Ten Thousand Words (56 page)

“Four days.”

That meant Xanthe had spent the last three in a deep depression. I needed to hold her and tell her I loved her. I needed to take her home.

“I think it hit her so hard because she already blamed herself,” Ricki said softly.

“Just get me the fuck out of here—and no fucking sedation. I’ll wear a blindfold if it’ll make people happy. I don’t give a shit.”

“All right,” he grumbled, standing up. “Don’t get your panties in a twist.”

It took a long time for them to discharge me. I had fallen asleep again while Ricki went to look for the doctor.

When I woke up some eight hours later, I was aching in odd places—mostly my stomach, but my nose was raw and my dick, too.

“You had a catheter,” Ricki told me when I asked what was up with that. “They took everything out not too long ago.”

My right arm was sore from the IV. Slowly, I was able to get to my feet, shaking and sweating with the effort. Given a list of instructions to follow, I was told someone would be coming by to check on me daily until I was completely healed. I was still on antibiotics, and they gave me some powerful painkillers, which I took before they made me sit in a wheelchair, before taking me out, blindfolded. Grateful to be leaving, I didn’t even care. I felt miserable inside and out.

The painkillers hit me by the time I was assisted into the front seat of the van.

“No puking in Chester,” Ricki warned. “That stink never fucking leaves.”

“Can I take off the blindfold?” I slurred slightly, feeling nice and fuzzy.

“Not yet,” he replied.

“Then, I can’t promise shit.”

I had a feeling he smiled at that.

Ricki had a point though. With the painkillers coursing through me, I was a little nauseated. Not being able to see didn’t help. He cracked the passenger window to give me some fresh air. A few minutes into the drive, I was allowed to remove the blindfold.

When he pulled up in front of Xanthe’s old house, I struggled to open the door.

“Just wait, man! For fuck’s sake, she won’t thank you for injuring your arse even more.”

Ricki came around and helped me from the van, and then he propped me up as we slowly made our way to the front door. I was sweating again. Poor Xanthe. I fucking stank to high hell, and I was going to go in, drop into the bed next to her, and stay there until I could move again.

Jaime greeted us as we went inside, relief flooding her features. She stooped down to remove my shoes as Ricki held me steady. Then, the both of them helped me slowly make my way up three flights of stairs.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” I groaned after the first flight.

My wound was pulling with my movement, and I wanted to curl up into myself to ease it. I couldn’t wait to spoon around my woman. She was going to take away all my pain.

“I’ll just get her,” Jaime started to say.

“No. Once I’m up there, I’m not moving.”

By some miracle, I stood before Xanthe’s bedroom door, not entirely sure how I’d made it. Ricki opened it, and they helped me over the threshold.

Xanthe lay there, bundled under the covers, her back to us. I sighed with happiness at the sight of her.

“She hasn’t eaten anything,” Jaime whispered to her husband.

“She will when she wakes up,” he whispered back.

Stumbling to the bed, I pulled back the covers. Ricki helped me lower myself to the mattress, and Jaime held the blanket before tucking it around me as I pulled Xanthe into my body. They left silently, shutting the door with a soft click. I listened to their retreating steps and snuggled into Xanthe’s warmth. A little moan escaped her as I buried my face in her hair, breathing her into me.

My wound was on fire, but my heart felt her like a balm, and I slipped into a contented deep sleep with my love in my arms.

“Oliver?”

“Mmm?”

Xanthe gasped, and I held her tighter. Sleep was hard to shake off, but I had missed her so much, so I struggled to wake up.

“What…how did you get here?”

“Ricki,” I grunted. “Don’t move.”

She stiffened in my arms, and I grinned into her hair.

“Relax, love. I just don’t want you to accidentally elbow me.”

She melted in my arms. “Are you in a lot of pain?”

“I’ve felt better. What about you?”

“I’m fine.”

“Ricki told me otherwise.”

She sucked in a sharp breath.

“Xanthe?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you with all my heart. I don’t blame you, and I don’t want you to blame yourself either. It was George’s and Gabriella’s fault. You did nothing wrong.”

“I didn’t take the threat seriously. If I had, then none of this would have happened.”

“It would have eventually. At some point, he would have found a way to get you alone. It’s over now. We can finally put it behind us and move on.”

“True,” she sighed.

“And I’m so happy that I was the one stabbed, not you. When I saw him coming at you, I lost it. We all were in there, you know, just waiting for the right moment. I fucked that up. I panicked. I was so fucking scared he’d hurt you.”

“How long were you in the hallway?”

