GET UP.
Aunt Ruthie’s words sound as clear in my head when I open my eyes as they did in my dream. In the memories buried in my sleep. I glance around a semi-dark room, my brain struggling to compute my surroundings. The starchy gown, the antiseptic smell, the thin sheets. Over the last three months I got used to waking up somewhere different almost every morning, but I never in all my life woke up in a hospital.
And then my memories click like a camera shutter, assembling my last performance in a hazy pictorial. I woke up from a fitful nap in my dressing room, still feverish. Still aching and short of breath. But it was the last show. I kept telling myself I only needed to get through one last show. My routine was going fine until I hit the second song, and then the lights blurred and spun, a glaring kaleidoscope over my head. I stumbled, literally feeling my body shutting down limb by limb, my heartbeat slowing . . . and then oblivion. And now, I have no idea how many hours later, I’m here.
I look to my right, my eyes carving out a shape in the sheer dark of dawn filtering in through the blinds. I have no idea what time it is. I have no idea what day it is. I barely know my own name, but I know the man slumped in an awkward, sleeping pretzel, his tall frame squeezed into the small chair by my bed.
“Rhys.” My raggedy voice barely pushes the word out, but it abrades my throat. I reach up to touch my neck, like that will make it better, but the skin feels the same. It’s the inside that feels like a cheese grater.
“He hasn’t left this room.” The soft words come from the left side of my bed.
I turn my head, tears instantly collecting in my eyes when I make out Aunt Ruthie seated beside me, her Bible open on her lap.
“Aunt Ruthie.” The words emerge as a croak, my mouth working uselessly to get out my gratitude, my relief that she’s here. “You’re . . . I . . . you . . .”
My shoulders shake, soft sobs racking my sore body. Hot, salty tears slip into the corners of my mouth. I lift my hand to reach for her, only now noticing the IV in my arm. Oh, God. What’s wrong with me? What am I doing here?
“It’s all right.” She sets the Bible aside, crossing the small space between her chair and the bed to wrap a work-roughened hand around mine. She reaches into her pocket for a small handkerchief, dabbing at my tears. “You’re okay, baby.”
“But what . . . what’s wrong with me?” I look over at Rhyson, still asleep. If our places were reversed, and I was in that chair, waiting for him to wake up, I’d be going out of my mind.
“Pneumonia.” Aunt Ruthie brushes hair away from my eyes. “And exhaustion. And dehydration. You really did a number on your body, honey.”
“Pneumonia?” I shake my head against the cool pillow. “That’s not possible. I mean, I had a little cold. A cough.”
“And a fever, too, right?” Her brows climb into the sandy brown hair dipping over her forehead, a little more salt in it than the last time I saw her. “Apparently your ‘little cold’ left unattended became a lot more.”
How could I not know? How could I have missed that? I knew something was wrong, but I never imagined it was more than a bug I couldn’t shake.
“How’s Rhyson?” I whisper, still not ready to wake him. I know his concern will smother me like a blanket once he’s up.
“How do you think he is?” Aunt Ruthie tilts her head to catch my eyes. “Worried and ornery. Making life difficult for everyone around here.”
“That sounds about right,” I mutter. “How long have I been out? How long have you been here?”
“You’ve been asleep for about a day. They sedated you. I got here a few hours ago.” She inclines her head toward the man still sleeping to my right. “He had a fancy plane come get me.”
“That was sweet of him. I—”
“Pep?” Rhyson’s voice, faint from fatigue, interrupts our conversation. He blinks away sleep, pushing his hands up over his face and through his hair. He’s swift to his feet, crossing over to the bed to grip my hand between his. “You’re up.”
He leans down, pressing his nose into my hair.
“God, I’ve been so worried, baby.” His kisses feather across my face, one landing like rain on my lips before he pulls back. He glances up to meet Aunt Ruthie’s curious eyes. Her mouth crooks into a small smile. “How long has she been awake?”
