Divine Solace: 8 (48 page)

They stayed that way for a while, then a nurse came in and
discovered Gen was awake. Which meant she had to be prodded and poked. It
turned out her injuries had been miraculously minor, the concussion the main
cause of concern, but apparently they’d already done the diagnostics needed to verify
no obvious serious brain trauma. Being awake and responsive to questions helped
upgrade her status even further. Even so, the doctor made it clear she was
going to be kept for at least one night’s observation and gave Gen a list of
symptoms she was to report to the nurse immediately if they occurred.

It was clear Marguerite and Chloe were taking careful note
of that list. She’d wanted them to stay close, so through it all, Marguerite
remained at the door, Chloe in the guest chair. Tyler arrived and stood behind
Marguerite. His amber-colored eyes brightened, seeing Gen awake. She managed a
smile, her eyes filling again when he pressed his lips to his fingers and
turned them in her direction.

The more awake she became, though, the more impatient she
grew. She needed out of this bed. She needed to go to Noah, to Lyda. Tyler
would know where they were. That was probably where he’d been, getting a status
report. As soon as the last nurse cleared the room, Gen was putting her feet
over the side of the bed and looking for a robe.

Marguerite and Chloe didn’t chide her, didn’t try to stop
her, but Marguerite did insist on a wheelchair. When Tyler disappeared and
reappeared with one, she wanted to hold onto them all over again and never let
them go. But as much as she wanted that, her arms needed to be around two other
people even more.

Marguerite glanced at her husband. “You found that pretty
fast. Please tell me you didn’t dump a patient out of it.”

“He said he was fully capable of walking, and that a true
gentleman never denied a lady a chair.” Tyler gave Gen a wink.

Their banter should have made her feel better, but the
undercurrent of seriousness told her it wasn’t because things were rosy.

“Lyda is in the ICU, so she has restricted visiting hours,”
Tyler said as they rolled down the hall. “Only two people at a time. We won’t
be able to get you in to see her for about another hour. You can see Noah now.”
He paused, and Gen sensed a look passing between him and Marguerite behind her.
“He needs to see you. He’s been having some trouble.”

“Trouble?” Gen looked up at Marguerite.

“He refused to stay in the bed, refused to be away from
either one of you. They had to sedate and restrain him.” Her boss spoke
carefully. “They moved him to a psychiatric unit when his agitation disrupted
other patients. Tyler arranged for Brendan to stay in the room with him, but
you can help calm him down some. If you’re up for that.”

“Yes. Definitely.” It made her all the more anxious to see
him. When they arrived at the psychiatric wing, seeing the buzzer on the locked
door, the nurses’ desk like a guard station, made her nauseous again. “He can’t
be in here, Tyler. He’s not crazy.”

Tyler put a hand on her shoulder, his strong fingers a
soothing caress over sore muscles. “I know that, Gen. It’s to protect him. He
has injuries that need care, bed rest, and this is the best place for those
they can’t keep in bed in the normal ways.” He squatted next to the chair,
laced his fingers with hers. “Brendan or I have been with him at all times in there.
You know I wouldn’t let anything happen to him.”

“I know.” The reassurance was nice, but she knew the words
were more than that. He was preparing her for what she was going to see.

Only one person was allowed to go with her, and she chose
Marguerite, because she sensed she needed the person with her who was most like
Lyda. As they were buzzed in and Marguerite rolled her down the hall, Gen could
barely keep herself in her chair. She could empathize with Noah. But she also
knew enough about him to know why it was different as well. Tyler had expected
her to understand the situation without excess explanation and she did. She
accepted that as a privilege, not an obligation.

His door was open. While there was a protective mesh on the
window, it did allow sunlight into the room, making it more cheerful. A TV was
on, low volume. She paid no attention to it. She had only one focus.

Why did everyone look so pale in the hospital? He was a
sailor, a man who worked for a nursery out in the Florida sun, and he looked
pallid. And hospital gowns always made everyone look so horribly fragile. His
hands were bandaged, and his face had a multitude of cuts. Someone had brushed
his hair and clipped it out of his face, but right now the usually appealing
look just made him look thin and strained.

Brendan rose from the guest chair as Marguerite rolled her
in. “Hey there,” he said with effusive warmth. “Noah, you have a visitor.”