“I’m not too sure. We had just moved into position to go into the kitchen. I remember him taking the knife out of the block. I remember him telling you he loved you.”

“Pfft.”

I knew better. Xanthe had no idea about the journals George had kept. He’d been more than obsessed with her—well, with Elaine. In his delusional state, he’d created an entire life with her. I believed he’d thought he was in love with her.

“I’m sorry I hurt you,” I told her.

“It’s all right,” she replied.

Suddenly, her stomach viciously snarled.

“Christ, when was the last time you ate?”

She breathed deeply, bracing herself for the shit I was about to give her. “Lunch that day,” she replied.

“Goddamn it, Xanthe!”

“I wasn’t hungry!” she snapped. “I’m not starving to death.”

“Bullshit!” I pushed myself up, only to flop back down when my wound flared in pain. Fishing around in the pockets of my sweatpants, I found my phone and dialed up Ricki.

“Hey, man,” he answered.

“Xanthe hasn’t eaten since that day. We need food.”

“On it,” he replied before hanging up.

No wonder she had slept the time away. She’d probably been too weak to get up and make herself something to eat, so her body had shut down.

“You’re going to make yourself ill,” I hotly told her.

“Until now, I had no appetite.”

My arms wrapped around her once more and held her tight. She sniffed, and I thought I had made her cry.

“Ugh,” she grunted.

“What?”

“Fuck, you stink.”

“You don’t smell like a bed of roses yourself, woman.”

She started to laugh, and I wanted to join her, but God help me, each time I did, it was like being stabbed all over again.

A little while later, Jaime and Ricki brought up some tomato soup and grilled vegetable and mozzarella paninis from an Italian restaurant Xanthe loved. I was allowed only the soup, but it filled me up nicely. I glared at my woman until she choked down a whole panini.

“I’m going to puke if I eat more!” she protested.

“I like you curvy, woman. You don’t have that sort of arse from eating dust and air.”

“Trust me. My arse would be the last thing to go,” she grumbled.

“You up for helping me take a shower?” I asked. “I feel gross.”

She nodded. Ricki went in search of a stool for me to sit on in the shower. Xanthe hosed me down and scrubbed me up. It felt amazing to get clean. She scoured my beard, too, smoothing in some conditioner that smelled like raspberries.

“I think you might need a trim.”

“I think it can wait,” I replied, grinning.

“I love your beard.”

“I know you do. Kind of how I love your arse.”

Rex and Ronen had gone to my place—
our place
—and brought some of our clothes over at some point. Clean boxers, sweatpants, and a T-shirt, and I was ready to pass the hell out again. Popping a few painkillers and antibiotics, I settled into the clean sheets Jaime had dressed the bed in while we had showered.

Ricki and Jaime left us alone once more, and Xanthe settled back into my arms.

“Xanthe?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too, Oliver.”

Xanthe

Three days later, we moved into our place.

A week after that, Lilla and Maddison flew into Amsterdam Airport Schiphol and moved into their new home.

It took some weeks before Oliver was back to his normal self. Pain would still shoot through the healed wound from time to time but never enough to slow him down. Once he was given the all clear from the mysterious doctors who worked at the nonexistent Locals’ hospice, we were back to traveling and having an extremely healthy sex life.

Book two of the Paranormal Hunters series,
Phoenix Rising
, was rereleased in August, and Oliver and I flew back to New York for another signing—this one ending up on a much happier note. He’d been the star, his face once more sultry and brooding on the cover. The fans had been wild for him.

I was just the author. I wouldn’t have had it any other way.

Word got out that I had bagged my Donovan. It was hard not to notice since Oliver was feeling me up every chance he got on camera. Our social media sites blew up with that one. Some fans were all too excited for us. Others were heartbroken that Ollie Fairfax was off the market.

After the huge convention held by Dreamstone, we skipped the celebration for the second year in a row and headed right back up to our hotel room.

“Love?” he asked me as he slowly unzipped the back of my dress.

“Yeah?”

“I’ve been thinking…”

“Jeez,
again
?”

“Yeah. What would you say if I asked you to marry me?”

My breath caught in my throat, and my whole body tensed. After a few deep breaths, I whispered, “Are you proposing?”

“Not yet. I’ve been thinking about it though. I just want to know if you would want me to.”

I smiled. “Well…I believe I’d say yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“Very.”

“All right then.”

Ollie

One year ago today, I bumped a triple-shot mocha latte out of a woman’s hand and knocked her to the ground in the process. Her stunning hazel eyes had met mine, and she’d said my name, “Ollie,” sealing our fate.