Page 146 of A Sweet Destruction

“To find Elijah, or even Caspian.”

Clearly, the look on my face was on the wrong side of excited, because Peter held a hand up between us. “The planning of which will take time. In the meantime, I’m keeping everyone local.”

It seemed the reason I was the only one protesting was because I was the last to learn about it. Peter already had his defenses well-planned. “I will send you back over the Bridge without a second thought if I catch even the slightest wind that you are planning to disobey orders. I already have Freya to deal with, I don’t need you on top of it.”

Freya, who was famously hard to control. Peter had stopped a while ago, knowing that it was more beneficial to let her go off on her own and hope she shared whatever she found than force her to run off in secret.

Honestly, I was surprised he had even let her take off the tracker at all, but I guess that kind of ruined that whole trust thing.

“We’ll discuss this later,” I said, growly and half hopefully.

“You,” Peter said, pointing at the center of my face. “Are on bed rest for at least three days. I don’t want to hear it. Three. Days.”

Chapter 31

Esme

All in all, Peter let me out after two days.

And that was only because a doctor yelled at him and told him they needed the room.

I was fine. Externally, that was.

Internally, I felt like I was still an inch away from death. And that was largely due to the fact that Ford wouldn’t look at me.

Or talk to me.

That wasn’t to say he wasn’t physically there, because he barely left my bedside, only getting up to talk to doctors or check on Sky and Shadow or take his daily Soren-mandated shower.

I was in and out of sleep for the first day, each time I woke up feeling slightly better. By that night, I was ready for my stitches to come out. I was still having a hard time wrapping my head around how I was alive, how I could be this healed already, even with a hoarse voice and tender scars on my throat.

I was doing well enough by the second day that Bellamy brought me a steaming mug of my favorite tea that she snuck into the hospital wing and informed me of Ford’s own injuries. A pretty thorough beating, double dislocation of his shoulders. Once they were popped back in, he was fine within a few hours.

Even with that assurance, I could have sworn I felt myself speed along in the healing process a little faster, powered by the Bond’s bloodlust.

Ford continued to hover silently, swearing he was fine, even though I knew he wasn’t.

If Ford was fine he would be crawling into my hospital bed with me, brushing a hand over my hair as he recounted everything that happened in a level of detail that might have seemed painful to someone else but was exactly what he knew I needed.

That Ford was nowhere to be found. Instead, I got a version of him that was quiet and severe and dismissive. It reminded me of how he was when we first met.

I hated it.

I’d tried to talk to him at least three times, even going so far as to say we need to talk, to which he shot out of his chair like it was on fire and mumbled something about going to talk to a doctor.

When that very doctor said that I was free to go at the end of my second day, promising Peter and Ford and every protesting voice in the room that I’d get far more rest in a real bed and—with a pointed look at Ford—in my normal sleeping conditions.

I couldn’t help but push matters, just a little bit. “I have a clean bill of health?”

The doctor nodded, clearing her throat. “As if this injury happened weeks ago.”

“So I can resume any normal…activities?”

Peter coughed into his hand, Soren and Bellamy shared a look, and Ford…well, I was pretty sure I wasn’t imagining the twin spots of pink that bloomed on his cheeks.

“Nothing crazy, but yes,” the doctor said, trying to hide a smile of her own. “In fact, I think that may even help.” This, with another pointed look at Ford.

See, I’m not going crazy. He’s being weird! I wanted to shout, but didn’t think that would go over very well.