She tugged in my hold, blinking. “Um, it’s against hospital policy to assist with patient requests outside of medical requirement.”
I chuckled, wincing as my muscles heralded another wash of agony. “I’m not asking you to grab me a burger or something bad for my health.”
She laughed softly.
“Surely, popping downstairs and grabbing me a phone would be okay?” I ducked to look deeper into her gaze. “I’d be forever in your debt.”
Debt…
Shit, I hated that word.
Nila would never be in debt again for as long as she lived. I would eradicate that word for motherfucking eternity the minute this was all over. No rhyme or reason existed for why my family did what they did to the Weavers. What’d started as vengeance swiftly became entertainment.
Boredom.
That was the cause. It had to be.
My ancestors were never equipped to deal with vast wealth having nothing better to do than pluck the wings from innocent butterflies and hurt those less fortunate.
There was such a thing as too much time and decadence, turning someone into a heartless monster.
Edith bit the inside of her cheek. “I don’t know.” Looking down the corridor toward my room, she said, “I’ll tell you what, head back to bed. You can discuss it with the morning manager and see what they can do.”
My stomach clenched.
It has to be tonight.
“No. I can’t run that risk. You’re here now. One request, then I’ll leave you alone. What do you say?”
Fuck this backless gown and lack of worldly possessions.
I was so used to towering over people in rich linen and tailored cotton, pulling out a wallet bursting with money. Money always got what you wanted. Cash always enticed someone to say yes.
It truly was a double-edged sword.
“If you go now, I’ll pay you triple what the phone is worth.”
Her entire body stiffened.
Shit, shouldn’t have said that.
“I don’t accept bribes, Mr. Ambrose.”
Pain shot through my system, drenching me in sweat again. I couldn’t be vertical much longer. My shoulders rolled in defeat. “Please, Edith. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t very important.” Going against all instinct, I let down my walls and begged, “Please. I need to speak with someone. They think—they think I died. I can’t let them continue worrying about me. It isn’t fair.” Hissing through my teeth as a hot wave of discomfort took me hostage, I muttered, “You wouldn’t do that to a loved one, would you? Let them sit at home and fear the worst?”
Her face fell. “No, I guess you’re right.”
Thank God.
Suddenly, she moved back around the desk and grabbed a purple handbag. Rummaging inside, she passed me an older model cell-phone. “Here. Text them now. My shift is almost over. I’ll get you the phone tomorrow when I come back into work.”
It wasn’t ideal, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.
My hand shook as I reached for it. “I can’t thank you enough.”
She waved it away. “Don’t mention it.”
The moment I held the phone, I wanted to sprint back to my room. To hear Nila’s voice. To beg for her forgiveness. To know she was okay.
I shoved away pain, holding the gift and the knowledge that I could finally reach out to her.
Hating that I couldn’t steal Edith’s phone and find some privacy, I shuffled away a little and swiped on the old device.
The time blinked on the home screen.
2:00 a.m.
Where are you, Nila?
Are you in bed? Sneaking out to ride Moth to find some peace like I used to do? Is your phone even charged?
Questions and worries exploded in my heart.
Cut had said her life would continue unmolested, but that was before he shot us. Who knew what new rules and madness he’d put in place now we were gone.
If he’s touched her, I’ll make him fucking pay.
My shakes turned savage as I opened a new message. My memory was rusty as I input her number. I hoped to God I got it right. I’d sent hundreds of messages to her but never took the time to imprint her number on my soul.
Please, please let it be right.
Using the keypad, I typed:
From one indebted to another, you’re not forgotten. I love you. I miss you. I only think of you.
I pressed send before I could go overboard. Already, that gave away too much, especially if Cut had confiscated her phone.
Then again, the number was from a stranger. It would look like any other reporter digging for a story or publicity stunt. Even with our Vanity Fair interview, the dregs of magazines looked to revive a has-been tale by piecing together fabricated facts.
That was another issue of recuperating in a hospital with nothing to do. Daytime television was enough to rot anyone’s brain—demented or otherwise.
I didn’t leave my name. I didn’t send another.
But she would know.
She would understand.
She would know that I was coming for her.
The next night, Edith fulfilled her promise.
Her shift started at 10:00 p.m. and by half past, she appeared in my room bearing a gift in the form of a brand new phone.
I couldn’t speak as I took the box, digging my fingers into the cellophane. Motherfucking tears actually sprang to my eyes at the thought of finally having a way of contacting Nila while we were apart.
Fuck, I need to hear her voice.
Edith’s emotions washed over me. Pride for helping a broken man. Compassion for my predicament. And attraction mixed with guilt over our age difference.