Fraser, page 23
“You wouldn’t hold still.”
He might have formed a smile before the darkness slid over him.
Fourteen
She’d left her post.
Betrayed her country, maybe.
Pippa stood at the window of the University Hospital, her forehead pressed to the cold pane, watching the sun rise over the cityscape of Minneapolis, and prayed that she hadn’t just done something stupid.
“Coffee?”
She turned to Jake handing her a fresh cup and, without a tea bag in sight, sure. “Thanks.”
“Is he out of surgery yet?”
Jake shook his head and went over to sit down in the waiting-room chairs.
Three hours of surgery. She blew out a breath. The tiny out-of-city hospital didn’t have the specialist they needed to repair Fraser’s hand. If they even could.
However, the ER staff had been able to stabilize him and send him by ambulance to downtown Minneapolis. Meanwhile, Fredrik was life-flighted to the same hospital for surgery and recovery under the security of the local police.
She had no doubt that Gunner and a cadre of royal guards were on their way to Minnesota, having had a conversation with him on her ride to Minneapolis in the wee hours of the morning.
She couldn’t bear to tell him that she’d left Her Royal Highness Princess Imani, behind.
Frankly, she’d nearly stayed at her post. But Imani had looked at her as they packed up Fraser for his ride and said the words Pippa had ached to hear for a year.
“I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”
Pippa believed her.
It helped that Ham had agreed to stay behind and not leave her side, no matter what royal guard showed up. So Pippa had given him her gun, and her faith, and left her post.
And followed her heart.
Jake had driven her to the hospital, meeting his wife Aria in the lobby as they came in. Apparently, her boss, Lucas Maguire, a cardiothoracic surgeon, had met Fredrik’s life-flight and had taken him into surgery.
Fraser was already on the operating table under the care of a specialist that Aria had called.
“McKenna Graham is a master of reconstruction. If anyone can save his hand, it’s her,” Aria had said before she left to scrub up and observe.
Save his hand. Yes, that sentence reverberated inside Pippa.
That, and her own words to him only hours before. Faith is what holds us together. It’s our foundation when the world is shattering around us.
Please, God, save his hand. She’d said it while staring out the window as the sun rose over the skyline of Minneapolis. And then again when, as she searched for a bathroom, she found a chapel.
She wandered inside, took a chair, and sat, staring at the cross at the altar for a long time.
See us, God. See him.
She finally lit a candle and then returned to the waiting area to find Lucas there, giving a report on Fredrik. Stable. But still unresponsive.
She hoped he lived. Prayed it, really, because he held the key to the bigger picture.
She still didn’t understand why he’d kill a physicist from Lauchtenland.
Now she stood with the rest of the team—Fraser’s team had slowly arrived. Orion and his wife Jenny, and Ham’s wife Signe, and a woman named Scarlett, and even a couple of warrior types—a man named North and another named Skeet.
Ham, however, had stayed back at the Waconia hospital with Imani. And Creed.
Taking over her job as royal bodyguard.
What. Was she. Doing?
But she’d been second-guessing herself, unraveling in the parking lot—or at least feeling like it—from the moment Imani’s escape attempt went south.
Oh, she’d executed it correctly, but Fredrik had recovered fast—too fast—and grabbed poor Imani’s hair before she could run.
Nearly ripped it out of her head as he yanked her back to him.
Her scream tore out Pippa's heart. And right then, too, she got it—why her father had given his life for the king consort, Prince Edric.
Because she loved Imani. Not as a daughter, or even as a princess, but…as the person she was charged to protect. Loved her enough to surrender, in hopes that the princess might live.
But for Fraser’s courage, his act of sacrifice, they might both be dead. As it was, the shot that took out Fraser’s hand nearly took out her heart when she saw him fall.
And then there’d been the part where Imani took off running, and Pippa knew that she should follow her. Make sure she was safe.
But she couldn’t move, her gaze trained on Fraser as he fought Fredrik for his life. It took a full second for her to raise her gun.
And then she couldn’t get a decent shot, and all she could think was this isn’t a taser.
Instinct made her pull the trigger.
Instinct and fear and fury.
The shot hit Fredrik in the chest, and he nearly died right there on the pavement from a pneumothorax.
Would have, if Imani hadn’t run inside and alerted Jake and the ER.
As it was, he’d nearly died twice on the table as they repaired the shot to his lung, according to Dr. Maguire when he emerged with the report.
Whatever.
Pippa was more focused on the results of the other patient. The one who was still in surgery.
“You should sit down. You’ve been up all night,” Jake said.
Her entire body buzzed, awake. “I do better pacing.”
Jake grinned. “You’re so much like Fraser.”
Huh. Maybe she was. She sort of hoped so. And at the same time, maybe that was trouble.
Both of them, running into danger. For some reason, his voice, soft and teasing as he’d broken into his sister’s home in Como, sifted back to her. I go down, you go down.
Yes. Her eyes filled.
“C’mon,” Jake said and urged her to a chair.
