Talon (Ashes & Embers Book 4) (29 page)

After a few moments, I hear his voice. "No. I don't want her seeing me like this."

"She's your wife, Tal."

"I don't fucking want her here." His words cut through my heart like a knife, and I honestly don't know if I can take any more. I feel emotionally drained from our fight, the flight, and now the horrible news of his disease.

"Don't make me remind you how lucky you are to have a wife who
can
fucking be here. Cut the shit or I'll put another bump on your head." Asher's serious voice is a force to be reckoned with.

"Just go the fuck away. Please." In the months I’ve known him, I’ve never heard him sound so disgusted and angry. He sounds like a completely different person.

Asher comes out into the hall and grins at me, completely unaffected. "He's a little cranky. You can go in now. All the guys are at the hotel, so I'm gonna head over there too to take a shower. Call my cell if you need me. I'll be back in a few hours."

"Thanks, Ash."

I walk into the room slowly, not prepared for how awful Talon looks. He's pale and looks unusually small in the thin green hospital gown hanging off his shoulder. He's half sitting up, propped against a pillow, with a stainless steel bedpan on his lap that apparently he's been vomiting into, and he has an IV running into a vein in his muscular arm. His hair is stringy and clinging to his damp forehead that's got a bandage taped across it.

"Talon…" I rush to the side of the bed, tears already falling down my face as I lean in to kiss his cheek.

He turns his head away from me, not letting me touch him. "You shouldn't be here," he rasps.

"Yes, I should. There's nowhere else I should be right now." I sit on the edge of the bed and take his hand in mine.

"How did you get here?"

"I got on a plane."

His eyes close for a long moment. "You're scared to fly."

"You're right. But I'm more scared to not be with you."

He finally turns to face me, and his eyes are twitchy, moving side to side, and it's one of the scariest things I've ever seen in my life.

"Talon…"

He pushes his arm out against me as he leans forward and vomits into the pan, then collapses back onto the pillow, letting out a deep breath and closing his eyes again, his hands gripping the sides of the bed. "I'm so fucking dizzy…" he chokes out. "It won't stop…"

I never had anyone to care for me when I was sick. I literally crawled across the floor to my bathroom many times with the flu, heaving over the toilet, or lay in bed for days with a fever, wishing I would just die. I would have done anything to have someone take care of me, even a tiny bit.

I take the pan into the adjoining bathroom and rinse it out, then bring it back to him.

"Asia, please—"

"Just rest," I say softly, going back to the bathroom to retrieve a washcloth that I soak in cold water. I return to the edge of the bed and gently lay the cold cloth across his eyes.

"Does that feel a little better?" I ask.

He nods slowly. "Yes… Thank you."

"I'll be right back."

I wander out into the hall to the nurses' station and wait for one of them to look up at me.

"Yes?"

"Hi. I'm Talon Valentine's wife. I was wondering if he could have a ginger ale, maybe? I was hoping it would help him feel better and get the nasty taste out of his mouth."

"He can, but he yelled at me earlier when I tried to offer him something. He's not a good patient."

"I'm sorry, he's not used to being sick."

She smiles. "Most men are difficult. I'll get a can and a cup of ice for you."

"Can you get him a few more clean washcloths and pillows too?" Talon has such a thing for soft sheets and the right amount of pillows. I wouldn't be surprised if the linens here are making him angrier than anything else.

"Of course. I'll be right back."

I wait at the desk as she walks away, hoping that he can get out of here soon. I think being in his own surroundings will help calm him down.

"He wouldn't let any of us near him this morning," she says when she returns. "So, good luck."

"Is he being given anything for the vertigo and nausea?"

"Not yet. But the doctor is due back this afternoon and will most likely start meds then."

"Okay, thank you for your help."

"You're welcome. I'm here 'til eight. Come find me if you need anything. My name's Lauren."

I nod and go back to Talon's room, where he's still lying with the cloth over his eyes. I put the supplies on the guest chair and perch on the edge of his bed again.

"I got you a ginger ale." I pop the top and pour it over the ice, adding a straw to the cup. He doesn't move, and I'm not sure if he's ignoring me or if he can't hear me, so I slowly take the cloth off his face and hold the cup up. "You should sip a little of this. It will help."

"Stop babying me. You should go home. My mom will be here soon."

"Good, then we can both baby you."

"Please, just go."