Noah’s eyes blinked open. From his disorientation, she could
tell he’d been drugged. Suddenly she was so angry she could barely speak. Why
didn’t they understand? They could have set him up in Gen’s room, if Lyda was
too injured. That was all he needed. Of course, as Tyler said, Noah had to have
a bed for his injuries, and the rooms were private singles. There was probably
some kind of hospital policy that couldn’t be circumvented, even by two
formidable forces like Marguerite and Tyler. They’d made sure he wasn’t alone,
though, that he’d had Brendan.

Her freaking out wasn’t going to help Noah in the slightest.
Marguerite had wheeled her up to his bedside. When she closed her hand over
his, his grip turned, bandaged fingers clamped around hers. They’d been torn up
by glass and rocks, isn’t that what they’d said? Holding onto her so tightly
must hurt, but he didn’t ease up in the least. A metal clank drew her gaze down
to his wrist.

Though the three-inch-wide cuff appeared to be a comfortable
fleece-lined leather, hooked to a manacle on the bed rails, it still twisted
something hard in her gut to see him restrained by them. “So I see you figured
out a way to get a nurse to slap cuffs on you,” she said in an unsteady voice.
“Lyda is going to be pretty pissed about that.”

Struggling through that drugged fog, he reached out with the
other hand, only to find it brought up short by the cuff that held it to the
opposite rail. When he yanked against it, confused frustration filling his
face, she was pushing herself out of the chair. Fuck the hospital. She
unbuckled the cuffs. His thrashing had dislodged the blankets and shown her his
ankles were cuffed as well, but right now she ignored those and leaned over
him. As Brendan steadied her swaying body, she focused on making sure Noah
didn’t try to rise toward her. The gown was pulled to the side enough she could
see the bandaged ribs.

She pressed against him, holding him. “You asshole,” she
muttered against his temple. “You knew the damn car was going to fall.”

His arms slid around her, clumsy, uncoordinated but tight as
a vise. When he spoke against her ear, a mere whisper, she choked on a sob.

“I know you’d do anything for us. I know that.” She pressed
her palm against his face, her forehead now against his as she gazed into his
brown eyes. “You’re going to have to do something for us now, okay? I hate
this. I hate seeing you like this. You’re going to let the nurse move you to a
normal room.”

Her voice strengthened. She channeled that inner Domme Lyda
had helped her discover. It felt quite natural, fueled by the strength of her
emotions. And even better, she saw it penetrate that haze on Noah’s senses like
nothing else would, except a command from Lyda herself.

“We’re going to try to get you as close to my room as we
can. But you have to stay in your bed, listen to all the nurses the way you
listen to Lyda. Because that’s how we need you to take care of us right now.
I’ve only got a concussion and some scrapes, so I’ll come be with you as much
as possible, and we’ll get phones and text one another so you’ll feel like I’m
right there with you. Okay? We have to pull it together so we can take care of
Lyda. She’s going to need us to take care of her, and you know how much she’s
going to hate that. She’s going to be a pain in the ass. We’re going to wish we
pushed her off that mountain. Tell me you understand.”

In response, he pressed his forehead harder against hers.
“Sorry.” His tongue was thick, but she shook her head, tears dropping onto his
face.

“There is utterly
nothing
to be sorry about it. You
saved our lives, Noah. But if you’d gone down with that car”—her eyes locked
with his—”you would have killed us. We love you, you moron. You’re special to
us. One of a kind. Irreplaceable.”

Did he understand what that meant? How much it meant?

His lips curved, but there was pain in his gaze, such
tiredness. She nuzzled his face, pressed her lips to his, tasting him, savoring
him, trying not to press too hard because his bottom lip had a cut on it. He
didn’t care, shifting his hand to the back of her head, holding her fast,
making the kiss fierce, needy. She refused to think it would have meant the
same to him, whether he’d saved them or Elias or any faceless Domme who claimed
him. She didn’t want to think about the fact he didn’t know how to choose
anyone, which might mean he didn’t know how to love anyone.

No. That was wrong. He knew how to love. Even if it wasn’t
the way that normal people loved, that didn’t matter.

In such a situation, things like that became a lot less
important. Just like Dot had said.

