“Don’t try to talk just yet,” Mick said and rubbed her arm. “Your vocal chords have been through a lot. Let them rest.”
Whitney nodded and made a drinking motion. Mick glanced at Dr. Penkala who shrugged. “You know the drill, Mick.” He gestured to Whitney. “I’ll let you fill her in on the surgeries and recovery. I’ll come back later and answer any questions you have, Whitney.”
Again she bobbed her head. Without being able to speak, there wasn’t much else to do. The doctor smiled and left the room. Terri dragged the unplugged ventilator behind her as she exited, leaving Mick and Whitney alone.
He poured a glass of water from the pitcher on the nearby stand and held it to her lips. “Small sips. We don’t want you to choke or vomit, okay? You have to take it nice and easy the next few days.”
She took tiny drinks and let the water roll around in her parched mouth before swallowing very carefully. Her throat burned. Maybe this drinking thing wasn’t such a good idea.
Mick set aside the cup and sat on the edge of her bed. He took her hand in his and petted her in a comforting motion. “You’ve been in the hospital for five days. Three in ICU and yesterday morning we brought you down here to the cardiac step-down unit. If everything goes well, you’ll be out of here in another day, and then you’ll head to one of the private rooms for a week or so.”
His fingers skimmed her cheek. “Whitney, do you remember the bank robbery? The shooting?” When she nodded, he continued. “You were hit three times. Eddie arrived on scene after the first SWAT team breached the bank. He rode with you all the way to the hospital and made sure you were brought here. Do you remember that?”
She experienced blurry flashbacks. Eddie kneeling at her side. Eddie pushing hard on her oozing belly wound. Eddie holding her hand and begging her to stay awake. Eddie terrified but strong.
Whitney nodded again, and Mick told her about the extent of her injuries and the surgery required. Allison, the cardio goddess as he called her, had saved her battered right lung, but he’d had to take her spleen and repair some other damage in her belly.
“Your uterine artery was nicked, and we had to take your right ovary, Whitney.” The quiver of horror stabbing her belly must have shown on her face because he quickly added, “The surgery was very successful, and I took my time. I had one of my colleagues, a highly respected OB/GYN, come into the OR for a consult. She is positive you’ll heal very well and be able to have children.”
Relief flooded her system. For a second there, she’d imagined the very worst outcome. Considering she’d taken three bullets, Whitney figured she’d come out of this okay. She still had both of her lungs, one ovary, and her uterus. Who needed a spleen anyway, right?
She touched her sore chest. In a strained whisper, she asked, “How long?”
“Before it heals? Six to eight weeks is what we tell people. You’ll be able to return to work part-time around then. Full time by twelve weeks, I’d guess. No heavy lifting or overexertion, obviously.” Before she could protest, he held up his hand. “And, yes, Eddie already talked to Delilah. We know you’ll probably have to miss the fall shows in New York and Paris, but that’s just tough, sweetheart. Besides, Delilah agrees your focus should be on your health. It’s not as if there won’t be more shows in the spring.”
Whitney pouted. She didn’t like the thought of everyone else making decisions for her. Yes, she’d been shot, but she wasn’t an invalid. Her gaze drifted down the hospital bed. Well. Mostly.
“Don’t look like that, Whit. We’re just trying to make this easier for you. We don’t want you stressing about anything.” Mick checked his watch. “I really need to get back down to the ER. Eddie will be here when he gets off shift.” He bent down and kissed her forehead. “You’ll get some more pain meds soon and likely fall right back asleep. Enjoy the rest while you can.”
Mick stood up and unwound the call button from the rail. He moved it close to her hand. “Punch this button to call for a nurse. This one works the TV if you get bored.” He pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead. “I love you.”
She closed her eyes as the warmth of his words settled over her. “I love you, too.”
Mick pulled back and gazed down into her eyes. “I’m so glad you’re awake.”
Whitney touched his cheek and smiled weakly. She watched him leave, his reluctance clear as he hesitated in the doorway. He waved before disappearing from sight. Whitney stared at the empty doorway for a while as she tried to wrap her mind around everything Mick had told her. The realization of just how close she’d come to death sent a chill down her spine.
But she couldn’t focus on that. She had to think about getting better, about getting out of this bed and out of the hospital, about getting back to work and back into the arms of the two men she loved so desperately.
But first, she thought sleepily, a much-needed nap.
Whitney woke some time later. Her gaze flitted to the windows. The blinds were still open, but it was dark outside. A rustle to her right caught her attention. She glanced over and found Eddie rising from his chair. He set aside a magazine, probably one filled with football players and bikini-clad models. His happy smile sent a swarm of butterflies through her belly.
He gently eased onto the bed and interlaced his fingers with hers. Her gaze fell to his hand, and she gasped. There were splotches of purple and yellow over his knuckles. “Your hand,” she croaked in shock.
Eddie glanced at it and shrugged. “It’s nothing, Whitney.” She gave him the look, and he laughed. “Really. It’s nothing.”
She sighed, realizing he wasn’t going to tell her what person or wall he’d punched. She touched his face. He looked so tired. Knowing Eddie, he’d probably worried the whole time she was unconscious. “You’re going to give yourself an ulcer.”
He made a so-what face. “You’re worth it.”
His jaw clenched and unclenched a few times. Stunned, Whitney realized he was about to cry. “Eddie,” she whispered and caressed his cheek.
He swallowed hard and turned his face so his lips were against her palm. He sucked in a shuddery breath and said, “Whitney, I love you so much.” He exhaled loudly. “When I saw you there, bleeding on the floor, I couldn’t stop thinking about how stupid I’d been. I freaked out when you panicked and almost let you die without telling you how I feel.”
Eddie shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck. “I need to be more like Mick, I guess. I need to, you know, communicate and all that crap.”
Whitney snorted. “Something like that.”
He chuckled and then sobered almost instantly. “I hate that it took something so drastic, so…terrible to make me realize how badly I’d fucked things up.”
“Well, I’m not exactly blameless in all this, you know?” Whitney spoke softly so as not to aggravate her still-irritated throat. “I was all crazy emotional and panicked and then closed both of you out.” She smiled as her head moved side to side. “Poor Mick! He tried so hard to play referee, but we’re both so hardheaded.”
“Probably why he loves us,” Eddie said with a laugh. Then a bit more serious, he added, “I am so glad you’re going to be okay. I really thought…I worried…”
When he couldn’t find the right words, Whitney squeezed his hand and smiled reassuringly. “I know. I thought the same thing.” Then smiling, she added, “Just remember I said I love you first.”
He frowned. “When?”
“At the bank.”
His jaw clenched and relaxed as if he was trying hard not to get emotional. “When you were dying on the floor, I saw your lips working but couldn’t make out the words.” He gulped. “I had no idea.”
Clearly needing to change the subject to something less heavy, Eddie cleared his throat and inhaled. “Mick had to go home tonight. The hospital wants him sleeping at home so they can be sure he’s well-rested.” Eddie rolled his eyes. “Because I’m sure he’s sleeping so well all alone in the house.”