for the hundredth time, I can no longer stand it.
I sit up. My stitches pull on my tender healing skin, reminding me that I probably shouldn’t be doing this. I ignore them. Except for the IV in the back of my hand, the rest of the sensors on my body are wireless. The bag of IV fluid is hanging from a pole that has wheels. Bonus.
Easing down from the bed, I wheel over to the closet, find the robe and slippers that are waiting for me inside, and put them on. Some would think multiple trips to the infirmary to be a bad thing, but there are perks—like insider knowledge. I peek out the door. All is quiet and empty. The wheels squeak as I roll the IV down the hallway. I head toward intensive care. There’s a nurse behind a station, but I don’t pause. Instead, I turn down another corridor, aiming for the glass rooms. Well, they’re not constructed of glass, but instead of a solid wall and door, there’s a half wall with a large glass window and no door to allow the nurses easy access.
Sure enough, there’s a dim light shining from one of the rooms. I brace for the worst and keep going. Radcliff is sitting beside Niall’s bed. From this vantage point all I see is black hair on a pillow. There’s a single lamp on and Radcliff’s reading something aloud, although he stops when he spots me. He opens his mouth, closes it, and rubs his temple. Poor guy doesn’t even have the energy to scold me for being out of bed.
“He hasn’t woken,” Radcliff says.
All I can manage is a nod. Words would no doubt be accompanied by lots of tears. I move closer to the bed. To say Niall is white as a ghost is an insult to ghosts. He’s beyond pale and his lips are slightly blue. Cuts mar his cheeks and forehead. But his machine beeps and the screen behind his bed lists that his vitals are all at normal levels. His brain is showing activity, although there’s no way to determine if it’s abnormal or not.
I wrestle with my emotions until I can speak without crying. “What are his injuries?”
Radcliff peers at me as if debating what he should tell me.
“I can either hear it from you or find out by worming into his medical files.”
He sighs, but then says, “He’s been stabbed multiple times. The good news is nothing vital was damaged beyond repair. The bad is the loss of blood. During the surgery, he flatlined, but Edwards was able to revive him. Now it’s just a matter of time.”
Flatlined! That means he died! I tighten my fingers around the IV pole until they ache, but it is the only thing keeping me upright.
“Go back to bed, Ara,” Radcliff says. His tone is gentle.
It’s a struggle, but I regain control of my emotions. “Unlike you, I slept most of the day. Give me the portable, I’ll keep Niall company while you get some sleep.”
Radcliff hesitates so I hold out my hand for the device.
“You do realize, I’m the one who gives the orders,” he says, but he stands and hands me the portable. “If he wakes—”
“I’ll let you know A-sap.” I wheel my IV pole next to the chair and settle into it without wincing. Go me. Reading aloud from some story involving small troll-like people, I ignore Radcliff.
Eventually he leaves. After waiting a few more minutes, I stop. Sitting next to Niall just won’t do. His bed is bigger than mine. I move some tubes aside. With my stitches protesting my every movement, I lie down next to him. I reach under the covers and find his hand. It’s warm and also has an IV needle stuck into the back of it. Careful not to jostle it, I entwine my fingers in his. Much better.
“Hey, Toad, it’s Mouse,” I say. “You need to wake up. We still have lots of things to do together and I need you. Your dad needs you. The team needs you. The people on the base need you. We’re short one guardian lion. That just won’t do. And…” A wave of sadness builds behind my eyes, filling my nose. I sniff. “I love you, Niall.” Why didn’t I tell him I love him before? I’m a short-sighted idiot.
“Don’t leave me.” I kiss his cheek. Then I keep talking to him, telling him all kinds of goofy stuff until I fall asleep.
The