“Just now. You gonna yell at me for not letting you know sooner?” Aunt Ruthie turns amused eyes back to me. “This one seems to think yelling is how you get things done around here.”
“Thanks a lot,” he says. “That was supposed to be our little secret.”
“I would buzz the nurse,” Aunt Ruthie says. “But someone, I won’t call any names, has been abusing the buzzer.”
“I just buzzed her a couple times.” Rhyson rolls his eyes and grins, not quite meeting my eyes.
“Mmmmmm.” Aunt Ruthie walks over to the door, turning with her hand on the handle. “He’s the boy who cried wolf so she won’t come anymore when he buzzes. I’ll go get her myself.”
“You’ll be back, right?” She’s a balm to me. I didn’t realize how much I missed her warmth and care until I had it pressed against me again.
“I’ll be right back, honey.” Aunt Ruthie winks at me and points a warning finger at Rhyson. “And you behave while I’m gone.”
“The nurse would have come if she buzzed,” Rhyson says. “I think she’s just trying to give us a few minutes alone.”
“So you haven’t been making life hell for everyone being protective and unreasonable?” I rasp, struggling a little to get the words out. “’Cause that would be your MO.”
“Of course I have.” He grins even though his eyes are sober when he brings me water from the small refrigerator in the corner of the room. “I’ve had to be kind of forceful. They didn’t want me in here since I wasn’t down as an emergency contact or anything, and no one knew we were together. I didn’t have much of a leg to stand on. If San hadn’t vouched for me, I wouldn’t even be in here now.”
I know going through San to get to me always infuriates him. I watch his face while he tips water into the dry, narrow passageway of my throat.
“I’m sorry about that.” I cough a little, barely getting the words out. “I completed the paperwork a few months ago when the tour started. We weren’t even speaking, so of course I put San down and hadn’t thought about it since.”
“Yeah, of course. I get it.”
He doesn’t get it. It’s all over him, from the tight lips to the stiffly-held shoulders. I could apologize more, but I know that won’t ease the sting of feeling cut out.
“I was there.” Rhyson tunnels his hands into the pockets of his pants. He’s wearing Dickeys, which he never would under normal circumstances be caught dead in. So I assume he was at my concert in disguise.
“You were?”
The intensity of the look he gives me is almost too much. I don’t know if it’s what’s in his eyes stealing my breath, or the infection lingering in my lungs, but I can’t breathe until he looks away, down to the floor.
“Yeah, I was in the audience when you collapsed.” He clenches his eyes shut. “Worst moment of my life, Pep. Seeing you fall. Not knowing what the hell was wrong. Not able to get to you or knowing even where you were.”
“I’m so sorry.” I whisper as much as my voice will allow, grabbing his hand, dipping my head to catch his eyes even though he doesn’t want me to see the vulnerability there. “Rhys, I’m sorry.”
“I can’t believe I held you in my arms coughing, walking around with fucking pneumonia and didn’t do anything about it. Didn’t even realize it.” He shakes his head, jaw clenched, and walks to the foot of the bed. “That’s never happening again. I’m never trusting someone else with you again. Not even you.”
“What’s that mean?” I frown even though every part of me aches so much even that action takes effort.
“Meaning I can’t even trust you to take care of yourself, much less think Malcolm would look after you.” His stare accuses me. “How could you let this happen?”
“Are you mad at me?” I inch myself upright in the bed. “I’m in the hospital, and you’re mad at me?”
“You can’t love me the way I love you if you don’t understand that.” He stands, pacing at the foot of the bed and shoveling both hands through his hair. “Did you mean it when you said I’m yours and you’re mine?”
“You know I did. Of course, I me—”
“Then how dare you be so damn reckless with what’s mine?” He presses his palms to the table at the foot of the bed, leaning forward, his stare pressing me deeper into the pillow behind me. “You can’t possibly get that and be so careless with your health. With your life.”
“I wasn’t being careless. I was working.”
“For a tyrant. And I told you he didn’t give a shit about you, but you ignored me. Left me to go on the road for him, and this is what happens.”
