Page 121 of Raise Me Up

Why did I wait so long to make him mine?

It’s hard accepting that I needed so much time to realize what was within my reach. Beau’s recovery is going to take time, too, and I can’t say that doesn't scare the shit out of me.

With unsteady legs, I approach his bed as his closed eyelids twitch. Stasi takes his hand, careful not to touch his IV or disturb any of the tubes or cords.

“Sweetheart?” he mumbles.

“It’s me. Liam’s here, too.”

His head rolls in my direction. He cracks open his eyes, winces, and immediately shuts them once more. “…bad is it? How bad…do…look?”

His words are coming slower than usual. I suppose it could be worse. At least, that’s what I’m telling myself so I don’t lose it. I don’t like seeing him like this. Not when I’ve grown used to his energy and the spark of mayhem in his blue eyes. He’s the one that brings color to my days. The one that makes Stas smile.

“Good,” Stasi says, a tear rolling down her cheek. “You look perfect, Beau.”

His brows furrow as he strains to push himself into an upright position. I quickly touch a hand to his shoulder. “Don’t. Just… rest. I got her.”

His chest rises and falls with a heavy breath. “Yeah. Tired.”

In a matter of seconds, his heart rate monitor slows as sleep claims him.

I post up in Beau’s hospital room for five straight days once he’s moved out of the ICU. No fucking way I’m missing his release this time.

Stasi wasn’t pleased about having to return to normal hours at work, but she’s grateful I have the luxury of flexibility. When I offered to hire her, I got a lecture about foolishly throwing my money around. So, I started funneling money into research organizations for brain tumors.

I also promoted Emma. She tried to fight me on the raise, claiming the title alone was enough since she’s now officially able to boss Hail and Walter around. Not that she wasn’t already doing that. But I managed to convince her that she’s worth every bit of the bigger paychecks I’m sending her way.

Honestly, I’m looking forward to the comical outfits she’s about to show up in after a healthy shopping spree. And if she doesn’t go shopping, I’ll “foolishly” throw some more money her way.

“This feels unnecessary,” Beau complains as I wheel him out to Stasi’s awaiting SUV at the hospital entrance. “I can walk just fine.”

I glance down and catch the muscles in his right arm straining as he tries to move it. My chest tightens.

“Still not cooperating?” I ask.

He tips his head back to look up at me. The stripe of rebellious white in his hair was unfortunately lost to the trimmers to prepare for his surgery.

“It’ll be okay,” he says.

But there’s no conviction in his voice. Unease rushes through me. Beau will lie all day long if he believes his true feelings will be a burden on someone else.

How the fuck did I end up with the two sweetest people in this world?

He’s definitely more concerned about regaining sensation in his arm than he’s letting on. Stasi has him set up with the best PT in the area, and she’ll be monitoring his exercises at home as well. But he’s already gotten a stern talking to from the nurses for rubbing his wrist and hand raw, like he can will the feeling back into his damaged nerves.

Mindful of his stitches, I ease my sunglasses onto his face, knowing he’s still sensitive to the light.

Thankfully, Beau’s pathology results came back benign. Even with that victory, his health will require lifelong monitoring. Neurologist follow-ups and continual MRIs, checking for regrowth. I also took Dr. Malone’s suggestion and got Beau set up with therapy sessions to help mitigate any changes in his emotional state that may spring up over time.

As I push him up to the passenger door, Stasi hops out and rushes over. We both hover, hands poised, as Beau climbs into the car.

“Is this how it’s gonna be for a while?” he grumbles.

“Go ahead and try to push us away,” Stasi fires back, brown eyes heated.

We both watch her stomp over to the driver’s side in awe.

“I miss sex already,” Beau murmurs.