She sank into it. Stared at her coffee. She gave it a sip, made a face, but it did fill her bones with something bracing. “I still can’t believe how close the princess came to being murdered.”
“But you were there. And Fraser was there. You both deserve a medal.”
She looked at him. “I’ll be lucky if I don’t get fired.”
Jake just looked at his coffee. “Listen. I know what it feels like to make mistakes. To feel like you blew it. But I have learned that God is all about second chances and happy endings.”
Huh. “I’d like that, but—” She stood up as Aria walked into the area. “How’s Fraser?”
Aria wore a pair of scrubs, her surgical hat—her dark hair tucked back inside—and a mask, which she pulled down. “He’s out of surgery. Doctor Graham will be here in a moment, but…I think there were miracles in that room today.”
A few of the team members punched the air with their fists. Jenny and Orion embraced. Pippa gave into the heat in her eyes and wiped her cheek.
Aria hugged Jake, and right then, Pippa decided she’d made the right decision.
Dr. Graham appeared a few minutes later, holding her surgical cap in one hand, a cup of coffee in the other. Mid-forties, with dark red hair braided and pulled back, she was tall and thin and wore a slight smile. “We were able to repair the damage and reset most of the bones in his hand. The others we repaired with pins. But better, I also got a good look at the nerves. They’d been damaged by his previous injury, and I was able to go in and start over. I reconstructed the connections to his fingers and even grafted in a cadaver nerve. It will take a while, and no guarantees, but I’m hoping for a satisfactory recovery.”
“So, he’ll have use of his hand again?” Pippa asked.
“With physical therapy and prayer, it’s a good hope.” She smiled at Pippa. “Are you Pippa?”
She nodded.
“He’s awake and asking for you.”
Pippa dropped her coffee into the trash and followed Dr. Graham to Fraser’s room.
He lay in the bed, his eyes closed, his hand in a cast past his elbows, wires trailing from his fingers to a machine nearby.
“It stimulates the nerves and keeps the blood flowing. It’ll speed up the healing,” Dr. Graham said. She smiled at Pippa. “He said something about a princess. Are you…”
“Yes, she is.”
She looked at Fraser, who had opened his eyes—still a little drunk on morphine, clearly.
“I—”
“She’s extremely special,” he said.
She rolled her eyes.
“Welcome to Minnesota, Your Highness,” Dr. Graham said, and grinned as she walked out.
“What are you playing at?” she said and came up to him. Slid her hand into his good one.
His hand gripped hers. “Just realizing that I…” He made a face. “I know what I said, but I don’t want you to go, Pippi. I like it when you’re around.”
She didn’t correct him, especially because his eyes twinkled.
“I agree.”
He blinked.
“I’m not going anywhere, champ.”
He made a face. “I don’t think I can protect you.”
“Maybe I protect you, tough guy. I talked with Gunner. He agrees that until we figure out what Fredrik is up to and understand the bigger picture, I need to keep Imani away from Lauchtenland.”
“Really?”
“Someone needs to stick around and watch your back, for pity’s sake.”
His smile was slow and long, and he tugged on her hand. “C’mere.”
She gave him a look.
“Please,” he said softly.
She stepped closer.
He let go of her hand and touched her hair, then cupped her cheek. “You have completely derailed me, Natasha. And I didn’t see it coming.”
Oh. She leaned down and pressed her forehead to his. “Yeah, well, sometimes people get the drop on you, even on the best of days.”
He smiled then, wrapped his hand around her neck. “Kiss me.”
“You’re a little bossy.”
“I know.” Then he pulled her to himself. His kiss was sweet, chaste and tender, and in it, she tasted the man she loved.
The man she’d traveled the world to find.
“You’re a lucky guy.”
Doc Franzen stood beside Creed’s bed and pulled the cotton cover back over his leg. “The stitches are healing well, and from the X-rays, the bone screws are set right. We’ll get you casted tomorrow, and then you can go home. But I think, with physical therapy, you’ll be back on your feet by the new year.”
Creed tried to hear him, to agree with the smile on the older man’s face, but… “Will I run again?”
Because, shoot, all he could think of—after asking if Fraser was alive—was the fact that his leg had nearly been blown off.
Okay, that was an exaggeration, but it felt like that, the way it was encased in a thick bandage, the pain that seemed to scream up his leg into his entire body.
If Imani hadn’t been sitting by his bedside when he woke up, he might have burst into tears like some eight-year-old.
Still sort of wanted to, honestly, but he refused to let himself unravel in front of her. Especially since it was probably only a matter of time before the Lauchtenland guards dragged her back to her palace.
He didn’t want her last memory of him being him blubbering. He dug deep for a smile as he waited for the doctor’s answer.
“It’s up to you. I’m not sure you’ll be running any races, but yes, I think in time you’ll be able to pick up the pace.”
He kept his smile all the way until the doc left the room.
Imani had been standing behind him and now walked over and took his hand. He couldn’t look at her, though, and put his gaze to the window, where the rain spit upon it.
His throat tightened.
