Then a rustling. Soft. Over quickly. Repeated.
Then that same lulling...voice?
I reached for it, dragging myself from the oppressive, sticky layers of sleep.
“I loved her against reason, against promise—”
The voice was the one I’d heard as often as my own. The one who’d talked me into trouble, and then gotten me out of it. The one that had always told me I wasn’t alone.
“—against peace, against hope, against happiness—”
Nixon.
Nixon was reading to me. He hadn’t done that since the long, perpetually silent hours that came in the nights after Nicholas’s funeral.
It had to be bad if Nixon was sharing one of his precious books. I strained, listening for any other voices. Was Harper here? Wherever here was?
I focused, lifting my two-ton eyelids just enough for a sliver of the real world to penetrate the black. The bright lights sent daggers straight behind my eyes, and my head erupted in blinding pain.
But he was there, in a chair, hardback in hand. Never a paperback. He’d always said he broke delicate things.
“—against all discouragement that could be.”
Great Expectations. The title on the cover was blurry one moment, clear the next, and back to blurry.
“Nix,” I croaked.
The book slammed shut at the same time my eyes did.
“Nathan!”
I managed to pry my lids up just long enough to see him hovering over me, a strange mix of worry, terror, and relief stamped across his face. My face.
“He’s awake! Get someone in here!” Nixon shouted, but it was distant.
Hated to make him a liar, but I wasn’t going to be awake much longer.
Damn. I really.
Wanted.
To.
See.
Harp…
* * *
There it was again—that voice.
Nixon.
“...stronger than all other teaching, and has taught me—”
The world came into focus as my eyes opened. White walls. Sterile scent. A hospital? What the fuck happened?
“—to understand what your heart used to be.”
Sleep tried to drag me back under, clawing relentlessly at my eyes, my very consciousness. I was so damned tired.
“I have been bent and broken, but—”
Harper. I needed to see Harper. I had to wake up for Harper.
I forced my eyes to focus. Nixon was in a different shirt. Same book.
“—I hope—into—”
“Nixon,” I managed. Shit, my mouth tasted like something had died in it.
He moved faster than I could track and hovered over me. “He’s awake again!” he shouted over his shoulder. “Nathan, stay with me, okay?”
It was the fear in his voice that kept me from giving in to the pull of unconsciousness.
“What. Happened?”
He smiled, but it was watery. Nixon didn’t cry. Why was he crying?
“You have no fucking idea how good it is to hear you speak. To know you can speak. Can someone get in here?” he finished with another shout. “You took a hit yesterday during the Carolina game. Knocked you out cold on the ice.”
Game five. First round. Two guys...then nothing.
“Harper.” I needed her eyes. Her hand. Her smile.
Nixon’s entire face changed. “Harper? She showed up right after you got out of CT.” He took several deep breaths, struggling for control. “She got the data from that stupid fucking helmet and split.”
“What?” There was no way she’d just left me here like this. There was another reason. There had to be.
“Yep, she got close enough for her tablet to pick up the signal from your helmet, and once it lit up that the transfer was complete, she split. What the hell were you thinking with that helmet?”
There was a flurry of activity behind Nixon as people in scrubs entered the room.
They started taking my vitals and talking to me, asking me to follow their fingers, to tell them what year it was, or remember where I was. Apparently, I’d been sedated the first twenty-four hours to help decrease the swelling in my brain.
I answered and did what I could, but the pauses during blinks were becoming longer. The world was fading. Even ice chips couldn’t keep me awake.
Harper wasn’t here. Had she really taken the data and left? Had I really only been a means to an end with her? No way. I refused to believe it. She loved me. Didn’t she?
“It’s okay, Mr. Noble. He’s going to be in and out. Don’t panic. It’s to be expected.”
I heard the doctors leave and felt Nixon’s hand on mine, barely managing to lift my lids.
“Why did you do it?” he asked, anguished. “I had to call Mom, Nate. I had to tell her what happened. Do you know…” His head shook. “She didn’t even scream. She went silent. She’s barely spoken since she got here. She’s going to be pissed that she missed you waking up, but she hadn’t eaten since yesterday. Why the hell did you do it? You almost made her bury another son!”
The world darkened at the edges, then quickly moved to pull me under.
“I wanted to save Nicholas,” I told Nixon. “Save the other little brothers.”