I shake my head and gesture for the bathroom with a quivering hand. “I’ll be fine,”—and I will—“but I will need a shower ASAP.”
The monsters in my head taunt me—images of Bay’s bloody face multiply in my head, one on top of the other, until it’s one messy blur of bloody love.
Gore.
Dripping and oozing from my Baylee.
It’s in her mouth, her eyes, her nose, and her ears.
She’s choking on it. And vomiting over and over.
I need to help her!
In the darkness of my mind, I reach for her—I reach for my light. I wade through the sea of bones and blood, the stench making me gag, and I go to her.
I’ll protect you, Bay.
“War?”
I blink my eyes open from my nightmare and slowly take in the scene around me. A new hospital room. The clock on the wall tells me it has been two hours, eighteen minutes, and six seconds since I last saw her. She was sleeping and safe.
With a sigh of relief, I scan the room and am thankful not to see Dad sitting in one of the chairs. He’s making good on his promise to look after her. My eyes do find the dark, kind ones of Dr. Daniels. The psychiatrist.
“Warren,” his deep, calm voice thunders through the foggy remnants of my bad dream. “How are you doing?”
I clench my eyes closed for a moment to drive away the bad images of Baylee and recall better ones. Her pretty blonde hair bouncing in her ponytail as she runs along the beach. The excited way she would clap her hands together when she’d beat me at chess. How musical her voice sounded when she’d giggle at something I’d said.
When I reopen my eyes, I’m smiling.
She saves me every time.
“Talk to me, man,” he says, his own grin turning his lips up on one side. He’s a light-skinned black man with eyes the color of the way Baylee likes her coffee. I don’t think he can be any older than me from my quick assessment. “Where’d you go just then?”
Shrugging, I take note that the searing ache in my chest has lessened thanks to a healthy dose of pain meds upon my being admitted again. “It was nothing.”
And that is a lie. Baylee is everything.
“War. Be frank with me. Give me the gory details.”
Jerking my gaze back to Dr. Daniels, I sigh. “I had a nightmare earlier. There was blood. Everywhere.”
He smiles which immediately causes me to frown. “On your girlfriend?”
“Fiancée and mother of my child,” I correct, scrubbing my jawline with my fingertips and level my gaze at him. “But then, when I felt those old demons closing in on me, I focused on her. Baylee’s always been my savior—my light in the maddening darkness. I’m going to be a father now. Getting well isn’t just about me anymore. It’s about my family.”
He nods and sits on the foot of my bed. I don’t jerk away from him. I don’t wonder about what he had to eat today or whether or not he washed his hands after he used the restroom. Instead, I want to know how he’ll help me. How he’ll fix me.
“Do you love her?”
I glare at him as if he’s the one losing his mind, not me. “Of course I fucking love her. She’s everything to me.”
“Good. Then you’re going to need to get yourself better for her. I just visited with your fiancée before I came to see you. She’s going to need your light, Warren.”
My heart rate quickens and I furrow my brows together in question. “Do you think I can be her light? Even though I can’t seem to stop these thoughts every time I close my eyes?”
“Of course I do. And you know this too.”
I do know this.
A rush of relieved breath escapes me as I feel my shoulders relax.
“Those thoughts,” he assures me, “will eventually fade.” He breaks eye contact and pats my shin. “You were getting better, weren’t you? I’ve read your history and talked with your father,” he says and lifts his gaze to regard me. “Miss Winston was helping you, right?”
I nod without hesitation. “She cures me, Doc.”
He smiles. “She’s definitely been instrumental. With my help, I think we can continue to get you on a path to a healthier life. You’ve already come leaps and bounds. With some talk therapy on a weekly basis and the proper dosage of anti-anxiety medication, you can live a normal life, War. I know you want that for yourself.”
“I want this for her,” I tell him with conviction.
I cringe at the idea of spilling all my problems to this guy. But then again, he doesn’t seem judgmental. He actually seems like he wants to help me.
“The medications I’ve taken in the past seem to mess my head up even more though,” I admit and pinch the bridge of my nose to ward off a headache that’s forming. “I want my head clear for her.”