Happily Ever Alpha: Until Nox (Kindle Worlds) (Hyde Series Book 3) Page 10

  The excruciatingly slow process had taken over thirty hours, but she’d finally woken up the night before. I’d paced the far wall as the doctors and nurses had examined her. Anxiously waiting for them to give me the bad news, my heart had lodged in my throat, slamming so hard I’d been sure it was preparing to break. Once Meema had started demanding a tall glass of tea and some good cookies, a short burst of relieved, giddy laughter had escaped me.

  She was fine. I’d known it then.

  Her butting heads with me before playing matchmaker was just an added reassurance.

  “What’s the next step?” I asked when my head began to swim at the thorough discussion of her blood tests.

  He pulled a folded piece of paper from his coat pocket and jotted down something before giving my meema an apologetic smile. “We’re going to keep you here for a little longer. A physical therapist will be in later to do an evaluation. Neurology, too. Depending on those results, a hospital social worker and the services coordinator may also come by.”

  “That’s a lot of visitors,” Meema muttered without her usual pep. Her tone was soft. Scared. She sank back into her pillow, looking exhausted and frail.

  Dr. Collins spoke just as softly, his tone reassuring when he explained, “We’re just making sure we get everything in place before you go home.”

  She pressed her lips together but nodded. Closing her eyes, she turned away.

  I wasn’t sure if she was actually asleep or just needed a moment, but either way, I wasn’t disturbing her.

  After making another note on his paper, the doctor logged out of the computer and offered me a smile before whispering, “It’ll probably be a bit before the other teams are in.”

  As he left the room, I thought about going to Meema’s to shower. My mouth watered at the idea of eating food that didn’t come wrapped in paper, stuffed in a foam container, or served on a plastic tray.

  When my eyes landed on my meema and the slow, steady rise and fall of her tiny frame, I decided everything else could wait. She was asleep, and I didn’t want her waking up alone.

  Stinky, grody, and starving, I settled back in the chair and checked my texts.

  Killian hadn’t responded to me in over a day. We’d gone from texting often to radio silence. He hadn’t even acknowledged my voicemail from the day before about moving out. As shitty as it was to think he didn’t want to talk to me anymore, it was still better than my alternate theory. One which involved him and his big gun.

  I’d take being hurt emotionally over him being hurt physically.

  Putting my phone away, I closed my eyes and tried not to think about him.

  Tried, but failed.

  ____________________________

  Almost immediately after letting my eyes drift closed, the neurology team had streamed in. They’d asked my meema an assortment of questions and had her perform a handful of physical tasks.

  Once again, I’d been on the edge of my seat—literally—while I’d waited for their assessment. To me, she’d seemed her old self. She’d flirted and zinged. Her responses had been spot-on, including being able to count backwards by sevens starting at one hundred with better speed and accuracy than I’d been able to in my head.

  Like me, the doctors had been impressed. They hadn’t been too concerned with her slurred speech, only recommending a speech evaluation if it didn’t improve.

  Her strength was a different matter.

  She was weak. Her left hand couldn’t squeeze as tightly as her right. Getting up and out of bed had been nearly impossible, and she’d required almost constant assistance—much to her frustration.

  Whether it was from the stroke or the days in the hospital bed, they hadn’t been sure. The only way to know was to wait and see whether she improved the longer she was active.

  Wait and see.

  I was beginning to hate that phrase.

  It seemed like everything was urgent and rushed, only to then be left waiting to see what tests said or specialist thought.

  Based on her grumbled complaints as we slowly walked the hallway with the physical therapist, my meema was feeling the same frustration.

  “You’re doing amazing, sweetie,” I praised in my best Kris Jenner impression.

  The Kardashians were one of Meema’s favorite guilty pleasures, so my attempt at lightening the mood worked, and she laughed.

  The physical therapist gave me the side eye.

  I didn’t give a shit if she thought I was crazy because I thought she was a bitch.

  Maybe we’d been spoiled by the amazing nurses. Or maybe she’d eaten a big ol’ bowl of Bitch Flakes that morning. Either way, she was too impatient and rude to be doing what she did for a living.

