Page 36 of Ly to Me (Devils of Alliston Springs #1)

Lyra

The Patient

C arver’s rooster woke me up again, only this time, I wasn’t all too mad about it. Normally, I’d just fall back asleep, and with Car’s arm around me, that’s all I wanted to do.

The alarm on my phone blared from the nightstand minutes after the bird quieted.

Carver didn’t budge, but that wasn’t surprising after the night we had.

He wasn’t kidding about not getting any sleep.

My thighs clenched at the reminder of our night of passion.

We made love so many times, I couldn’t even count the number of orgasms he ripped from my body.

It was like he was trying to make up for lost time, for every night I hadn’t been here, where I belonged, by his side.

I peeled his fingers slowly from my hip, smiling at the blue butterfly before I released his arm and stretched my legs to the floor, one-by-one so no movement would wake him.

I turned my head over my shoulder, looking over the man who seemed so animalistic, so devilish in his waking form, yet so peaceful and almost childlike as he slept with a soft curve to his lips.

I slipped my feet into my boots, then threw on his shirt, securing it around my waist with his discarded belt on the floor.

I still had no pants, hadn’t thought to go on a whole shopping spree the day before, but this would do.

The guy I was going to see next wouldn’t know the difference, anyhow.

I toed my way to the front door, grabbed my keys from the rack, and hopped into my car—my clean car.

When the heck had he found the time to clean it without me knowing?

Blowing a kiss to the bedroom window, I put the car in neutral, letting it roll backward down the driveway, only starting it when I was sure the noise wouldn’t wake Car.

He deserved his rest today. I just hoped I’d be back in time to slide right back into bed with him before he’d notice I’d left. It was better for him not to ask questions about the errand I’d been putting off since I’d gotten back to town.

Only twenty minutes away, on the other side of town, I parked my car in the rather empty lot.

Tropical palm trees and firebushes—a great plant for attracting butterflies—filled the mulched beds in front of the beige stucco building.

A pair of Heliconius charithonia , or zebra longwings, danced from flower to flower, settling some of my nerves.

It had been so long since I’d thought about butterflies in a peaceful way, but now, the world seemed brighter.

Pleasant, even. Every piece of my former collection—the one I’d left in my hurry to leave Alliston long ago—came flooding back to me.

Memories seized my heart like Car had done the night before, only this time, I didn’t want to cry from anger or sadness.

Those empty spaces inside me were filling rapidly, pointing out just how empty I’d become since I’d left.

That sudden shift, like turning on a long-forgotten light on the darkest of nights, made me sway briefly as I watched the two butterflies circle each other before landing on the same leaf—their decision made so simply.

I snapped back to reality as I stepped through the automated glass doors, the smell of hand sanitizer, cheap coffee and aspartame clogging my throat. A perky woman smiled widely as I approached the front desk, her pink scrubs and tied-back hair completely contradictory to her field of work.

“Welcome to Alliston Springs Hospice Center. Checking in to see a guest?”

“Um…”—I squeezed on the strap of my purse—“Yeah.”

“Do you know the room number of your guest, or—”

“Walker,” I blurted. “His last name is Walker. They said he was moved, but I don’t remember the number.”

“ID?”

I sighed and shuffled through my purse, pulling out my Georgia ID. She scanned the card, then frowned and squinted her eyes.

“Dyed my hair,” I clarified.

She beamed. “I love the brown on you. Matches your eyes.”

I hesitated on the eye roll and could almost hear Car covering laughter all the way from home. Home . “Right. My husband thought so too.” It came out so naturally, so effortlessly, that it warmed my chest.

“He’s a smart man.”

I nodded, rolling my lips in and darting my attention to the halls. “Walker?” I questioned again, mentally bringing myself back to what I was here for.

“Right. Room 212. Take the second wing there on the left, it’ll be on the right, right after the slight bend.”

“Awesome,” I murmured, accepting my ID back from the girl and dropping it in my purse. “Has he woken at all since arriving?”

She shrugged. “Most of my patients are on the right wing, the more coherent ones.” She cleared her throat, her cheeks flushing a little. “Sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“No, I got it. I prefer him in that state, anyhow.”

