Tomorrow's Sun (Lost Sanctuary) - By Becky Melby Page 0,41
her knee, exposed an ugly, dark purple bruise. He didn’t need to step too close to hear strong, steady breathing. She was alive. Was she conscious? “Emily?”
Just talk to me and I’ll leave. Wake up, throw a pillow in my face, and I’m out of here. He kneeled beside her, sending a brown plastic bottle skittering across the floor. Bending sideways, he caught it. Percocet. A second bottle lay on its side, half-covered by a blanket. He’d picked up enough prescriptions for his mother to be familiar with both drugs—one for pain, one for sleep. If she’d taken both, she’d be a zombie.
One look at your pupils and I’ll say good-bye. He lifted a limp hand. Smooth skin, tapered fingers. An artistic hand. It fit snugly in his. Rubbing the back with his thumb, he said her name again.
“Hmm?” Eyelids twitched. He let go of her hand. She rolled on her side, hugging her pillow, facing him.
So she wasn’t brain-dead. Jake crossed his legs and picked up her hand again. “How are you feeling?”
“Tired.” Her lips barely moved.
“Does your leg hurt?”
“Mm-hm.”
“How ‘bout your head?”
Her forehead crinkled. Very cute. “No.” The creases deepened. One eye popped open then the other. Equal and reactive. “Is Adam okay?”
“He’s fine. He’ll be in overnight for observation. Just like you should be.”
“And Lexi?”
“On her way home.”
“Good.” Eyes fluttering shut, she shook her head. Her hair spilled across her face. Jake brushed it away, skimming her warm cheek. “Hate hospitals,” she mumbled.
“I imagine you do. How long were you in?”
“Three weeks … first. Long time second.”
“Did you need surgery after your accident?”
Her pillow rustled as she nodded. “Lots.” She was silent for several seconds. “MRSA.”
“That’s an infection, right?” The name had something to do with antibiotic resistance. That’s all he knew about it.
“Mm-hm. Evil. God punishes.”
Leaning closer, he enclosed her hand in both of his. “What do you mean?”
“I deserved it.”
“You deserved an infection?”
“If I hadn’t …” Eyes squinched shut. Her breathing grew slow and deep again.
Jake lifted her hand. And kissed it.
He reached the first floor before the sensation left his lips. Common sense returned about the same time. She didn’t have a phone. With that leg, it was doubtful she could even climb down to use the bathroom. Pulling out his phone, he pushed “2” and waited for his mother’s voice.
“Is she okay, honey?”
“She’s conscious. It looks like she took a pain pill and a sleeping pill—”
“Bring her here.”
Scuffing his heel against the floor, he smiled. “You’re sure?”
“That’s what you called about, isn’t it?”
Unnerving. “Yes.”
“Then do what you should have done in the first place and sling her over your shoulder and bring her here. Unless you think she should see a doctor first.”
“I think she should, but the ER wouldn’t be a safe place if I took her against her will.”
“A girl with spunk, huh?”
He cringed. One word, spoken in casual conversation, and it would follow him forever. “Mother.”
“Jacob. Bring her here. Lexi and I can go back for her things tomorrow.”
“Okay. Thank you.”
“Thank you.” A smile tinged her voice.
He closed his phone and his eyes. This was going to be bad. His mother, who claimed her job wouldn’t be complete until she found him a wife, was about to meet a girl with spunk.
“That’s ridiculous.” Emily propped up on pillows and yawned. “I feel great and I have everything I need.”
“Except a phone.”
She laughed at him. “I’ll run across the street if I need to call someone.”
“You’ll what?” He laughed right back. “No offense, but you weren’t exactly running before your leg turned into a purple eggplant.”
“So I’ll hobble across the street.” Her somewhat sheepish smile made his shirt cling to his back. The air conditioner wasn’t doing its job.
“You’ll like my mom.”
“I’m sure I would. I’d love to meet her. Sometime.”
Unfolding his legs, Jake stood. “Humor me. Get up and walk me down to the door. If you make it look effortless, I’ll leave you alone.”
Her next laugh sounded like a popping balloon. “I haven’t made anything look effortless in almost two years!”
Way to go. “Is it constant pain?”
“It’s constant something.” She moved her focus to the opposite end of the room.
He sat back down. Above the air conditioner, feeble moonlight filtered through the window.
“Most of the time it’s just stiffness and a dull ache. If I overdo it, I’ll feel pain.”
“So by morning you’re going to be a mess.”
She graced him with a tiny laugh. “That’s what medication is for.” Her top lashes rested again on cheeks dusted with freckles.