“How can you be mad at me?” Tears blur and burn my eyes.
“How can I not, Pep? You’re my fucking life. How can you not know that?” He drops his head into his hands, digging and twisting his palms into his eyes. “You’re my life.”
“And you’re mine.”
“Am I?” He shakes his head, turning away from me to link his hands behind his neck. “If that were true, we wouldn’t be here right now.”
“You’ve gotten to do this your whole life. Is it wrong that I want to take advantage of my shot? I finally get the chance to make it, and—”
“I don’t give a damn if you ‘make it’ if it hurts you, Pep.” He swings back around to face me, eyes tumultuous. “If it jeopardizes you, then you’re right. I don’t care about your career. There. I said it.”
“How would you feel if I said that to you?”
“I’d feel like you had your priorities straight. That’s how I’d feel.”
“No, you—”
The door flies open, and a nurse wearing purple scrubs and a scowl walks in.
“I heard our patient was awake.” She sets her fists on her hips and walks over to my bed. “Were you planning to argue her back to good health, Mr. Gray?”
Rhyson at least looks abashed, his eyes losing some of their heat when he glances back at me.
“I’m sorry.” He blows out his frustration. “We were just—”
“Oh, the whole wing heard what you were just doing.” She looks up at him from the blood pressure cuff she’s wrapping around my arm. “Am I gonna have to ask you to leave?”
Rhyson doesn’t answer, but takes his seat by my bed and starts scrolling through his phone. I’m not sure if it’s his way of demonstrating he’ll cooperate, or showing her he’s not going anywhere.
“Your vitals are good, but the doctor will be in soon to look at you,” she says to me. “How are you feeling?”
“Thirsty,” I croak. “And really drowsy.”
“We gave you some medication that kept you asleep because the best thing you can do to get better is rest.”
She offers me the water again. Each sip irrigates my dry, scratchy throat, so I keep sipping until the cup is almost empty.
“Slow down, honey.” She laughs a little. “It’s time for more meds actually.”
She chides Rhyson with a look.
“If he’s going to upset you, he’ll have to go.”
“He won’t,” I rush to say. “I promise.”
“If he can’t follow instructions—”
“Please don’t make him go.” I’m about to cry again. Is it the exhaustion making me such a crybaby?
“Don’t worry,” Rhsyon says without looking up from his phone. “She won’t make me go.”
The nurse lifts a brow, meeting Rhyson’s defiance with her own.
“You have some other friends who’d like to see you.” Her stern eyes soften on me. “Is that okay?”
“Sure. That’s fine.”
She leaves, and neither of us speaks for a moment, the memory of our argument too fresh in the room.
“Do you have any idea what you mean to me?” Rhys finally asks, his voice quiet, but still rich with emotion. “There’s no happiness without you anymore. This didn’t have to happen. I’m furious with Malcolm. I’m furious with myself.”
“Furious with me?” I ask softly.
He doesn’t answer, but the air throbs with it. This caged emotion that has been waiting for me to wake up, finally unleashed in a torrent. Fear and desperation stand in his eyes like water, reflecting everything he’s been through since he saw me collapse. I can’t be mad at him. And I know he won’t stay mad at me.
He gets up from the chair and steps close to the bed, leaning down to slide his arm under my back, scooping me close. He buries his head in my hair, gripping me like he’s afraid I’ll float away.
“God, Pep.”
“I’m okay.” I lay soothing strokes over the knotted muscles of his back. “Baby, I’m okay.”
I hear him swallow, feel his arms tighten around me.
“I can’t.” He shakes his head.
He doesn’t finish that thought, but I know. He can’t go through that again. He can’t be without me. He can’t lose me. I know because that truth hums through my veins as sure as whatever is pumping through the needle stuck in my arm. We are pieces that have interlocked, carved to fit by fate or something I don’t understand, but I know is real.
“I can’t either.” I push my fingers into his hair, gently nudging him far enough back so I can look into his eyes. “I don’t ever want to again.”