Her eyes widened. “Do you need an escort?”

I stepped away, already heading for the wing she’d directed me to. “Think I got it handled. Thanks, though.”

She looked unnerved at my response, but not nearly as unnerved as I grew with each passing door.

“He’s unconscious. He can’t hurt you. He’s almost dead, Ly. Chill the hell out,” I whispered to myself.

My nails dug into my palms as I came up to 212, and when I peered inside, a cold chill swept over my back. My breathing picked up, and as a few nurses in scrubs became visible at the end of the hall, I darted inside the room, panting against the wall.

The machine’s beeping blared in my ears, the heavy blinds drawn enough to bring light in, but still dark enough to allow peace to a man who didn’t deserve an ounce.

My fingers splayed over my chest as I forced myself to calm down, and when Car’s smell washed over me from his shirt, the panic started to subside.

I covered my nose with it, lifting the collar and smothering my face with it until all I could see was the black fabric, and all I could smell was him.

This would be over soon enough.

Soon enough. Soon enough. Soon enough.

“Hi, you must be Ms. Thomas.” A woman in scrubs stood in front of me, holding her palm out for what must’ve been a full minute before I snapped out of my waking nightmare. “Do you need some water? I know seeing a loved one like this can be hard.”

I nodded, trying my hardest not to look at Chet and instead focusing on the plants beyond the window. “Thank you.”

“Is he your dad?” the nurse asked as she handed me a small bottle of water.

“No.”

“Oh. My apologies.”

I accepted the bottle and sipped on it while she shuffled through papers on a clipboard, glancing at me here and there with a slight crease between her brows.

Here we go .

“You’re listed as his only living relative. Are you his niece?”

I shuddered. “Nope.”

“Are you his—”

“Does it matter the relation?” I snapped, and her lips thinned.

“I guess not, since you’re the only one listed.”

“Great. So, how much longer until he…ya know.”

Her nails tapped on the clipboard as she examined me. “He’s not doing well. The cancer is spreading faster since we last tried calling you”—she slid her finger over a line on the papers—“about a week ago.”

“I’ve been a little busy,” I replied, trying to glimpse at the papers, hoping words like days left until expected death were written somewhere in big, bold letters.

“Right. Well, with all due respect, miss, he’s got maybe a few weeks at best and he needs his family.”

“I’m not his family,” I said through gritted teeth. Her face pinched as I continued, “I have other things to do than watch a man I never liked wither away on his deathbed.” Which is what I’d told them when they tracked me down to my place of employment back in Georgia.

She straightened and propped the clipboard on her hip. “It’s not my place to tell you how you should be spending the time you have left with—”

“So don’t,” I interrupted her. “It’s not part of your job to tell me how to treat him. What is your job is to communicate with me when it’s all over. Are we clear?”

She was silent as she met my eyes, searching for whatever reason I had to hate him. Try as hard as she might, she wouldn’t be able to guess, anyhow. Finally, she sighed. “That’s fine, Ms. Thomas.”

“Roland,” I corrected. Maybe it was the need for distance that made me blurt the new name, one I hadn’t pictured I’d ever actually carry. Until last night, when Carver called me his wife so many times, I guess it finally stuck.

“Newly married,” I clarified as she scribbled that in on her clipboard.

“We will contact you if his condition worsens or improves.” She threw in the last part like I’d never considered that option, because I fucking hadn’t.

That must’ve been clear as day on my face, because she added, “ We will do whatever we can to help your…relative, on their road to recovery if or when he wakes up. The new medicine is quite progressive for some of our other patients, and has shown to turn the tides more than a handful of times.”

“Out of how many?” If my voice shook, I ignored it. “How many?” I asked before giving her a moment to answer.

“About six so far out of fifty patients in the past few months have shown progress with the new treatment, and about three of those were in a worse-off condition than he is now.”

“Fuck,” I muttered, and her eyes widened. “That’s wonderful news,” I bit out, trying to tame my features.

Only he would have brain cancer, slip into a coma, and then be taken back out of it like the Devil himself couldn’t even handle having his name on the roster of Hell.