Every time my mind blanked out from exhaustion, I woke a second later, screaming. A repeat of Sully falling off the bed. Of Sully grabbing his chest. Of Sully dying.

I relived that awful, awful moment.

I drowned beneath fear and failure.

I’d fallen in love with him while he’d played the role of god and monster. He’d captured my heart and stolen my trust, making me believe a fantasy that he could never be hurt because he was untouchable.

Those lies had now unravelled, and he was just a man.

A man still dancing on the border of life and death.

A man who might never wake up...

A man who might not remember me.

My eyes ached from three days of sadness as I patrolled the empty corridors and nodded at the night nurses. I found evidence of Sully’s sway in the hospital thanks to the cardiology wing and the patronage sign naming it Sinclair’s Triage.

Was it serendipitous his donations had been used to benefit the cardio ward?

Or fate playing a sick joke?

The sudden panic that he’d died after being in surgery urged my legs into a run. I bolted back the way I’d come and shot into his room.

A nurse nodded and passed me by, a regular visitor with her hourly rounds.

The interruptions, the tests.

I was grateful but also possessive.

She closed the door behind her, and my eyes soared to the heart rate monitor. My ears begged for the steady beep, beep, beep of a healthy heart.

The faint beep.

The comforting vision of Sully still lying in bed. Both legs had some version of a cast. One leg was almost fully encased, leaving just his thigh where the harpoon had shredded his muscle. That had been tended to and rebandaged, and antibiotics once again administered intravenously. His ankle and foot stayed above the bedding in a low sling while a white bandage wrapped around his torso to protect his cracked ribs.

His bruises and cuts from Drake’s fun and games stood out starkly against his sickly pallor. His cheekbones were sharper. His five o’clock shadow grown thicker with a short beard.

Dragging the yellow comfy chair from the window—sunshine yellow for hope and patient morale, I supposed—I sat beside Sully and took his cold hand in mine.

“Can you hear me?” I murmured. “Can you feel me touch you?”

I squeezed his fingers.

No response.

His eyelids didn’t flutter. His lips didn’t part. The heart rate monitor continued its beep, beep, beep.

I sighed and rested my forehead on the back of his hand, careful not to bump the IV. “I miss you, Sully.” I swallowed back tears, sick to death of crying. “I’m so afraid.” My mind raced with so many things to say.

Threats to force him to wake up and know me.

Pleas for him to stay alive, even if he never knew my name.

“I’m sorry for being so mad. I’m sorry for losing you. I’m sorry that you had to come save me. But please...you have to wake up. Give me the chance to save you back.” I kissed his knuckles. “Don’t you miss your islands? Don’t you want to go home? If you open your eyes, we can go. We can return to Pika and Skittles, and you can get better on the beach.”

I sucked in a shaky breath. “I don’t like it here, Sully. It’s cold, and it’s snowing, and the sun is all wrong.” I glanced out the window where silver snow gleamed beneath the moon. The hospital grounds were expansive. Large gardens for patients to rehab and quaint flowerbeds to bring joy, but the air was dense with population, the scents of society strong, and the overall hum of humans in a congested city put me on edge.

I missed Goddess Isles.

I missed Skittles and Pika.

I missed Jealousy and sand and sun and—

A shrill ring broke apart my self-pity.

I jerked upright, glaring at the cell phone Mrs. Bixel had brought from the manor. Sully’s phone that he’d left on the bedside table. A phone I’d tried to unlock but had no success.

It rang again, flashing with an international number.

Swiping it from the small cabinet, I accepted the call before the person hung up. “Hello?”

“Eh, hi...Jinx? I mean...Eleanor?”

I slouched over Sully’s arm, wedging my elbows into the bed. “Dr Campbell.” Tears sprang anew. Damn blasted unwanted fucking tears.

I sniffed, doing my best to stay in control.

“What’s happened? Where’s Sinclair?”

I glanced at the man in question. I studied his slack mouth and the oxygen tubes stuck beneath his nose. I tried to convince myself that he was just sleeping. That at any moment he’d wake, and the brilliance of his blue gaze would sparkle with seduction, and everything would be better.

But the vision of Sully opening his eyes didn’t feel possible. Not here. Not while we were stuck in this snowy city with prodding nurses. Not while we were alone with no friends or familiarity.

He needs to go home.

He needs his islands.

He needs peace.

Sitting straight, I swiped at my tears and spoke with renewed vigour. I had a purpose now. A goal. I could do something. Something that might benefit Sully and reverse the horror that he might have brain damage or be gone. “Sully had a heart attack. He’s currently in a hospital in Geneva. I don’t know the name or the address. All I know is, he needs to go home. I need your help, Dr Campbell. Can you arrange medical transport to get him back to his islands? Can you speak to the doctors in charge here and find out if it’s safe to move him?”

A long pause before he asked, “Travel over that distance is not advised for patients who have suffered such traumatic events. I did warn him that Tritec-87 would demand pain in the end.” He cleared his throat. “But you said hospital not morgue, so he’s still alive?”

“Yes, but he’s—”

“Put him on the phone. I’ll discuss the pros and cons—”

“He’s not awake.” I buried my hand in my unwashed hair. “He hasn’t moved since he collapsed three days ago.” My voice wavered, and once again, I had a terrible premonition. A foreboding worriment that filled my heart with truth.

He won’t heal here.

He’ll die here.

“You need to do whatever it takes to get him back home. I’m not asking.”

Dr Campbell cleared his throat again. “If we move him while he’s unstable, you run the risk of losing him.”

“I know.”

“He’s in good hands in Geneva. I know the head of paediatrics. The hospital is well funded and not afraid of progress.”

“I agree they’ve been great, and they brought Sully back when he crashed the second time, but...this isn’t his home, Dr Campbell. Call me stupid and that a hunch is lunacy when faced with logistics of such a request, but I’m telling you...he needs to be back on his island. He needs to hear Nirvana. He needs Pika.” I rubbed my eyes, doing my best not to sound crazy or strung out. “He needs a reason to fight. He needs to remember who he is, before it’s too late.”

He stayed silent for so long, I feared the call had dropped out.

Finally, he muttered, “I won’t say he deserves this as he’s paid for his crimes, but this is the last favour I can do. After this, I’m officially retiring.”

“You’ll need to care for him if he goes home.”