“Yes,” I whisper. I don’t care that Anderson isn’t family, or that Nathan doesn’t have a familial claim.
My whole body trembles—flashbacks of that fateful night roll through my mind, one after the other. The doctor. Luca grabbing me as we cried. The whirlwind of a funeral. Selling the house. Donating their things—the things they so recently used, like the mug of coffee on my dad’s desk, or the open jar of lotion next to my mom’s sink. I sway a little thinking about all of that, and the doctor continues as Nathan puts his arm around me.
“They’ll be okay,” she says, and tears spring to my eyes. “The plane they were in crash landed. The weather took a turn during the flight, and the runway was too slippery. Both men were conscious upon being brought here, but Luca’s rib fractured, and we needed to do minor surgery to stabilize it. He got off easy.” She turns to me. “Anderson’s condition was a little worse. He has a concussion, so don’t expect him to speak coherently. He also had some internal bleeding that we needed to address, but both of them should be fine in a couple of weeks.”
Nathan sags against me. “Oh, thank fuck,” he whispers, and the doctor smiles.
“You can go see them if you’d like.”
“Thank you,” I answer, my voice uneven.
We follow her back, down a long hallway full of people moaning and yelling out. I close my eyes for a second. The outcome is different this time. They’re alive, and they’ll be fine. Still, I can’t shake the anxiety, the heavy feeling pressing down on my chest. The doctor leads us to two doors at the end of the hallway and turns to face us.
“They’re both still pretty out of it, and Mr. Møllen especially has a significant amount of bruising. A fair warning,” she adds, walking away.
I look at Nathan, who is staring at Luca’s door with wide eyes.
“You go to Luca,” I say, gesturing to the door. “I’ll come see him a little later.”
He nods, quiet. Then he grabs me and pulls me into a tight hug.
“Thank you for being the reason I didn’t drive off of a cliff,” he says, his voice gritty. When he pulls away, he swipes at his cheeks. “I just… I think I love him, you know?” he asks, wincing. He pounds his chest. “With every fiber of my being.”
And then he walks into Luca’s room, and I push Anderson’s door open.
I stop when I see him—hooked up to an IV, sleeping with his face turned the other way. I can already tell it’s a lot worse thana significant amount of bruising.As I walk closer, I put a hand over my mouth. Not only does he have double black eyes, but his lips are swollen and cut up, and there’s a gash on his forehead. His neck—every inch of skin—is battered and bruised somehow. As I get closer, he turns to face me, his eyes glassed over. He manages a small smile before grimacing.
“Hi,” I whisper. I reach down for him.
“Hi,” he answers. His voice is hoarse. He pulls me closer, and I’m surprised by his strength for someone who just had surgery. “Don’t look so worried. I’m fine.”
“You were bleeding internally, Anderson,” I chide, trying not to smile as he reaches around and grabs my ass.
“Yeah, but I’m on morphine, so I feel great.” He squeezes once.
I giggle and take a step back. “Yes, I can tell. You need to be resting.”
He locks eyes with me, rubbing his lips before wincing.
“I need you,” he purrs.
“Okay,” I answer, laughing. “Someone needs some sleep.”
“Natalia.” His voice is rough, gritty. And despite his wounds—despite the way his eyes and expression are a little hazy from being high on pain meds—I feel pulled to him. The way he says my name makes my heart race every single fucking time.
“Yes?” I ask, my voice quiet.
“I think I’m falling for you, too.”
His words slam through me, and I sway a bit on my feet before sitting down next to him. I don’t attempt the bed in case his incision is still sore.
“Oh?” I ask, hating how my voice sounds condescending. He doesn’t seem to notice—instead, he reaches out for me. I move the chair closer, and his hand comes up to my face. Again, he forgets about his injuries, because he hisses in pain.
“I want to touch you,” he says, his voice low.
“I’m right here.”
“You got under my skin,” he admits, looking away. “From the very first second. I wanted to hate you.”
