“His therapist will be here in the morning,” Kian says. “I’ve already arranged it.”
The doctor nods. “Good.”
“Can I go see him now?” I ask.
“Of course. Just remember, if he is still awake he’s going to be pretty out of it.”
I nod even as I rush toward the door. Halfway there, I remember that I’m not actually his family and I stop, looking back at Kian. “Do you want—”
His smile is strained, the skin pulled taut over his cheekbones as he answers, “You go. I’ll catch him when he wakes up.”
A better woman might have insisted he go first, but I’m not that woman. Garrett’s always been the good person in this relationship and I’m dying to see for myself that he’s okay. Dying to hold him in my arms and tell him how sorry I am for leaving him, even if he is asleep when I do it. I’ll tell him again tomorrow when he’s awake.
The hotel staff is gone when I make my way into the suite. They’ve cleaned everything up, and except for the boarded-up balcony doors and missing chairs, the room looks like it always has.
The bedroom door is closed and I knock softly, not wanting to startle Garrett by walking in.
“Come in,” he answers, but his voice is low and a little garbled, like he’s already half asleep.
I find him lying on his side in the bed, facing away from the door. He’s curled up, like he’s just waiting for another blow, and it shatters my already bruised and battered heart.
“Hi, baby,” I murmur as I climb onto the bed beside him. “You doing okay?”
He shrugs, but other than that he doesn’t move.
I rub a hand over his shoulders and down his spine. A light shudder is his only response.
“Do you want me to go?” I ask. “If you want to be alone—”
His hand comes up and grabs mine where it rests on his shoulder. He squeezes tight, tugs me closer.
It’s all the answer I need.
With a sigh, I kick off my shoes and cuddle up close to him in the rapidly darkening room.
Chapter 33
Garrett
I wake up to darkness. To warmth. To Lola’s arms and body wrapped around me like a blanket. It feels better than anything has in a long, long time.
It’s certainly better than I deserve after the bullshit I pulled last night.
My head is throbbing from the damn tranquilizer shot the doctor all but forced on me, and my mouth is filled with cotton. I want a drink, want to move, but the second I try to roll over, Lola stirs.
“You okay?” she asks sleepily.
Because I’m a coward, I don’t answer her. Instead, I pretend to still be asleep. I’m not ready to face what I did last night, and I’m sure as hell not ready to face the horror and disgust she must be feeling. She came back, only to find me acting like a monster.
I feel like such a fucking loser.
Lola doesn’t say anything else. Instead, she cuddles closer and presses a couple of warm, soft kisses to my shoulder. Then she settles back into sleep, her body still spooned around mine like she’s trying to protect me from the world.
I’m supposed to be the one who protects her. Instead, I’ve dragged her into hell without so much as an apology, let alone a second thought.
Is it any wonder the King doesn’t think I can handle the throne when I can’t even handle the shit in my head?
Lola stirs again, her body soft and pliant against mine as she presses kisses to the scars that run across my shoulders and back. Scars that obviously run bone deep.