I refuse to let him push me away, even though it hurts so much to hear him speak to me this way. I know he's acting this way out of fear, and I'm not going to let it win. I absolutely refuse.

"I'm not leaving, Talon. Ever. Take a few sips of this, okay?"

"Fine," he mutters, taking the cup.

"And don't gulp it. Just little sips or you're gonna barf again."

He glares at me from over the rim of the cup as he takes a few sips through the straw, then puts it on the rolling table next to the bed before once again leaning back and closing his eyes.

"Did Asher tell you?" he asks. "About all this?"

"Yes, he did."

He snorts. "I'm fuckin' done."

I reach over and gently brush his hair out of his face. "You're not done. Don't say that."

"It's true. I'm gonna go fucking deaf. I already can barely hear in that ear. I knew something was fucked up. Things have been muffled for a few weeks, and I've had, like, a ringing. I thought it was just an earache."

"You'll be fine. And now's not the time to be talking about this. We have to get you feeling better and get you back home."

"I fell off the fuckin' stage, Aze."

"I know, hon. It's okay. You're sick, people understand."

"I'm off the tour. All that fucking work I did, and now I'm off."

"Your health is more important. The fans will understand," I repeat, wondering what kind of shitstorm could be happening on the band's social media page. I should probably post something on my page so they know he's all right.

"They have to leave tomorrow for the next show, and I'll be stuck in this fucking bed with the goddamn room spinning, throwing up my guts."

"Tal, stop."

"And guess who's gonna take my place for the rest of the tour?" He lets out a sick laugh. "That fuckin' douchebag Finn."

"Finn?"

"Yup. Since he's Lukas's best fucking friend, he was able to get him to agree to jump on a fucking plane to finish off the tour."

"Well, isn't that good for the band, though? Wouldn't it be bad if they had to cancel the rest of the shows?"

"Fuck yeah. But I hate that asshole."

"I know that, but if he's helping your band, isn't that all that matters?"

"He's not helping, Aze. He's fuckin' shoving this in my face."

I take a deep breath, realizing that his attitude is probably not going to get better anytime soon.

"I'm sure he's not. Try to rest. That's what's important right now."

"Whatthefuckever. At this rate, I'll be an invalid in a week."

"That's not true."

"Where's the cat?" he asks suddenly.

"At home."

"Alone?"

"No," I reply. "Kat is staying at our house until we get home."

"You should go back home now. I don't need you here."

"I don't care. I'm not leaving you." I rub my thumb slowly back and forth across his wrist, applying slight pressure there, hoping it will help to reduce the nausea a little for him. "I'm staying here whether you like it or not."

"That feels good," he says wistfully after a few minutes. "I've been missing you."

My heart swells, finally seeing a glimpse of my husband returning. "I've been missing you, too."

"Danny's probably looking pretty good right about now, huh?"

I shake my head viciously. "No. Not at all."

His eyes start to twitch again. "I think I'm gonna be sick."

T
he rest
of the day follows the same pattern—he talks a little, then gets dizzy, vomits, gets mad, then starts all over again. I feel awful for him and wish there was something I could do to make him feel better. I've never felt so helpless in my entire life.

The doctor finally arrives and basically re-explains everything Asher told me earlier in more medical detail. I watch Talon as he listens, noticing the way his jaw is clenching.

"We're going to start you on a few medications to give you some relief. If all goes well, we can discharge you the day after tomorrow. I'm referring you to a doctor in your area that you'll need to see immediately to start a treatment plan."

"Great," Talon says sarcastically, turning away from us.

I follow the doctor out into the hallway as he leaves the room.

"Is there any chance his hearing will return in that ear?" I ask, keeping my voice low.

The doctor frowns. "I'm afraid not. It will probably get progressively worse. That's usually the case with MD. He may want to consider a hearing aid. Some patients have results with those."

My heart sinks. Talon will never wear a hearing aid; he's way too proud. "He's a musician. He has to be able to hear."

"I understand, Mrs. Valentine. Unfortunately, there's not much that can be done in this scenario. I'm very sorry."

I nod slowly, letting the truth sink in. My husband's life is going to change drastically. In the short five months I've known him, we've had so many ups and downs, but this blow is unimaginable. Asher is right—we are going to need to be strong to get through this together, and while I know in my heart I am committed to him no matter what, I don't know if I've had enough time to prove to Talon that I'm his wife in every sense. In sickness and in health, through good and bad. This isn't about commitment to an experiment with the hope that it works; this is about commitment for a lifetime.