I lean up to kiss him, an innocent touch that flares with the desperate intimacy enshrouding us. He deepens the kiss, his hands drifting to my back, pressing me closer. Even with stale breath and two days on us, kissing him is so sweet.
The door opening startles us apart.
“For the love of God, man,” San says. “She’s got pneumonia. You can’t keep your hands to yourself for five minutes? It’s like that?”
I don’t have a fever anymore, but my face fires up because it’s not just San at the door. Aunt Ruthie’s back, along with Bristol, Grip, Grady, Em, and a white-coated doctor, all witnesses to the mortification of our sick bed make out session.
Rhyson steps away, a sheepish grin crooking his lips. He looks back at me, mouthing a silent “sorry.”
“The nurse said you wanted to see your friends.” The doctor walks over to the bed, taking my wrist, checking my pulse. “I guess we should have knocked.”
Grip snickers, a fist at his mouth to catch the sound. His eyes and the smile he gives me are warm. I’m not sure what Rhyson’s told him since Grady’s wedding when he set up our barn loft rendezvous, but he doesn’t seem displeased to see us together again.
Bristol’s glance pops between her brother and me like a rubber band. Her smile is stiff, and I see the concern in her eyes. It’s not for me, though. It hurt me to see Rhyson undone the way he has been since I woke up. I suspect it’s hurt Bristol to see him that way, too. And she knows it’s because of me. When someone loves you, especially the way Rhyson loves me, you have so much power. Every breath you take, every beat of your heart holds sway over them. You’re sometimes moments from crushing them without even trying. Without even knowing. I’m finally understanding that Bristol knows I have that power over her brother, and she’s not sure she can trust me with it.
Sometimes neither am I. Even though he has just as much power over me, sometimes I’m not sure I can trust me with it either.
Everyone crowds around the bed, talking at once, asking if I’m okay. They tease Rhyson ruthlessly about being an irrational pain in the ass while I was sedated. He backs away, propping himself against the windowsill to give them room. Every time I look up, his eyes burn over me like fever, and I have to force myself to look away.
The doctor, Dr. Wells, finally asks everyone to leave so he can examine me more fully.
“When can I go home?” I demand. I feel weak, but so much better even than I have for the last few weeks. “I can recuperate at home, right?”
“I need to examine you, but based on what we’ve been seeing in your lungs, in your levels, that might be fine.” He bends a look over his spectacles. “In a few days, as long as someone is there to take care of you.”
“I’ll make sure she follows all your instructions,” San offers.
“The hell you will.” Rhyson’s sharp words slice into the conversation like it’s butter.
The room goes pin-drop quiet, everyone holding their breath while San and Rhyson hold a stare.
“Let’s work out the details of where she’ll be going and who’ll be enforcing doctor’s orders later.” Grady saves the day with his characteristic diplomacy. “Why don’t we get out of Dr. Wells’ way so he can examine Kai properly?”
Everyone drifts out the door with promises to check on me and hopes that I’ll get better. Rhyson, San, and Aunt Ruthie remain. Before Dr. Wells can shoo them away, I need to clarify something.
“I want to go home,” I say, my voice even and strong, despite the insistent fatigue pressing in the longer I’m awake.
“Of course.” Rhyson grabs my hand. “Sarita will—”
“Not to your place, Rhys,” I say softly, gently, before looking up at Aunt Ruthie. “I need to be in my mama’s house.”
Aunt Ruthie nods, pressing her lips tight against the emotion dampening her eyes.
“Okay.” Rhyson takes a step back, shoving his hands into his pockets and heaving a sigh. “If that’s what you want, then of course I understand.”
He’s studying his shoes, the muscles along his jaw tensed, brows lowered over his eyes.
“Think you could spare some time in the country with me?” I ask, stretching my hand toward him.
A huge grin breaks out on his face, and he takes my hand to his lips, kissing my fingers folded over his.
“I might be able to work that out.”