“What are you talking about, Luke? What are you saying?”
“Shelly.”
I’m so tired. I just can’t stay awake.
CHAPTER FOUR
Lucas
I see Leah’s pale blonde hair, shorter now and moving in a streak around the room. It’s all blurry. Her face and body are blurry, like an over-pixilated photo.
My hands hurt.
My eyes sag shut as my heart pounds in my hands, but I work to keep them open. I know it’s her hair. I can’t really see her face, but Leah’s out in front of me. I want to touch her, but she doesn’t seem to know I’m here.
Leah.
My stomach clenches, like it’s hungry for her.
I watch her through the spikes of my eyelashes as she moves about the room. I don’t know what room I’m in, but I feel peace because she’s in it with me.
The needy, clenching feeling in my stomach turns a little sour as the pain in both my hands intensifies. I drop my gaze down to my hands, and find them propped on pillows, elevated out in front of me.
The sheets are white. I never buy white sheets.
My pulse trips as I look around and see a metal pole holding a plastic bag, and a thin tube running to the inside of my right elbow.
Oh, fuck.
I’m in a fucking hospital.
One of my hands lifts up on its own accord. The pain of it makes me want to moan. I lock my jaw and feel my body start to shake.
Leah…
I’m too tired to figure out how to say her name, but I can still see her. I hear a beep beep beep. She turns around to me and I remember seeing Leah drive my car. Why would she drive my car?
Maybe she’s going to tell me, because she comes over by the bed and peers down at me. One of her hands goes to my forehead; no, my eyelid. There’s a bright light, and my head hurts.
“Hi there.”
“Leah,” I rasp.
I don’t like this. Where is Leah?
I look left and right, swamped now by the awful pain in both my hands, struggling to think around the distraction of my roiling stomach. Then I hear a creek, I see a flash of pale hair, and I’m even more confused, because Leah is gliding toward me—the real Leah—with a baby monitor in one hand. It’s Echo’s monitor. For when he has nightmares. So I can see.
I shut my eyes because the lids are so heavy. Exhaustion drags me down, the kind that…isn’t real. It’s fake, with pills. I force my eyes back open, and am rewarded by the best sight in the world.
She leans down and kisses my cheek. Her face glows with love. Her hands stroke both my shoulders. Bare. I’m naked?
“Hi,” she says. She sits beside me on the white bedding, and I can feel her warm eyes on my skin.
I watch her reach over somewhere beside the bed. She smiles as she leans a little closer, and something cold slides over my ears. The world snaps into focus.
“Is that better? You had contacts, but…I got these for you.” She smiles a little soft smile.
Behind her, Other Leah watches. I wonder if she’s bad or good. Something is going on, but I can’t tell what. I’m so tired, and I can’t remember anything. What day it is, or where we are.
I look back down at my arms, and then at Leah. I try to touch her with my eyes, since I can’t with my hands. I feel so strange. Like I’m not really on the bed.
She puts her hand on my leg. “I hope you’re not too mad at me. I didn’t know what to do, so I called Raymond. Do you remember anything from Denver? From the hospital?”
“I don’t like hospitals,” I rasp.
“I know you don’t.” Her mouth quirks sorrowfully. “You weren’t there for very long. They did surgery on your wrist. This one,” she says, reaching toward my left wrist. “Then we had you flown to Vegas.”
“I’m in Vegas?” I swallow, despite the dryness in my throat.
“Yeah. Lana is treating you.”
Behind her, Lana raises her brows. Like Leah. Triplets. Aren’t we missing one?
I want to touch Leah, but my hands are so sore.
Leah’s still talking, but I can’t make out the words. She looks like she still loves me. She didn’t leave me. But she should.
I reach for her, despite the pain in my hand. “Leah…”
Her eyes meet mine, and they are filled with love. “What’s wrong?”
My throat closes up, so I look down at my hands. I can’t believe I fucked them up so much. I can’t believe Leah saw me lose my shit like that.
I try to move my hands to cover my face, but they hurt so much, I stop. Usually, I would do it anyway, but…
This time I just don’t. Too tired.
I turn my head away from her and try to keep myself in check. It doesn’t work. I feel a tear roll down my cheek, drip off my jaw. Fuck. I was always like that. When I was a little kid, I would cry sometimes when I was tired.