  When we reached the circular desk with the nurses and techs, Dr. Collins was standing off to the side, working on a laptop. He turned at our approach and grinned. “Miz Allan, you keep this up, and you’ll be waltzing out of here in no time.”

  “That’s,” she huffed, leaning heavily on the walker she used, “the plan.”

  Dr. Collins turned his attention to me. “Can I speak to you for a minute?”

  My stomach dropped and somehow, in the span of ten seconds, I’d managed to think of a million awful scenarios.

  “I’m gonna rest,” Meema wheezed, “so feel free to talk for all the minutes you need.”

  I wasn’t even annoyed by her not-so-subtle matchmaking attempts. Standing in silence, I watched as she slowly hobbled away. It wasn’t until seeing her from that perspective that I noticed something. “She’s dragging her left leg.”

  Dr. Collins nodded. “She is. That’s what I wanted to talk with you about.” He handed me a few business cards. “These are some rehab facilities I recommend.” At my brows almost hitting my hairline, he quickly amended, “Not for drugs. Physical rehab. Like when an athlete goes to rehab after an injury. These are inpatient ones for when someone isn’t in need of hospitalization, but still isn’t quite ready for home.”

  “Okay, I’ll do some research.”

  Handing me some other cards, his tone was a gentler, doctory one. “And these are some assisted living facilities I recommend.”

  I didn’t take those. “She’s fiercely independent. There’s no way she’d agree to move into a home.”

  “Assisted living facilities are much different than nursing homes. They’re based around giving seniors their independence. Most of them have loaded activity calendars, and something tells me she’d enjoy that. She could still have her own apartment or condo, just with some… supervision.” His lips tipped up. “Maybe don’t tell her that part.”

  “She still won’t go for it.”

  He tucked the cards away and nodded understandingly. “If she’s going to remain at home, there are a lot of modifications she’ll need. Do you live with her?”

  “I was in Boston, but I’m moving back.”

  “I’m sure she’s happy about that.”

  Based on her telling me that if I do, she’s moving to Aruba, that’d be a no.

  I kept that to myself and made a noncommittal murmur.

  The doctor checked his chicken scratch covered paper. “The social worker won’t be seeing her until tomorrow. She’ll be providing a lot of information, so like today, it’ll be better to have an extra set of ears.”

  “I’ll be here.”

  “Good.” He cleared his throat a little. “Because it can be overwhelming, and she’s already dealing with a lot.”

  I nodded before I felt it.

  Something was different.

  The air felt wired and thinner, like there was no longer enough to go around.

  My body was electric, the hair on the back of my neck standing up.

  I glanced around, but no one else seemed to notice it. Turning my head to look down the hallway, my breath caught.

  Killian.

  Looking big and bad, he stood at the far end of the hallway near the elevator. Even at a distance, I could feel his eyes on me.

&nbs
p; Without another word to the doctor—hell, without thought—I turned and headed toward him. I’d meant to walk, but within a few steps, I’d sped up to a jog. Then a sprint. When I reached him—again without thought—I launched myself.

  He went back a step as my body slammed into his. He froze for a moment, and I was about to apologize when his arms locked around me.

  Tight.

  His large hand cupped the back of my head, holding me to his hard chest. Being so close, I didn’t miss his long exhale or the way his body relaxed.

  After soaking in the feel of him, my brain kick-started again. Putting my hands on his chest, I leaned back.

  He released his hold on my head but kept his other arm in place.

  “You’re here. I can’t believe you’re here.” My brows lowered. “What’re you doing here?”

  His lips tipped up. “Was in the neighborhood, thought I’d drop by.”

  Based on what he’d told me, Killian traveled all over. However, I strongly doubted his work took him to a small town in Tennessee.

  “Ha. Ha,” I deadpanned. I couldn’t hold the blank expression long, and my face split into a grin so large, it hurt my cheeks. “How’d you know where I was?”

  “You left your notebook open on the counter. It had the hospital name and some info,” he said, referring to the notes I’d taken while talking to Miz Susan.