L
ater
, Asher and Storm come to visit and tell us their parents will be arriving tomorrow. I'm not sure if having his parents here will make him better or worse, to be honest. Right now, it seems like all of us are doing nothing but aggravating him.

"It looks like the meds are kicking in and making him tired," Storm says. "We should go back to the hotel."

"You guys go. I'm going to stay here a little longer."

"Make sure you get some sleep, too," Asher says. "We'll come by tomorrow before we leave."

Storm leans closer to me. "Evie said to call her if you need to talk."

I give him a grateful smile. "Thank you. I'll give her a call tomorrow."

After they leave, I clean up Talon's room and get him a fresh soda and glass of water, along with a new facecloth, which he seems to like over his eyes. He hasn't gotten sick since the nurse gave him his medication, so hopefully he'll be able to get some rest now.

"You should go," he says when I return to the edge of the bed. "You must be tired."

I am, but I don't want to leave him. I can't stand the thought of him getting sick in the middle of the night and lying here alone.

I stroke his cheek and lean down to softly kiss his lips. "I don't want to leave you. I could stay with you…if you want me to. I don't think the nurse will make me leave."

He perks up a tiny bit, his lips curving into a weak version of his usual smile. "Really? You'd do that? Squish in this bed with me?"

"Of course I will."

His dark eyes lock on to mine for a few moments, like he's struggling with letting me stay or pushing me away. "Stay," he finally says.

I quickly take off my shoes and turn off the light as he scoots over, piling the extra pillows against the bar on his side of the bed. He holds his arm out to me as I climb in and curl up at his side, and he pulls me in close. I hug him back tightly, my head resting against his shoulder, my leg over his, and I feel him exhale a deep, exhausted breath.

"I'm scared," he whispers in the dark, cracking my heart in two.

"You're going to be fine," I say with as much confidence as I can muster up.

"Your voice sounds far away; I don't like it."

I rub my hand gently across his chest, trying to soothe him. "Everything will be okay. We'll get through this together, I promise." I've always loved his vulnerable, bedtime side—but not like this. Hearing fear come from this powerful, confident man is so wrong. It doesn't belong here, in him.

I vow to do anything—everything—I can to make this better for him.

I
used
to love the sound of ocean waves, until they took up residence in my ear.

The whooshing and random dog-whistle that's piercing my brain started about two months ago. I ignored it, thinking I was sitting too close to the amp or maybe got water in my ear while showering.

I stupidly chalked up the sudden fatigue I felt to working out too hard and having so much sex. Orgasms make me sleepy—it seemed a legit reason. I was fine with that.

"I want to be alone for a little while." I lean back against the pillows propped up against our headboard, glad to at least be back in my own bed. "Turn the ceiling fan off, please. It's making me dizzy."

I screw my eyes shut, trying to stop my brain that's spinning round and round with the fan.
Round and round we goooo…

"Sorry. I didn't think of that…" She practically runs to the wall switch to turn it off. "Can I get you anything? Maybe something to eat?"

I shake my head, not opening my eyes. I don't want to see her. I don't want to not hear half of what she's saying. I especially don't want to see the sadness I've caused in the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen.

"No. Just go."

I wait a few seconds before opening my eyes to see if she's gone, and she is.

I know I'm being an asshole. I don't want to be, and I'm trying not to be, but I need some space right now to process the fuckening that has been unleashed upon my life in just a few days.

My parents, ever the creative ones, rented a deluxe RV to drive Asia and me home. A great idea, in theory. It had a big bed I could lie in for the entire trip, and Asia could sleep with me. My mom thought that was perfect. And in some ways, it was. I still wanted my wife near me, but not every second of the fifty hours it took us to get home. There was no way for me to hide the ugliness that was crawling out of me.

Hitting a traffic jam halfway through the trip, and the stop-and-go the huge RV did for two hours ramped up the vertigo, and I threw up the entire time. Trapped in a small space, where my wife and parents were forced to listen to me retch. And the smell? Let's not go there. My father lit up some Nag Champa incense and started rambling about road trips back in the seventies.

Everything spun—the ceiling, the windows, the cars passing by. The down felt up and the up felt down. My father had to walk me to the small bathroom and hold me up in the shower while I clung to the wall, convinced the RV was tipping over on its side.

Years ago, I used to drop acid, and this is way worse than any psychedelic trip I've ever been on.

