Deviant (Boys of Winter #3) - Sheridan Anne Page 0,5
I feel King move in closer on my left, probably just as desperate as Cruz to make sure that I’m truly alright.
Cruz moves right into my line of sight, blocking out a disheveled Grayson at the end of the bed. His beautiful green eyes shine with a million truths, telling me everything that he’s refusing to say out loud, and damn it, it fucking kills me. He’s been through hell and back over the past few hours, I’m sure they all have, but Cruz … Cruz is the one who feels it deep in his gut. The worst would have sat on his mind until the moment I woke, and those horrendous thoughts will stay with him for years to come.
“How are you feeling?” he asks, making my heart break as he focuses every bit of his attention on me, showing me just how much he truly cares. “Do you need a drink? Water? The nurse? Whatever you need, babe, I’m here.”
Cruz watches me for a second, his hand gently squeezing mine, but how am I supposed to tell him that what I really need is silence? I wouldn’t dare. He can ask me every question under the sun, and I’ll accept all of them with a worsening migraine. At least the pain is a constant reminder that my heart is still beating—unless this is some twisted version of hell.
“I just …” I try to swallow over the dryness of my throat. “Water. Nurse.”
“You got it, babe,” Cruz says reaching around and pressing the call button on a little remote attached to the side of my bed.
King grabs a bottle of water and lifts it to my lips. I take a quick sip, and as he pulls it away, he focuses on my eyes. “Better? Do you need more?”
My gaze shifts over King’s handsome face, taking in his haunted eyes and renewed hope. King has been through the worst kind of hell. It was only yesterday that he lost his father, and now he has to deal with this. I wish so desperately that I could take that pain away.
I gently shake my head. “I’m okay now,” I whisper as I slowly scan the room to meet Grayson’s stare, only to find it filled with demons. The things he’s had to do over the last few hours … fuck. I can’t even imagine what that would feel like. Having my blood flooding over his hands and not being able to help me would have seriously screwed with his head, but Grayson is stronger than I ever knew. Today will haunt him, but he’ll hold it together and not let it show.
Grayson’s stormy eyes bore into mine, and he holds my gaze for just a second longer than necessary, telling me so much with his silent stare.
I shift my gaze up to the shadow hovering in the doorway and instantly get hit with Carver’s shattered stare. There’s no other way to put it—he looks like shit. Carver’s chin that’s usually raised with power is down, his eyes that usually shine with strength are broken, and his heart that is usually locked so far away that not even he knows what it wants is sitting out on his sleeve for the world to see.
He blames himself for this. He was strong for me in the ambulance and gave me exactly what I needed to keep myself fighting, but now … now he’s nothing but a broken man completely overwhelmed by guilt.
I have to fix this, but how? Telling him that I don’t blame him is going to do nothing. He’ll listen to me, but he won’t hear me. Carver is just like me. He’s a stubborn asshole who listens only to himself, and right now, he’s determined to believe that he’s responsible for nearly killing me. He doesn’t give a shit that there was a crazy woman standing behind me with a knife to my throat, he doesn’t care that had he not made a move, she would have slit my throat with one quick flick of her wrist, and he doesn’t care that this is all on her. To him, all that matters is that it was his bullet that put me in this bed.
The urge to get up and go to him pulses through me and I try to sit up, only King and Cruz are there, shoving my shoulders back to the bed. “Whoa, baby, don’t fucking move,” Cruz orders. “You’re going to tear open your stitches.”