"He doesn't deserve this…"

"No, he doesn't. But bad things happen to good people. It's horrible, but it's fuckin' true. No one knows that better than me. It's how we choose to deal with this shit that matters. And it helps to have someone fight with you, and he's got you. When you love someone, what happens to them, happens to you. You either fight it together, or you let it tear you apart. Right?"

I nod tearfully. "That's right. I'm not going to let this beat him. I'll be there for him through every step of this crap."

He winks at me. "I know you will. Why don't we head upstairs now? I think he'll be glad to see you."

God, I hope so.

* * *

Asher enters Talon's room first to let him know I'm here, while I wait outside the door. While we were in the elevator, Asher told me they were able to get Talon a private room, as there was quite a ruckus at the concert last night and the local fans know he's here since some of them actually followed the ambulance.

After a few moments, I hear his voice. "No. I don't want her seeing me like this."

"She's your wife, Tal."

"I don't fucking want her here." His words cut through my heart like a knife, and I honestly don't know if I can take any more. I feel emotionally drained from our fight, the flight, and now the horrible news of his disease.

"Don't make me remind you how lucky you are to have a wife who can fucking be here. Cut the shit or I'll put another bump on your head." Asher's serious voice is a force to be reckoned with.

"Just go the fuck away. Please." In the months I’ve known him, I’ve never heard him sound so disgusted and angry. He sounds like a completely different person.

Asher comes out into the hall and grins at me, completely unaffected. "He's a little cranky. You can go in now. All the guys are at the hotel, so I'm gonna head over there too to take a shower. Call my cell if you need me. I'll be back in a few hours."

"Thanks, Ash."

I walk into the room slowly, not prepared for how awful Talon looks. He's pale and looks unusually small in the thin green hospital gown hanging off his shoulder. He's half sitting up, propped against a pillow, with a stainless steel bedpan on his lap that apparently he's been vomiting into, and he has an IV running into a vein in his muscular arm. His hair is stringy and clinging to his damp forehead that's got a bandage taped across it.

"Talon…" I rush to the side of the bed, tears already falling down my face as I lean in to kiss his cheek.

He turns his head away from me, not letting me touch him. "You shouldn't be here," he rasps.

"Yes, I should. There's nowhere else I should be right now." I sit on the edge of the bed and take his hand in mine.

"How did you get here?"

"I got on a plane."

His eyes close for a long moment. "You're scared to fly."

"You're right. But I'm more scared to not be with you."

He finally turns to face me, and his eyes are twitchy, moving side to side, and it's one of the scariest things I've ever seen in my life.

"Talon…"

He pushes his arm out against me as he leans forward and vomits into the pan, then collapses back onto the pillow, letting out a deep breath and closing his eyes again, his hands gripping the sides of the bed. "I'm so fucking dizzy…" he chokes out. "It won't stop…"

I never had anyone to care for me when I was sick. I literally crawled across the floor to my bathroom many times with the flu, heaving over the toilet, or lay in bed for days with a fever, wishing I would just die. I would have done anything to have someone take care of me, even a tiny bit.

I take the pan into the adjoining bathroom and rinse it out, then bring it back to him.

"Asia, please—"

"Just rest," I say softly, going back to the bathroom to retrieve a washcloth that I soak in cold water. I return to the edge of the bed and gently lay the cold cloth across his eyes.

"Does that feel a little better?" I ask.

He nods slowly. "Yes… Thank you."

"I'll be right back."

I wander out into the hall to the nurses' station and wait for one of them to look up at me.

"Yes?"

"Hi. I'm Talon Valentine's wife. I was wondering if he could have a ginger ale, maybe? I was hoping it would help him feel better and get the nasty taste out of his mouth."

"He can, but he yelled at me earlier when I tried to offer him something. He's not a good patient."

"I'm sorry, he's not used to being sick."

She smiles. "Most men are difficult. I'll get a can and a cup of ice for you."

"Can you get him a few more clean washcloths and pillows too?" Talon has such a thing for soft sheets and the right amount of pillows. I wouldn't be surprised if the linens here are making him angrier than anything else.

"Of course. I'll be right back."