* * * * *

Marguerite and Tyler hadn’t known Dorothy’s contact info in
Gatlinburg. Once Gen provided that, Chloe called her, glad to tell her Noah was
okay in the same sentence she had to tell her he’d been in a car accident. As
soon as he took care of getting Noah moved, Tyler went to retrieve her so she
could come see her grandson.

Gen wouldn’t be surprised if he’d contacted the trustees
personally, or donated a new wing. Regardless of how he did it, the staff was
convinced Noah could now be trusted not to escape his bed. When Dot arrived, he
was no longer in the psych wing.

Marguerite accompanied her into the ICU the first time she
saw Lyda. The sight made Gen cry all over again. They’d shaved her beautiful
flame-colored hair and she had a terrifying line of staples for one head wound.
She had bruising on her arms and more cuts, some of which had been stitched.
Her left leg had a compound fracture and her right arm had also been broken.
But the nurse was reassuring.

“She’s a hell of a fighter. The brain swelling is going down
way faster than we expected.”

Gen swallowed. “Is that…” She nodded to a tube that ran into
Lyda’s head, with a metal attachment piece that made Gen’s skin crawl just
looking at it.

“Yes.” The nurse put a hand on her shoulder. “That’s an
intracranial pressure monitor. That’s how we know how well she’s doing, and it
helped drain off excess fluid from the trauma. I know it looks scary, but it’s
one of the good guys. It’s helping her.”

Gen tried to smile, couldn’t. “Her vitals are strong,” the
nurse said. “The surgeon said her heart is one of the healthiest he’s ever seen
in his life.”

“She’s a fitness nut,” Gen managed. “She does those insanity
workout type of things. Eats horrible, healthy things. She treats sugar and
pizza like toxic waste.”

The nurse squeezed her shoulder again before crossing her
arms over her smock and giving the unconscious Lyda a satisfied look. “She’s a
miracle, that’s for sure. But then, from what I hear, you all are. Somebody’s
going to be knocking on your door to tell your story to one of those true
confession magazines.”

Gen didn’t care about any of that. She lifted a hand,
stopped. “Can I…touch her?”

“Sure you can. Just be real careful of all the things
attached to her.” The nurse stepped back, giving them a semblance of privacy.

Gen closed her hand over Lyda’s, pale and limp on the bed.
The mere contact with the slim fingers choked Gen with tears.
God. Oh God.
Lyda, look at you.

What had the doctor said? That concussions could come with
emotional outbursts, mood swings? Like being in a terrible car crash couldn’t
do that all by itself, right?

She rose out of her chair, Marguerite moving close for
support as Gen leaned over to carefully touch Lyda’s cheek, her cracked lips.
It almost broke her down all the way then, being so close to that beloved
visage, seeing it so slack and unaware.

Don’t be such a girl.

She could hear Lyda saying it, imagine the glint in her
silver eyes.

“Noah’s okay,” Gen said, clearing her throat with determined
effort. “I know you want a full report. I can take care of him and me until you
can, so you don’t need to worry about that. Tyler or Brendan will be with him
when I’m not. Brendan’s barely left his side. I didn’t realize they were such
good friends. I don’t know anywhere near all the things that I want to know
about both of you.”

Taking a shaky breath, she touched her Mistress’s jaw, felt
the reassuring pulse. “That car hit us where you would take the most damage. No
one’s going to tell me that was dumb luck. You’re so damn heroic, just like
him. I want you both to work on that. Would it kill either of you to be Joe and
Jane Average? Like me. Nothing wrong with the occasional pizza or being afraid
of heights. It would be a lot easier on my nerves if the two of you realized
that. I can’t lose you. Not now or ever. I know you think it’s the stress
talking, but I’m in love with you both. Maybe we’re only at the beginning of
what that means, but it doesn’t make it less true.”

She baptized Lyda with a few more tears, wiping them off her
face gently. Then she kissed her cheek, holding the pressure there a long,
yearning moment. “I have to go now, because they only let us visit for a little
while, but you wake up soon, okay? We both need you. That’s the way this works.
Maybe Noah and I can visit together next shift. I know you won’t feel all right
until you see him. He really is okay. As beautiful as ever. The nurses are
already fighting to give him a sponge bath. He’ll be the cleanest patient in
the whole hospital.”