“Tessa,” I croak. Damn, my throat is so dry. I need water.
“John!” she calls. “She’s awake! Oh my God, she’s awake! It worked!”
“W-what? What worked?” I wince, confused. And I still need water. “Tess, can you get me some water please?”
“Oh, yes! Of course! Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry.” She rushes for the pitcher on the counter, pouring me a quick cup and then spinning around to hand it to me.
The bathroom door swings open as I gulp the water down, and as Tessa pours me more, John walks out of the bathroom. His face is pale, the scruff around his mouth and along his jaw like a shadow.
“John,” I call, my voice a near whisper.
He’s at my side in an instant, breathing my name, and wrapping his fingers around the nape of my neck. I hold my water close to me, feeling some of it spill onto my chest from the embrace.
He inhales deeply, sighing with what seems to be relief before kissing my forehead. “Damn it, baby, I thought you were…shit. I thought you were gone.”
“Should we call the doctor in?” Tessa asks, giving John a worried look.
I wince again, dropping my gaze and spotting blood on my gown. I frown and with minimal energy, begin to lift the gown but Tessa reaches down rapidly to stop me. “I wouldn’t do that,” she says, and then she takes my cup and places it on the table next to the bed.
“What the hell is going on? What happened to me? Why am I so sore?
“You’re okay, Shannon,” she assures me, a smile spreading across her lips. But just as quickly as that smile appears, it vanishes, and her eyes are cloudy. “Oh my God.”
“What?” I ask.
“I—I can’t do this.” She chokes on a sob. What the hell is wrong with her? “I thought I could—that I should be the one to say something when you woke up but…shit. I—I can’t.” She steps closer to me, kissing me on the cheek. “I’m glad you’re awake, Shanny. I’m going to get the doctor.”
“What the hell is going on?” I demand, and I really don’t care who I get an answer from as long as I get a damn answer. They’re both acting so weird right now.
Tessa looks at John. I switch gazes between both of them.
“Go ahead,” John finally says to her, and she spins around, hurrying for the door and fleeing, but not before giving me a quick glance over her shoulder.
“John.” I push up, but the pain is so much worse that way, so I slouch back down. John helps me relax, adjusting the pillow behind my head. “What is she talking about? What happened?”
He pulls a chair up to the bed and sits. “I will explain everything,” he murmurs. “But first I need to know how you feel.”
“I’m fine.” I look from him to my device in the cubby in the wall. “I ran out of the OPX. I thought I had more.” And then it hits me. The reason I’m here. The person I came with. “Max?” I gasp. “Max! Is he okay? Where is he?”
John immediately lowers his gaze but grabs my hand to squeeze it. “Max is still around.”
Oh thank God. “Okay. Good.” I notice the words on the wall are in French at the top and translated to English at the bottom. We’re still in Paris.
John flew all the way here? He must be furious with me. I am the worst wife ever. “Oh, God, John, I’m so sorry,” I whisper, the emotion thickening my throat. “I—I should have listened to you. I did something crazy when I said I wouldn’t. I just really wanted to come here before I died and—”
“Stop.” John lifts a swift finger, cutting me off. “Don’t apologize to me. You needed this trip with him.”
My eyes narrow, and I swipe at the corners of them. “You aren’t upset?”
“Of course, I’m a little upset,” he says through a ragged breath. “I was pissed when I heard what had happened to you and I flew out here first thing. Nothing mattered except being here with you.”
My lips press, and I focus on my fingernails. They’ve gone some, the pink polish chipped.
Raking his fingers through his hair, and sighing, John lifts his head, and his eyes are hard on mine.
“Shannon, there’s something I need to tell you.”
Oh, Jesus. He’s scaring me. Is he going to leave me? Demand a separation? Is he going to ask for a divorce?
My heart catches speed and the monitor by the bed beeps quicker. John glances at it. “Is it because of this trip? Are you going to leave me?” I ask, feeling tears creep to the rims of my eyes. “If so, I mean I guess I understand. I’m dying and I didn’t listen to you.”