Chapter 231: The Card Worked
(SASHA)
I’m beginning to come around to Tyler’s way of thinking: hospitals are to be avoided. Certainly the non-private wards, like this one I’ve been put into now.
When Tyler rakes the curtain across dramatically, like an actor making an entrance on stage, I almost smile—but after what Darla told me happened downstairs, there’s nothing funny about today at all. I don’t care if the Irish come for me. I’ll be delighted to send them all to hell. But if they’re coming for Tyler—
"Well?" he demands. "What did the doctors say?"
"I pulled a few stitches, that’s all."
"Bullshit." He grabs my chart from the foot of the bed and reads it himself, frowning. I wonder how much of it makes any sense to him—but knowing Tyler, he’s educated himself on the ins and outs of my injuries, treatment, and recovery prognosis.
"Baby," I say softly, "Come here."
The one good thing about this room is that they’ve let me move the head of the bed higher, so I’m sitting up more. They’ve also dosed me with a lot of heavy painkillers that are taking the edge off without making me dopey. So when I take Tyler into my arms and hold him tight, it only hurts a lot, not completely.
"Not so tight," he sniffs. "If you pop those fucking stitches again—"