I wait at the desk as she walks away, hoping that he can get out of here soon. I think being in his own surroundings will help calm him down.

"He wouldn't let any of us near him this morning," she says when she returns. "So, good luck."

"Is he being given anything for the vertigo and nausea?"

"Not yet. But the doctor is due back this afternoon and will most likely start meds then."

"Okay, thank you for your help."

"You're welcome. I'm here 'til eight. Come find me if you need anything. My name's Lauren."

I nod and go back to Talon's room, where he's still lying with the cloth over his eyes. I put the supplies on the guest chair and perch on the edge of his bed again.

"I got you a ginger ale." I pop the top and pour it over the ice, adding a straw to the cup. He doesn't move, and I'm not sure if he's ignoring me or if he can't hear me, so I slowly take the cloth off his face and hold the cup up. "You should sip a little of this. It will help."

"Stop babying me. You should go home. My mom will be here soon."

"Good, then we can both baby you."

"Please, just go."

I refuse to let him push me away, even though it hurts so much to hear him speak to me this way. I know he's acting this way out of fear, and I'm not going to let it win. I absolutely refuse.

"I'm not leaving, Talon. Ever. Take a few sips of this, okay?"

"Fine," he mutters, taking the cup.

"And don't gulp it. Just little sips or you're gonna barf again."

He glares at me from over the rim of the cup as he takes a few sips through the straw, then puts it on the rolling table next to the bed before once again leaning back and closing his eyes.

"Did Asher tell you?" he asks. "About all this?"

"Yes, he did."

He snorts. "I'm fuckin' done."

I reach over and gently brush his hair out of his face. "You're not done. Don't say that."

"It's true. I'm gonna go fucking deaf. I already can barely hear in that ear. I knew something was fucked up. Things have been muffled for a few weeks, and I've had, like, a ringing. I thought it was just an earache."

"You'll be fine. And now's not the time to be talking about this. We have to get you feeling better and get you back home."

"I fell off the fuckin' stage, Aze."

"I know, hon. It's okay. You're sick, people understand."

"I'm off the tour. All that fucking work I did, and now I'm off."

"Your health is more important. The fans will understand," I repeat, wondering what kind of shitstorm could be happening on the band's social media page. I should probably post something on my page so they know he's all right.

"They have to leave tomorrow for the next show, and I'll be stuck in this fucking bed with the goddamn room spinning, throwing up my guts."

"Tal, stop."

"And guess who's gonna take my place for the rest of the tour?" He lets out a sick laugh. "That fuckin' douchebag Finn."

"Finn?"

"Yup. Since he's Lukas's best fucking friend, he was able to get him to agree to jump on a fucking plane to finish off the tour."

"Well, isn't that good for the band, though? Wouldn't it be bad if they had to cancel the rest of the shows?"

"Fuck yeah. But I hate that asshole."

"I know that, but if he's helping your band, isn't that all that matters?"

"He's not helping, Aze. He's fuckin' shoving this in my face."

I take a deep breath, realizing that his attitude is probably not going to get better anytime soon.

"I'm sure he's not. Try to rest. That's what's important right now."

"Whatthefuckever. At this rate, I'll be an invalid in a week."

"That's not true."

"Where's the cat?" he asks suddenly.

"At home."

"Alone?"

"No," I reply. "Kat is staying at our house until we get home."

"You should go back home now. I don't need you here."

"I don't care. I'm not leaving you." I rub my thumb slowly back and forth across his wrist, applying slight pressure there, hoping it will help to reduce the nausea a little for him. "I'm staying here whether you like it or not."

"That feels good," he says wistfully after a few minutes. "I've been missing you."

My heart swells, finally seeing a glimpse of my husband returning. "I've been missing you, too."

"Danny's probably looking pretty good right about now, huh?"

I shake my head viciously. "No. Not at all."

His eyes start to twitch again. "I think I'm gonna be sick."

The rest of the day follows the same pattern—he talks a little, then gets dizzy, vomits, gets mad, then starts all over again. I feel awful for him and wish there was something I could do to make him feel better. I've never felt so helpless in my entire life.