampire show. Somehow she made it through the ventilator weaning, and just when she thought she wouldn’t make it another minute, a new doctor entered the room with a young woman in tow.
The doctor smiled and introduced himself. “I’m Dr. Penkala. This is Terri, the floor’s respiratory tech. You’re doing beautifully, Miss Montcrief. The ventilator hasn’t kicked in once to breathe for you, so we’re going to pull this tube, okay?”
Near desperation, Whitney nodded. Mick stepped aside to let Terri squeeze in beside the bed. She punched some keys on the ventilator’s screen and started unhooking tubes. Whitney closed her eyes, not really wanting to see any more of this than necessary, and waited. There was an odd sensation in her throat as if something had deflated.
A few seconds later, Dr. Penkala instructed her to breathe deep and then cough as the tube was removed. Someone put a pillow against her chest as if to brace her. Whitney did as told and coughed as the tube slithered out of her poor, abused throat. Discomfort was an understatement. She gagged and nearly puked as the tube came free. Inhaling deeply, Whitney felt that strange ache in her chest.
Dr. Penkala stuck the business end of his stethoscope in his ears and leaned forward to listen to her chest. She glanced down for the first time and saw the ugly incision mostly covered by the ugly hospital gown. Her gaze shot to Mick’s face. She hoped her eyes telegraphed how upset she was.
“Don’t try to talk just yet,” Mick said and rubbed her arm. “Your vocal chords have been through a lot. Let them rest.”
Whitney nodded and made a drinking motion. Mick glanced at Dr. Penkala who shrugged. “You know the drill, Mick.” He gestured to Whitney. “I’ll let you fill her in on the surgeries and recovery. I’ll come back later and answer any questions you have, Whitney.”
Again she bobbed her head. Without being able to speak, there wasn’t much else to do. The doctor smiled and left the room. Terri dragged the unplugged ventilator behind her as she exited, leaving Mick and Whitney alone.
He poured a glass of water from the pitcher on the nearby stand and held it to her lips. “Small sips. We don’t want you to choke or vomit, okay? You have to take it nice and easy the next few days.”
She took tiny drinks and let the water roll around in her parched mouth before swallowing very carefully. Her throat burned. Maybe this drinking thing wasn’t such a good idea.
Mick set aside the cup and sat on the edge of her bed. He took her hand in his and petted her in a comforting motion. “You’ve been in the hospital for five days. Three in ICU and yesterday morning we brought you down here to the cardiac step-down unit. If everything goes well, you’ll be out of here in another day, and then you’ll head to one of the private rooms for a week or so.”
His fingers skimmed her cheek. “Whitney, do you remember the bank robbery? The shooting?” When she nodded, he continued. “You were hit three times. Eddie arrived on scene after the first SWAT team breached the bank. He rode with you all the way to the hospital and made sure you were brought here. Do you remember that?”
She experienced blurry flashbacks. Eddie kneeling at her side. Eddie pushing hard on her oozing belly wound. Eddie holding her hand and begging her to stay awake. Eddie terrified but strong.
Whitney nodded again, and Mick told her about the extent of her injuries and the surgery required. Allison, the cardio goddess as he called her, had saved her battered right lung, but he’d had to take her spleen and repair some other damage in her belly.
“Your uterine artery was nicked, and we had to take your right ovary, Whitney.” The quiver of horror stabbing her belly must have shown on her face because he quickly added, “The surgery was very successful, and I took my time. I had one of my colleagues, a highly respected OB/GYN, come into the OR for a consult. She is positive you’ll heal very well and be able to have children.”
Relief flooded her system. For a second there, she’d imagined the very worst outcome. Considering she’d taken three bullets, Whitney figured she’d come out of this okay. She still had both of her lungs, one ovary, and her uterus. Who needed a spleen anyway, right?
She touched her sore chest. In a strained whisper, she asked, “How long?”
“Before it heals? Six to eight weeks is what we tell people. You’ll be able to return to work part-time around then. Full time by twelve weeks, I’d guess. No heavy lifting or overexertion, obviously.” Before she could protest, he held up his hand. “And, yes, Eddie already talked to Delilah. We know you’ll probably have to miss the fall shows in New York and Paris, but that’s just tough, sweetheart. Besides, Delilah agrees your focus should be on your health. It’s not as if there won’t be more shows in the spring.”
Whitney pouted. She didn’t like the thought of everyone else making decisions for her. Yes, she’d been shot, but she wasn’t an invalid. Her gaze drifted down the hospital bed. Well. Mostly.
