Page 186 of Ghost Ribbon

He studied my face for a second. Marco had gotten very good at reading the cracks in me. “Don’t worry. I won’t make it hard on you.”

I gave him a smile and kissed his lips.

From then on, every day belonged to the hospital.

I slept in the chair.

If what I did could be called sleep. My body would shut down for an hour, maybe two, head tipped awkwardly against the wall or folded over my crossed arms on the side of his bed, and then I’d wake at the slightest shift in his breathing.

I left only when absolutely necessary. To shower. To change. Otherwise, I wasn’t leaving.

And I fucking wouldn’t.

If they wanted me out, they could drag me out. And if they tried, they’d regret it.

It’s been a week since the surgery and I still haven’t told him about what I did, I wasn’t sure if or when I was going to tell him.

Right now he was sitting on the bed, legs over the edge, his hands folded in his lap, looking at me with that expression he got when he wanted something and knew I was already predisposed to saying yes.

“Can we go out a bit?”

I looked up from where I was rearranging the blankets for the third time in twenty minutes.

“The doctor said I can go to the hospital garden,” he added, too quickly.

Of course he came armed with medical approval.

I stared at him for one moment longer than necessary, just to let him feel that I knew exactly what he was doing.

Then I nodded. “Yeah. I’ll help you.”

I reached for the wheelchair.

He could walk, technically. But technically wasn’t good enough for me. So I brought the chair to him, locked the wheels, and helped him into it.

He frowned at me a little.

Not genuinely upset. Just faintly offended. “I can walk,” he murmured.

“I know.”

“Then why—”

“Because this is better.”

He opened his mouth, probably to argue, then looked at my face and decided against it.

Smart boy.

I wrapped a blanket over his legs. Adjusted it twice. Then once more because it still wasn’t sitting right. Then I crouched in front of him and tucked the edge under his knees.

His fingers found my hair. “I’m okay,” he said quietly.

“I know,” I lied.

Then I stood and wheeled him out.

We weren’t technically allowed in the garden this late.