Page 27 of Wait for Him

That unmistakable hospital smell.

Something beneath my nose.

An IV taped to my arm.

I'm in the hospital.

Fuck.

How sick was I?

I shift my head on the pillow and become aware that I'm not alone. There's another hospital bed pushed close to mine, which is strange because I'm fairly certain this is a private room.

Someone is in it.

No.

Someones.

Michael and Jackson are lying at opposite ends of the same hospital bed, both dead asleep.

I stare at them.

Michael has one arm flung over his eyes and one leg hanging off the side, while Jackson is curled at the opposite end with his knees bent at an angle that can't possibly be comfortable, seemingly arranged that way solely to keep his feet out of Michael's face. One of his shoes is still on. I have no idea where the other one went.

Neither of them would leave, and neither of them would take the chairs.

A smile pulls at my mouth before I can stop it.

Idiots.

My ridiculous, stubborn boys.

I nuzzle my head deeper into the pillow and watch them sleep until my eyes get heavy again.

***

The next time I wake, fingers are moving through my hair. It feels incredible. Slow, careful strokes from my forehead back through the tangled mess of my waves, repeated with the kind of patience that tells me whoever is doing it has been there for a while and isn't in any hurry to stop.

I open my eyes.

Jackson is sitting beside me.

The relief that moves across his face when he realizes I'm awake is so raw that it makes my chest hurt. There's a shadow along his jaw that wasn't there the last time I saw him, and his eyes look exhausted.

“Hi, baby,” he whispers.

My toes curl beneath the thin hospital blanket.

Fucking hell. Even half-dead, apparently.

I glance toward the other bed. Michael is still asleep, except now he's starfished across the full width of it like he paid for the room.

“Hi.” My voice barely makes it out, dry and cracked enough that I wince. I nod toward Michael. “You get kicked out of bed?”

Jackson's mouth curves, but the sound of my voice has already sent him reaching for the glass on the side table.

“Here.”