I blinked. “Forever. Well, we can’t let down the universe.”
He smiled. It was tight and full of residual agony, but it was there. “No, we couldn’t. Which means we’re getting married, obviously.”
I smiled at him. “Obviously.”
His eyes flickered with a lot. Mostly surprise. “You’re not fighting me on it?”
“No, I’m done fighting. How about just breathing?”
“Yeah, baby, breathing sounds good. As long as you’re my wife as soon as you’re out of this bed. Or before, if you’re up for it?”
His eyes glinted with challenge.
I looked down at the polyester—what the hell!—hospital gown I was wearing. No way in hell was I wearing polyester to my own wedding. Or be having it in a hospital bed. In a room that smelled of bleach and faintly of death. Then I realized the latter was my own. And then I realized that all that stuff didn’t matter. It was only breathing that did.
So I met those swirling chocolate eyes with a smile in my heart, despite the pain in my midsection.
“I’m up for anything if it’s with you.”
We got married in the hospital. The next day. The doctors advised against any… excitement afterwards, considering my knife wound caused serious internal bleeding and my heart stopped on the table. Twice.
Keltan had been there when they informed me of this.
And I had to squeeze his hand to yank him back to the surface that time.
So, we didn’t get to fully consummate the marriage until two weeks after the actual wedding.
But it was worth the wait.
Well worth it.
Heath was best man. Though I knew that there were ghosts in Keltan’s eyes thinking of the man that should have been there if the universe hadn’t decided to snatch him away.
But he was there, in a way.
So was the friend the universe had snatched from me.
Rosie was maid of honor.
She’d rushed to my bedside pretty much the second after I’d uttered my response to the proposal.
I’d heard later that she’d got my message, after finally checking her voice mail—two months late, and had been on her way to L.A. when I was stabbed.
“I don’t care what kind of sweet nothings you’re murmuring. This is my best friend, who almost died. I’m getting my own sweet nothings,” she demanded, her voice louder than a yell.
One could almost call it a screech.
Her heels echoed as she stomped to my beside and stopped.
She looked different. Her outfit wasn’t a surprise—an oversized beige tee that draped off her shoulder and cut way high on her thighs. Her chocolate hair had been chopped harshly so it only brushed her shoulders.
She worked it. Definitely.
But there was something there that hadn’t been before. Or maybe something gone that had been.
Either way, it hurt to look at her for a second, see the pain before she cloaked it.
“Bitch, I go away for a hot minute and you get stabbed,” she exclaimed, her voice shaking. As was her hand as she rounded the other side of the bed and grasped the hand not possessed by Keltan.
“Hot minute? Try almost a year,” I accused.
She blinked. “I needed a hiatus.”
“From what?”
“Life,” she replied simply. “Death.”
I gave her a look. “Looks like death brought you back.” I glanced to the monitor showing my heartbeat. “Or almost death.”
Her eyes swam with tears. “No way would you die and leave me in this world without you. I’d kill you if you did that,” she whispered. Demons, not quite the same as Keltan’s but at least cousins, danced in her tone.
I grinned, my own eyes welling. “Renewed motivation to stay breathing.”
She glanced to the man grasping my hand, silently watching me with a quiet intensity that hurt to even half look at. “No, I think you’ve got enough right there,” she corrected.
I squeezed her hand. “I’ve got more than enough.”
The moment lasted for more than a moment, as all good moments do. Then it ended.
Rosie snatched her hand back, wiping at her eye. “God, what am I, a girl or something? Too sappy. Plus, there’s an entire motorcycle club, your mom and dad, your sister and other hot guys I don’t recognize but approve of in a big way all waiting for you. I better go out and do the whole ‘she’s alive’ thing,” she said, mimicking the Dr. Frankenstein motion.
I knew what she was doing. What she was hiding. Not all of it. Not even a lot of it, and that hurt in itself. But I could see why she was doing it. Hiding it.
She’d fall apart otherwise.
So, I let her hide.
For now.
“Just to be clear, you’re only going to the waiting room. No going,” I clarified, or more demanded.
She nodded. “Of course. I’ve already taken up your old room. Polly is living in some loft that I’m almost certain is a front for a cult,” she said happily.
I gaped at her. “You’re moving here?”