Wrong Question, Right Answer (The Bourbon Street Boys #3) - Elle Casey Page 0,113

has to stand up and do what she thinks is right and live with the consequences.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

I’m on some sort of mild painkiller that’s not doing much for me. The nurse told me there’s a concern of narcotics traveling across the placental barrier and feeding the babies things they shouldn’t be eating, so I’m stuck with something about as strong as Tylenol.

I look at the clock, begging it to slow down. My phone rests on my hospital bed next to my hand. There are about ten text messages there, all of them from the team. Everyone wants to see me, but I’ve been holding them off, telling them the doctor doesn’t want me to have company yet. Now that the mission-accomplished euphoria has faded, I find myself embarrassed over what I’ve done. I can’t face them and the recriminations and scoldings they’re sure to lay on me. I took a risk with the babies I shouldn’t have. I should have discussed it with Lucky before I went to Eunice’s house and given him a chance to talk me out of it.

The sound of people shouting comes from the hallway. For a moment I panic, thinking that Eunice has followed me here and she’s come to finish the job. But then the door bursts open and Lucky’s standing there. A male nurse has him by the front of his shirt and is trying to yank him out of the room.

“Get off me! I need to see her! Those are my children she’s carrying!” He struggles against the wall, pushing with all of his strength to get past the big guy.

I sit up, wincing at the discomfort it brings me. My entire body aches. “It’s okay. Let him in.” I have to hold my ribs as barbs of pain lance through my chest.

The nurse loosens his hold on Lucky but shakes him once, hard, before letting him go. “You need to listen to us when we tell you to wait.” He shoves Lucky away and looks over at me, smoothing down his scrubs. “Talk to him about how to act in a hospital. We don’t have time for this kind of behavior in here.”

I nod. “I will. I’m sorry. It’s my fault.”

Lucky frowns at me. He straightens his leather jacket and walks over, stopping at the foot of my bed with his hands balled into fists at his sides. “When are you going to stop blaming yourself for other people’s behavior?”

I look at him, confused about his attitude. It’s not what I expected. “When are you going to stop acting like that?”

“Acting like what?”

I pause, wondering what I was getting at. “I don’t know. I’m totally confused now.” I reach up and touch my forehead gingerly, quickly learning there are bruises there. “I’m sorry. I’m on painkillers right now but they’re not really working.”

Lucky leans in closer, his fists opening as he rests his hands on the bed’s footboard. “Is that okay for the babies?”

I shrug. “No worse than getting my ass kicked, I guess.”

His expression softens and he walks over to rest a butt cheek on the mattress next to me. “Babe, what were you thinking going over there?”

Tears come to my eyes, much as I would like them to stay away. “I don’t know. I guess I was thinking that if I could apologize and get her to see that I mean it, that I really regret what I did, I could figure out how to move on.” I look up at him, my lips and chin trembling. My entire face is having a seizure. “For the babies. For us.”

He shakes his head, his own chin shaking with emotion now, too. Taking my hand, he lifts it so he can kiss my fingers. “You don’t need her forgiveness to move on, babe. You just need to forgive yourself.”

“I know.” My voice hitches. “But it’s really hard. I killed him. I can’t take that back.” The tears will not stop streaming down my face.

Lucky nods, swallowing a few times and battling emotion before he responds. “Yes, you did do that, and it was a regrettable thing for sure. But Charlie wasn’t even close to innocent or blameless, and everyone but you can see that.”

“It doesn’t matter. There’s no excuse.”

He sighs, shaking his head at me. “You have it so bad.”

“I have what so bad?” I use the back of my hand to wipe tears away, careful not to disturb my IV.

“I forget what it’s called. It’s when the victim blames herself