  For the first time ever, I was thrilled by my messy habits. “I’m so happy you’re here.”

  Then, not because I was exhausted. Not because I was stressed. Not because the sterile cleaning fumes had gotten me high before killing my last remaining brain cells. Simply because I was so damn happy to see him, I gripped his shirt and pulled him down as I lifted onto my toes. I pressed my lips to his for a quick peck.

  A friendly peck.

  One that said, ‘Thanks for being here, my friend. You’re a great pal, my dude. Your support means a lot, my amigo.’

  But the second my lips touched his, the quick peck changed.

  There was no hesitation before Killian cupped my head again, his arm tightening around me reflexively.

  Even if he weren’t holding me to him, I wouldn’t have moved.

  I could hardly think beyond holy shit, this feels good.

  My body didn’t need my mind’s cooperation to react. Nipples hardened. Insides clenched. Lungs seized. My head swam.

  I was lust-drunk and Killian-high.

  I wanted to fully taste the coffee and honey-tinged smokiness I was getting subtle hints of.

  And then I wanted to climb him like a tree.

  I didn’t, of course. I was a mature adult. There were rules of public decency, and I was an upstanding citizen.

  Also, he broke the kiss before I had the chance.

  I may have sobbed at the loss had he not rested his forehead against mine and roughly whispered, “Missed you, mo chuisle.”

  I wasn’t fishing for compliments or playing coy when I asked, “You did?”

  “Aye.”

  Before I could respond—likely with a confession of how I missed him and wanted to climb him like a tree—there was a sharp throat clearing behind me.

  I turned to see the physical therapist.

  She wasn’t giving me the side eye, she was full-on stink eyeing me. “Your grandmother is waiting for you. I’ll have my report to the doctor whenever I can get to it.” With one last judgmental glare, she stepped into the elevator.

  The story of me in Killian’s arms is going to be spreading through the hospital before she hits the lobby.

  She’ll be all, ‘And there I was, selflessly working so hard to help that dear, sweet woman. All the while, her floozy granddaughter was going at it with some beast in the hallway, as if everyone and God couldn’t see them. Like mother, like daughter.’

  “Who was that?” Killian asked.

  “My meema’s physical therapist, bless her heart.”

  He chuckled. “Sweet words you don’t seem to mean.”

  My expression stayed stormy. “No, I definitely mean them. But in the southern way.”

  “How’s your nan?”

  At that, my face did light up. “She’s awake. I mean, she’s weak and her speech is slurred, and they said she might never recover from that, but it’s fine because she’s awake.” I took a much-needed breath before blurting, “C’mon, I’ll introduce you to her.”

  There were eyes on us the whole way. Part of it was the natural curiosity of an unfamiliar face. Since his unfamiliar face was sexy and dangerous and aggressively masculine, it drew even more attention.

  And whispers.

  When we reached my meema’s room, I whispered, “I’m gonna make sure she’s up for a visitor.” Going inside, I paused to wash my hands. “It’s just me.”

  Meema laughed. “Didn’t figure any of the doctors are walking around in fuzzy slipper boots and taco leggings.”

  I looked down at myself and cracked up. It was laugh at myself or cringe.

  My leggings were indeed covered in tacos and tortilla chips. My oversized tee hung off my shoulder, the front of it featuring a bowl of guacamole and the proud declaration, It’s okay to be extra. Feet in fuzzy hot pink slipper boots, hair in a messy topknot, and not a speck of makeup on, it was definitely a look.

  Not a good one, but a look all the same.

  “They should,” I said. “I bet all that time they spend on their feet would be way better in these slippers.”

  I peeked around the curtain and saw her with the remote in hand, flipping through the stations.

  She grinned when she stopped on a Kardashian repeat. “Why’re you just standing there? This is a good one.”

  “Not to interrupt your show, but are you up for a visitor?”

