Chapter 101 Are You Still Leaving Tonight?

Chapter 101 Are You Still Leaving Tonight?

Isabella's POV

The only sound in the hospital room was the steady beep of the heart monitor.

Terrence's face was inches from mine. His thigh pressed against the bed rail, and through his pants, I could feel the heat of his cock against my hip.

Hard. Hard enough to hurt.

I could feel every inch of it—thick, burning, pulsing with each ragged breath he took.

He was turned on. Right here, in this antiseptic room, while I still had blood in my hair and seven stitches in my head.

"Terrence…" My voice shook.

"Don't talk." His voice was gravel-rough.

The hand cradling my neck tightened. His other thumb pressed down on my lower lip, the rough pad prying past my teeth and dragging slowly against them.

"Do you have any idea what I was thinking when I watched you fall?" He stared at me, hunger and something unhinged in his eyes. "I was thinking—if you died, I'd snap Dustin's neck, and then put a bullet in my own head."

His hips jerked forward, grinding hard against my thigh.

A shock went through me. My inner thighs trembled, and deep inside, a slow warmth began to spread.

He wanted me. Right now, he wanted to tear this gown off and pin me down.

Just as his lips were about to touch mine—

Click. Click.

Someone twisted the door handle from outside. Twice.

"Isabella? Why is the door locked?" My father's voice.

Terrence went still. He shut his eyes, swallowed hard, took a slow breath, and released my neck. He straightened up, pulling the heat of his body away.

I gulped air, my cheeks burning.

Terrence walked to the door, stood with his back to it for two seconds, adjusted his tactical pants where they'd pulled tight, and turned the lock.

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Terrence's POV

I opened the door.

Isabella's parents stood in the hallway, each holding a container of takeout soup.

"Mr. Nelson?" Milton looked surprised. "What were you doing in there?"

"Checking if she'd woken up." My voice was flat, back to its cold calm. "She came around for a little while. She's asleep again now. Go on in."

I stepped aside. Daisy rushed to the bedside.

I didn't look back at the girl in the bed. I walked out and pulled the door shut.

The hallway was suffocatingly quiet.

I leaned against the white wall across from the room, hands shoved in my pockets. A dull ache lingered in my lower body. Something raw and restless churned inside me.

I was disgusting. She'd barely made it out alive. Gauze still wrapped her forehead. And all I could think about was having her.

Every time I touched her, my self-control collapsed completely.

A heavy self-loathing washed over me. I hadn't slept in a week. Today had pushed me to the edge—the shock, the PTSD flaring, my nerves stretched past their limit.

I walked to the blue plastic bench across the hall and sat down, dragging my hands through my hair. Exhaustion pulled at me, and soon I was out cold against the hard back of the bench.

I don't know how much time passed.

"Terrence?"

My eyes snapped open. My body tensed on instinct.

"Easy. It's just us."

Isabella's father stood in front of me, holding two cups of hot coffee. Her mother stood beside him, her eyes still red, though she'd steadied herself.

I rubbed my temple and stood. "Sorry. I fell asleep."

"Have some coffee. You look completely worn out." He held out a cup.

I took it. He studied me, a small frown forming.

"I have a question. Where's Maurice? My daughter just went through something serious—from the ambulance to right now, I haven't seen him once."

I took a sip of black coffee. "He's in a room downstairs. When he saw Isabella covered in blood being rushed into the ER, he hyperventilated and went into shock. The doctors sedated him. My parents are down there with him now."

Isabella's parents exchanged a look.

Milton's expression darkened. "A grown man watches his girlfriend fighting for her life in the emergency room—and he faints?"

I said nothing.

"Isabella has put up with so much being with him," Daisy sighed. "She always carries everything on her own. She thought Maurice would take care of her. It didn't turn out that way."

She looked up at me, her expression unreadable.

"Terrence."

"Yeah?"

"Isabella just fell back asleep. The doctor said the concussion will keep pulling her under." She paused. "But while she was drifting in and out, she was shaking. She looked terrified."

My chest tightened.

"After she fell asleep, she called out for someone." Daisy looked straight at me. "It wasn't Maurice."

"What did she say?" My voice came out dry and rough.

"She said your name twice. She kept saying, 'Terrence, save me.'"

The paper cup in my hand crumpled. Scalding coffee spilled over the back of my hand.

I didn't feel it.

In her most helpless moment—somewhere beneath consciousness—she reached for me. Not him.

"We're going downstairs to check on Maurice and say hello to your parents." Milton reached over and put a hand on my shoulder. "Go get some rest. The nurses will look after her."

"I'm not leaving." I dropped the crushed cup in the trash. "I'm staying with her. All night."

Her parents were quiet for a moment. Neither argued.

"Room 302." Milton gave a small nod, then guided his wife toward the elevator.

I stood there and watched them disappear around the corner.

The hallway stayed quiet, but their voices drifted back.

"Did you see him?" Daisy's voice. "Her blood all over his clothes. He never left. His eyes never moved away from that room."

"I saw." Milton let out a long breath. "He's ten times the man Maurice will ever be."

I leaned back against the wall.

Whatever loyalty I was supposed to feel. Whatever anyone else thought. None of it mattered anymore.

Even her parents could see it plainly. Maurice couldn't protect her. He never could.

I closed my hand around my car keys in my pocket, walked down the corridor, and stopped in front of room 302.

The door was slightly open.

Through the gap, I could see her in the bed—gauze around her forehead, face drained of color, brow furrowed tight. Even in sleep, the pain wouldn't leave her alone.

After a week, I was finally back at her side.

And this time, I wasn't stepping back.

I pushed the door open gently, crossed the room quietly, and sat beside the bed. I reached out and wrapped my hand around hers where it rested outside the blanket.

Her fingers were ice cold. The pads of her fingertips were rough with years of calluses from playing.

I lowered my head and pressed my lips softly to the back of her cold hand.

Isabella stirred slightly.

She didn't open her eyes. But her dry, cracked lips parted just a little.

"Terrence…" Her voice was hoarse and barely there, but in the silence of that room, it was perfectly clear.

"I'm here."

The tension in her brow eased, just a little. Then, in a voice so small it was almost nothing, she asked, "Are you going to leave again tonight?"