It's funny how we'll do things like that for fun. Get drunk, get high, get all fucked up and call it a great fucking time. I used to pay thousands of dollars to get that fucked up. But when it's happening to you, and it's out of your control? Totally different story. This is not cool or fun. This is hell.

This morning, my parents and Asia drove me to see the ENT to discuss my case. Yup. Now I'm a case that needs to be chaperoned by three people. The thought of climbing up into my monster truck makes my stomach lurch. Driving seems like something I may never do again.

Now I'm back home with a confirmed diagnosis of a disease I can't pronounce or spell, some meds, and a pamphlet outlining lifestyle changes to help optimize my experience.

Fuck. This. All.

The urge to go down to my gym and then hit the studio is strong and hard to ignore. It's what I've done every day for years. But right now, attempting to go down the stairs without falling on my face seems like a feat I can't accomplish. And trying to write or practice with this insane noise in my head seems equally impossible.

It should subside,
the doctor said.
Give the medication time to work.

I should be getting ready to go on stage right now, to play songs I spent months composing, in front of thousands of people.
My fans
. Instead, that douche Finn will be standing in my space, alongside my brothers and cousins, soaking up my success.

With each passing hour, I can feel anger and depression seeping into every crevice of my soul.

My life is over.

A
sia comes
into the room looking adorable as always, wearing a flowing white shirt that makes her look like she has little wings and a thin gold headband around her head holding her hair back, which makes her eyes look even bigger and brighter. She plops a tray down on the bed with two bowls of soup and toast.

"I thought we'd have a bed picnic!" she announces, sitting on the other side of the tray.

"I'm not spending the rest of my life in this fucking bed."

She ignores my foul mood, a skill she’s quickly mastering, and smiles. "I know that, silly. The doctor said the meds should make the vertigo and nausea subside in a few days. There's nothing wrong with taking a few days to rest."

"I really don't want to eat. If I eat, I'll just throw it back up."

"It's only veggies and rice soup; it's mild. I made it for you. I think if you just eat slowly and don't look up and down at the bowl as you eat, you'll be okay. Or I could feed you. I don't mind."

I push the bowl away. "Are you serious? This is fucking ridiculous."

Her smile falters for a second before she forces it back, and guilt sweeps over me again. She actually made me homemade soup and here I am pushing it away.

"I'm only trying to help, Tal."

"I know. I'm sorry."

I watch her as she eats, the way the spoon slides into her mouth is tantalizing me and fuels my growing frustration. When did we last have sex? I don't even know. Possibly over a week ago, and that makes me nervous, especially knowing her ex was contacting her. I'm still mad about that, even though I was being more of an asshole than I should have been. But now I'm worried if I'm not making her happy, someone else might. And I wouldn’t blame her if she wanted someone else at this point.

"You can't keep taking the pills on an empty stomach. Please eat a little." She makes a pouty sad face. "For me?"

"How can I say no to you, jelly bean?" Impersonating the man I was before this mess happened isn’t easy, but I force myself, just to make her smile sometimes.

I eat the entire bowl of soup, and not only is it delicious, but she was right—not looking up and down at the bowl made it easier for me to eat without getting all sorts of loopy dizzy. I wonder if she spent the afternoon cooking for me and searching the web for ways to help me. Knowing her, that's exactly what she did.

"I'll take this downstairs now." She rises and grabs the tray.

"Put that down for a sec and come here."

Her forehead creases as she sets the tray on the floor and then sits on the edge of the bed beside me.

"What's wrong?" she asks.

I slip my hand behind her neck and pull her down to me, brushing my lips against hers.

"I just wanted to say thank you."

"You don't have to thank me. I want you to feel better."

"I don't want you to become my nurse, Aze."

"I could wear a sexy little nurse outfit," she teases.

"That's very tempting, baby. But seriously, I don't want this to become our life. We haven't even had our honeymoon yet and—"

Her mouth comes down on mine, shutting me up. "Stop stressing." She moves her lips to my cheek. "You're going to get better. And I like taking care of you. It makes me feel wanted and needed."

"You're very wanted and needed." I pull her back down to me, the movement causing an unexpected wave of nausea, and I let her go to press my fingers against my forehead. "Fuck! My head just went mental…sorry…"

"It's okay." She smiles like it's nothing. But to me, it's everything. I want to kiss her, pull her clothes off, and lick her everywhere while she moans and sighs for me.

Will I ever hear those sounds again? Or will the whoosh drown out her little whispers that drive me wild?

