“It’s Sunday night,” Dad confirms, and my mouth opens in horror. “Stop freaking out. I spoke with Doug, and he’s arranged it so you can take your exams online later this month or in early January, whenever you feel up to it. You just need to complete them before you return for the spring semester.”
Air expels from my lungs in grateful relief. “Thanks, Dad.”
“Just focus on getting better,” he replies.
“Does Reeve know?” I quietly ask.
Mom’s eyes narrow. “He knows, and I’ll be having a stern conversation with him when I see him.”
“This isn’t his fault, Mom.”
“The hell it isn’t,” she hisses. “His behavior has led directly to this. He never should’ve agreed to that bullshit contract. His actions have placed you directly in harm’s way, and I’m done biting my tongue. I don’t know what’s gotten into that boy, but this is not the Reeve Lancaster I helped to raise. I am so disappointed in him.”
“He’s beside himself with worry,” Dad adds. “And he’d be here if he could.”
I close my eyes, unable to deal with the usual emotional turmoil thoughts of Reeve invoke when I’m in so much physical pain. “Does the media know?” I ask, even if I’m not sure I want to know the answer.
“Yes. Unfortunately. News of your attack has been widely reported.”
“Well, that’s swell,” I drawl, forcing my eyes open. “What about Audrey?”
“Audrey was here earlier, but we sent her home to get some sleep. She’ll be back tomorrow after her exams,” Mom confirms.
“You should go back to sleep, princess. It’s late.”
As if on cue, I yawn, and the instant I close my eyes, I fall back asleep.
When I wake the next morning, faint beams of light are filtering into the room through gaps in the blinds, causing me to wince.
“Viv. I’m here.” Reeve’s voice is low, laced with pain and a tinge of remorse. My good fingers twitch, and the touch of his hand is warm in mine.
Gulping over the messy ball of emotion clogging my throat, I turn to face my boyfriend, whimpering as a fresh wave of pain pounds in my skull. Fuck. This hurts like a bitch.
“Baby, I’m so sorry.” He plants his lips on the back of my hand as tears fall silently down his face. “Sorry this happened to you, and sorry I wasn’t here immediately. I got here as soon as I could. The plane ride was the most excruciating journey because I was terrified, Viv.” He lifts our conjoined hands to his cheek, nuzzling into me. “You were still unconscious when I got on the plane, and I didn’t know what I’d find when I arrived.”
His sobs fill the quiet room, and it appears Mom and Dad have made themselves scarce.
“I was so scared you were dead, Viv. Scared I would never get to hold you again or tell you how much I love you. Scared I wouldn’t get the chance to apologize for all the ways I have let you down. Scared I wouldn’t get an opportunity to make up for all the wrongs.”
My chest heaves painfully, and I’m struggling to breathe over my injuries and the emotional cocktail sloshing inside me. I don’t have the mental capacity to deal with this right now, but I am glad he is here. “Your fans hate me, Reeve. They want you with her, and it seems they’ll stop at nothing to make that happen.” Tears stream down my face, and I’m in so much pain, on so many different levels, and I just want it to stop.
Loving someone should not hurt this much.
“Your parents filled me in,” he explains, as his tears dry up, replaced with anger. “I know this is my fault. I haven’t prioritized you or your needs, and I’ve been a selfish asshole, but it stops now.” Determination glimmers in his eyes. “I’m going to make this up to you.” With deliberate tenderness, he briefly touches my injured cheek. “They will pay for what they did to you, and I’m going to make sure no one ever touches you again.”
That sounds like a tall order, and while I want to believe his pretty words are sincere, in recent times Reeve has a habit of promising me things he fails to deliver.
* * *
“Oh my God,” I hiss, ducking my head into my chest and squeezing my eyes shut to avoid the glare of the camera flashes as Reeve wheels me out of the hospital in a wheelchair. Pain accosts me on several fronts, and I grip the arms of the wheelchair tight while gritting my teeth. Mom and Dad flank me on either side as we head toward the waiting Lincoln Navigator. Reporters shout questions at me, and pain rattles around my skull, protesting the noise elevation. There must be at least one hundred reporters here, and TV station vans line both sides of the road outside the hospital. Thousands of Reeve’s adoring fans are being herded behind temporary barriers, and several police officers are doing crowd control. It’s complete chaos, and it’s playing havoc with my sore head.
“This is insane,” Mom says, shooting daggers at Reeve. “I think your presence here is doing more harm than good.”
I want to tell Mom to stop, because Reeve is damned if he does and damned if he doesn’t in her eyes at the moment, but I’m in too much pain to form words.
“I’m going to fix it,” he reassures her, scooping me out of the chair and carrying me into the back seat.
“See that you do,” Mom warns, while Reeve buckles me into my seat belt.