  She turned toward me and beamed before narrowing her eyes. “It’s not Miz Betsy from church is it? Her grandbaby showed her how to take selfies with those silly faces on them. She’d just love to get a pic of me like this with her looking good after her,” she lifted her fingers to do air quotes, “vacation.” She put her hands to her cheeks and pulled her face back.

  Apparently Miz Betsy got a little nip and tuck.

  I shook my head. “No, it’s actually one of my friends.”

  “Did you get in touch with your old gang?”

  I bit back a laugh at her calling us a gang. We’d been tough, all right. Causing a ruckus at the library with the occasional late return. Loitering at the movie rental place while we’d tried to work up the nerve to peek inside the curtained off ‘adult only’ area—a feat none of us had succeeded at. Shoplifting the occasional grape before buying the rest of the bag once we’d verified they were the sweet, crisp ones.

  Yeah, bunch of wild rebels we’d been.

  “No, this is a friend from Massachusetts. He—”

  She smiled knowingly. “He, huh? Yes, I’d love to meet this… friend.”

  Oh, Lord, help me. This is going to be worse than her matchmaking.

  I headed back to Killian, silently praying Meema would be on her best behavior. Stepping into the hallway, I smiled. “Ready?”

  “Aye.”

  I figured he’d follow me in, but while one of his hands went to hold the door open for us, his other engulfed mine. I tried to pull free, not wanting to give Meema any ideas, but he tightened his grip. “Killian,” I hissed.

  The rest of my protest was cut off when he practically dragged me past the curtain.

  And Meema didn’t miss any of it, further proving the stroke hadn’t impaired her cognitive skills the way they’d worried. Her eyes were zeroed in on our clasped hands, and a wide smile pulled at her lips. Her blue eyes were lit with glee, and I could practically see her planning baby blankets to knit.

  “Meema, this is Killian Nox,” I said with a sigh, accepting that my hand temporarily belonged to him while also trying not to admit how much I liked it. “Killian, this is my meema, Miz Carol Anne Allan.”

  “Ma’am,” Killian rumbled. “It’s nice to finally meet you. Gu
s has told me a lot.”

  In everything I’d imagined or worried would happen, none of it came close to the reality of my meema giggling. Like a giddy freakin’ girl. Her cheeks flushed, and she flung her hand out. “Don’t call me ma’am. Makes me feel old.”

  My brow raised since it was the first I’d heard of that.

  Funny how she’s never balked at the other million times people called her ‘ma’am.’

  She accepted his outstretched hand. “Call me Carol Anne.”

  My other brow shot up at that declaration.

  “Okay, Ms. Carol Anne,” he said with a smile.

  Again, it made my meema giggle. “What’s that accent, Killian? Of course, you’re probably thinking the same about mine, but it’s the typical one around here.”

  “A mix of Irish and Scottish.”

  “Are you from one of them?”

  “Aye. I was born in Scotland but moved to Ireland when I was a lad.”

  She looked wistful as she sighed. “I bet the sights are beautiful there.”

  His eyes found mine. “Aye. But the ones here are much better.”

  Meema didn’t miss that, either, and her sigh became more swooning than wistful.

  Oh, shit. Here I was worried about her behavior, and it’s him who’s out of control. At this rate, she’ll be planning our wedding for tomorrow.

  Right as I was mentally giving her props for being uncharacteristically chill, she looked at me and upped her outspoken game. “No wonder you didn’t show any interest in that doctor. He may have been handsome, but—”

  “Meema!” I interrupted.

  Killian’s lips were curled up in amusement, but there was a storm in his hazel eyes. His jaw was clenched, and even through his long-sleeved henley, I could see his arm and shoulder muscles were more pronounced.

  Ignoring my warning, she told Killian, “If you could sneak me in some tea and cookies, I’d marry you myself.”

  Hands on my hips, my expression and tone were incredulous. “Have you lost your mind?”

  “What?” She raised her arms, though her left one couldn’t go as high, and put her palms out like she was innocent. “Like Miz Betsy’s grandbaby says, I’m jus’ sayin’.”

  First Snapchat and now attitude? Miz Betsy sounds like a bad influence, and I don’t think Meema should hang out with her anymore.