I'm pretty sure the same thought just crossed her mind when she makes an abrupt exit. "I'm going to take the dishes downstairs."

I
never thought
I'd feel proud of myself for taking a shower without help, but yeah, I do. I had to stop twice on the way to the bathroom to hang on to a piece of furniture while the room twirled around me, but I made it. I had some visions of falling through the glass doors and slitting every vein in my body and dying in a pool of blood, but I took my chances.

I won't let this shit run my life. Every second I give in to it, it's winning, and I can't let that happen.

Now I'm sitting in bed, inhaling the scent of vanilla and lavender drifting into the bedroom from Asia's bath. She knows that's my favorite of all her bath concoctions, so I take this as a sign she's missing me just as much as I'm missing her.

"You look like you feel better," she comments when she comes out of the bathroom wearing my T-shirt and pink satin panties.

"A little less dizzy, a little more tired." The meclizine seems to be helping a little with the vertigo and nausea, but it's definitely making me more tired than I want to be.

A
s soon as
she gets into bed next to me, I reach for her. She immediately comes to me, half lying on top of me. We kiss deep and slow while I run my hand down the length of her body, stopping to caress her ass. She feels so warm and soft, and she smells like heaven. I’ve missed her like crazy. She leans up and takes off her thin shirt, then returns to my lips, her breath quickening as I push her panties down. She wiggles out of them quickly, and I waste no time sliding my hand between her thighs, sighing when I'm welcomed by her wet, slippery lips.
She still wants me.
She reaches between us to push my boxers down, and she grabs my already hard cock, stroking me from balls to tip. Groaning, I roll her over onto her back and she spreads her legs wide for me as I slide into her waiting pussy. My heart pounds and my brain spins as I thrust in and out of her. This is what I need to forget all the shit that's happening to me.

She rubs my chest gently. "Slow, Tally…" she whispers.

"I can't. I miss you so fucking much, baby."

"I miss you too." She glides her hands up to my shoulders and pulls me down, breathing heavily against my lips as I kiss her. Her thighs widen more and she raises one leg, bending it around my waist, pulling me deeper into her. I kiss her neck, nipping the tiny pulse at her throat and move my lips down to suck her nipple into my mouth, flicking my tongue wildly over her taut flesh. She arches up and runs her hands down my back, lightly scratching me, an action she knows I love.

"Talon…" She mouths, but I can't hear her this time because the whooshing is getting louder. Her hand tangles in my hair now, gently tugging me to her. I raise my head and meet her lips and it hits me like a brick wall—gravity is gone and I'm falling, grasping at the blankets, fighting back nausea. I pull out of her quickly and roll over onto the side of the bed, scared I'm going to get sick on her.

"Talon?" Her voice, a second ago laced with lust, is now filled with worry and fear.

"Shit. Everything is spinning…" I grab my head, trying to make it stop, but everything is twirling in circles even with my eyes closed.

She sits up and pulls my head into her lap, gently rubbing my temples. "It's okay, hon. Just take a few deep breaths. Don't panic."

I fight back the nausea, refusing to get sick in our bedroom. My dick shrivels as every part of me fights to stop the uncontrollable roller coaster in my brain.

Her lips touch my forehead. "It's okay," she whispers, her fingers lightly massaging my scalp. It helps to soothe me, giving me something to focus on, a reference of where up is.

I don't know how long we lie like that, but the sick feeling finally subsides. She helps me back to my place sitting up against the pillows and holds a glass of water to my lips in the dark.

"Baby, I'm so fucking sorry." I grab her hand and bring it to my lips, kissing her fingers.

"It's okay. I think it was too soon." She snuggles up against my chest and pulls the blanket over us.

Too soon to fuck my wife.

"You want to sleep sitting up? Is it better?"

"Yes." Lying flat makes the vertigo so much worse. What I really want to do is curl up with her like we always do, her chest against my back, my arm around her waist, my head resting next to hers. With the way I feel right now, there's no way in hell I can sleep on my side that way.

I can't hear.

I can't play.

I can't fuck.

I can't sleep.

I can't spoon my wife.

She leans up to kiss my cheek, then brushes her lips against the ear I can barely hear out of before laying her head on my shoulder to sleep.

I'm pretty sure she said something, but the noise in my head took it away, so I tell myself she whispered the words I've been hoping to hear.

Hope seems to be all I have to hang on to right now.

Hope really does die last.