Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 127991 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127991 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
“How the hell can they be so calm?” I fumed to McGee as Reagan weakly fiddled with the mask the doctors had given him and looked a bit like he was drowning. “They know he has the flu, for god’s sake, and his lips are nearly blue. ‘As long as he’s conscious, we’re not overly concerned’? That’s bullshit. Contact January. Have her find out who I need to call and how big a donation I need to make in order to get Reagan some fucking help.”
McGee simply patted my shoulder and forced me to take the antiviral medication my doctor had called in to the pharmacy across the street once Reagan’s flu test came back positive.
Reagan was no longer coherent by the time the nurses had gotten him in a hospital gown and assigned us a bed—technically, the bed was Reagan’s, but when I’d attempted to set him down and back away, he’d let out a plaintive whimper, so damned if I didn’t crawl in beside him. I refused to budge when the nurse who hooked up Reagan’s IV side-eyed me.
“Sir, you should probably give the patient a little space. I know it’s scary—the flu is particularly bad this year—but we’ve seen many severe cases like this, and the outcomes are usually good for a young, fit man like your, uh…” He hesitated, waiting for me to explain what Reagan was to me.
Despite everything, a smile tugged at the corners of my lips beneath my own surgical mask as I thought about how to answer that. Employee? Friend’s son? Son’s childhood friend? He was all of those things to me, and for a long while, I’d thought that meant he couldn’t—shouldn’t—be more…
But he was. He was everything.
I was in love with him.
It might have taken a serious illness and a terrifying emergency plane ride for me to acknowledge it, but I wouldn’t deny it ever again. Reagan was mine.
Did I have a right to feel such complete and overwhelming ownership of Reagan Wellbridge? Absolutely not. Was it too fast, too complicated, too spontaneous, too risky? God yes, all of that. Would that stop me? No.
I no longer cared how our relationship would be perceived by the nurse, or our families, or anyone else in the damn world. Reagan could decide what label he wanted to put on us—if he wanted to label it at all—but it wouldn’t change the underlying truth: we belonged together. I just needed him to get well so I could convince him of that, too.
“…Reagan,” I supplied when the nurse still seemed to expect a response.
“Your… Reagan?” Eyebrow raised skeptically, he glanced from me to the man whose body was nestled in my arms. Then he shrugged. “Okay, then,” he agreed.
“Thatcher?” Reagan’s voice was breathy and weak. The nurse frowned at the monitor and reached for a nasal cannula to get some oxygen going under Reagan’s surgical mask.
I tightened my arm around his shoulders. “Yeah, babe. Right here.”
“Did Layla tell you? Is that why you’re here? I have proof, I swear. Get my laptop.”
My gut clenched. This again? The man was more out of it than I’d thought. “I came because you’re sick, Reagan. You’re in the hospital now, and you’re going to be fine, but please don’t even think about work—”
“Layla… shirt,” he said, making no more sense now than when he’d said something similar back at the hotel. He winced, coughed raggedly, and closed his eyes for a brief moment before meeting mine again. “Sorry.”
The nurse shushed him. “Try not to talk, Reagan. We need to get your blood oxygen levels up. Focus on taking deep breaths in and out.”
I cupped the side of his face. His beard stubble was scratchy-soft on my palm. “That’s right. Don’t think about anything else right now. Just breathe innnnn… and ouuuut.”
He shook his head and tried to grab me with the hand that had the IV in it. The nurse and I both reached out to stop him and settle him back down.
He turned pleading eyes on me. “You have to believe me. About Layla. JT knows.” He closed his eyes as if gathering strength to say more, so I leaned over and pressed a kiss to his cheek through my mask.
“Okay. Shhh. I’ll call JT in a few minutes and ask him about it, okay? Will you just breathe now if I promise to talk to JT?”
“Read the email,” he murmured.
“I will. I will, baby. First thing, I promise,” I said, trying to sound reassuring, even though I didn’t know what he was talking about.
A machine began beeping, and I looked over and saw the pulse ox number drop at the same time the nurse pushed a button and called for help. Reagan’s eyes fluttered, and he looked even more pale than when I’d brought him in.