“You have to let them do their jobs,” Gemma scolded softly. “They’ve taken really good care of you.”
I made a mental note to apologizeafterthis damn tube was removed from my throat.
Wheeling a cart, the nurse stepped back into the room. She washed her hands at a sink in the corner before donning latex gloves and pressing a button on the side of my bed, which raised the top portion until I was in a seated position.
“This isn’t gonna feel great,” she warned, placing a paper sheet over my chest.
“Don’t care.”
She pinched the tube near my nostril, coaching, “Take a deep breath.”
I sucked in air, and that’s when she pulled, coaxing the tube through my nose. I gagged and sputtered as it slid along the back of my throat, coughing violently once it was fully removed.
My hand rose to rest along my throat, and I gave a few test swallows. “Thank you.”
“Doctor should be down soon.” She wrapped the discarded tubing in the sterile sheet and threw the whole thing into a trash can in the corner before removing her gloves.
Gemma returned to my bedside, and I snaked my arm out to pull her close.
Her fingertips traced along my face slowly, like she was still in disbelief that I was awake.
I hated that she’d been put through Hell at my expense. My chest ached, imagining the agony of our positions being reversed and having to watch on, helpless, while she fought a battle no one could help her with.
Turning my head, I kissed the center of her palm. Capturing her wrist, I flipped her left hand over. The room was dim, but the few lights reflected off the diamond resting on the fourth finger.
Her too-pale face pinkened at the cheeks, and she dropped her gaze.
I wasn’t going to let her hide from me. Tipping her chin up, I forced her to look me in the eye.
Gemma swallowed. “Sasha, I can explain—”
“You know what this means, don’t you?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
“Good. Just making sure.”
As her eyes filled with tears, her lower lip trembled, and she buried her face in my chest. “I’m so sorry.”
Finally able to run my finger through her hair, I stroked the soft tresses, soothing both of us. “Sorry for what, baby?”
Her words were muffled. “This. You getting hurt. It’s all my fault.”
“Honey, I was driving too fast, and some idiot changed lanes without signaling. I jerked the wheel too hard and spun out.”
“No.” Gemma lifted her head. “It was my father.”
My eyebrows drew down. “What are you talking about?”
“He . . . He came to see me.”
I clutched her tighter to me. “What? When?”
Then I remembered the night she broke down when I got home from the road late and her jumpy behavior the few days before the accident. Suddenly, it all made sense.
Tears fell freely down her cheeks, and a soft sob flew past her lips.
“Fuck, Kitten. You’re breaking my heart.”