“You’ll run again, Creed. Really.” She squeezed his hand.
He looked at her and resisted the urge to yank it away, to yell, maybe throw something. But she hadn’t been the one who’d…who’d done something stupid.
If only he’d listened to Fraser and stayed put, like he said. Instead, he’d tried to be a hero.
And Fraser had been shot anyway. Not at the time, but later, after the second shooter found his way to the hospital.
Imani had told him the entire story, including her own failed attempt at escape—which, to him, seemed the height of courage—up to the moment when Fraser risked his life to save her. And got his hand nearly blown off.
Wow. Now there was a hero.
He leaned his head back in the pillow and tightened his hand in Imani’s. Sighed.
“Do you want something to drink? Maybe something from the vending machine?”
Poor woman had been here for two days, meeting his every need—food, drink, channel changer, Wordler. She’d even slept on the fold-out recliner next to the bed.
Which meant her bodyguard, a royal guard flown in from Lauchtenland, was planted outside in the hallway.
Pippa the bulldog had apparently opted to stake out Fraser’s room. Now there was a lucky dog. Because although Imani had stuck around, she hadn’t tried to kiss Creed, or otherwise make a romantic move, since that night under the basketball hoop.
Clearly, coming to her senses. And now, he was a…well, he wouldn’t say cripple.
But he wanted to.
“No. I’m not hungry.”
She gave him a look. “Now you’re pouting.”
He stared at her. “I’m going to college on a scholarship. Which is now useless. My entire life has been destroyed, thank you.”
She drew in a breath. Recoiled.
“Sorry. I just—”
“No. You’re right. Your life has been completely derailed. Wrecked. And it’s because of me.” She let go of his hand. “Because I pulled you into this—”
“Imani, I didn’t—”
“No. You’re right. I…I should go—”
“Stop.”
She had already turned away, but something in his voice—he’d even surprised himself—seemed to still her.
“Don’t run.”
She turned back around, her eyes wide.
He took a breath and reached out his hand. “I shouldn’t have said that. I just meant…yes, maybe I was pouting. But listen. I get it.” He sighed. “But I really get it. Maybe I didn’t tell you, but I was a foster kid before the Marshalls took me in, and…it wasn’t easy. I wanted to run, more than once. But I kept thinking…what if I stay? What if I don’t let my fear tell me that this is going to really hurt? What if I believe that maybe this could be a good thing?”
“You nearly died because of me.”
“No. This is not your fault. None of this is your fault. I nearly died because I didn’t listen to my brother.”
“But you saved my life.”
The voice made him look up toward the door, where Fraser stood, Pippa behind him. He wore a clean pair of jeans and a short-sleeve shirt, a jacket over his shoulder, loose, and under that, a massive sling on his arm, a pad at his hip to hold it out from his body. His hand was casted, each finger individually, and it ran all the way past his elbow. Tiny wires extended from each finger.
A few scrapes still showed on his face, a cut healing, but the whiskers across his chin seemed to cover anything else.
Still, he looked rough.
“Hey,” Creed said.
“Hey, little bro,” said Fraser, and for some reason, Creed’s stupid eyes burned again. Because Fraser came in and smiled at him and walked over to the side of his bed. Then he lifted his arm. “We match.”
Creed laughed and then, oh no, his laughter dissolved to something of sobs. Shoot—but he couldn’t seem to stop it.
Fraser sat down on the bed. “Aw, kid. You’re going to be okay.”
Creed swiped his hand across his face. “No, I mean—yeah, maybe, whatever, but—you nearly died. And it’s because—”
“Are you serious right now?” Fraser palmed Creed’s chest. “Because you saved my life. If you hadn’t come outside, then the second shooter would have shot me in the back. As it was, you saw him, yelled—you saved our lives, Creed.”
The pressure of his hand on Creed’s chest, the warmth sank right through him.
“But that’s what brothers do, right?”
Creed nodded, wordless.
Fraser patted him on the chest, then got up. “So guess what? We do get to keep them.”
He blinked at him for a second, a long second, and then, “Wait—what?”
Fraser turned and looked at Pippa and then Imani. “They’re staying. At least until we figure out what’s happening in Lauchtenland.”
Creed met Pippa’s gaze. “Really?”
“Somebody needs to look after you two. You’re pitiful.” But she smiled.
Imani took his hand. “I guess I’m not going anywhere.”
And then she leaned down and kissed his cheek.
Making him the luckiest guy on the planet.
And then Fraser winked at him. “Anyone want a pizza?”
“You can cook?”
“I’d hardly call this cooking,” Pippa said, setting down the waffles. “It’s fried batter.”
Whatever. Just seeing her move around his kitchen made Fraser smile. Even if she did cut up his food.
More, he’d started to get feeling in his pinky finger. More than the needles and stings. Real feeling, and he couldn’t stop rubbing the tip of his finger where it protruded from his cast.
A real miracle.
Pippa noticed as she sat down, because she reached over and wrapped her fingers around the pinky. “It’s working.”
“It is indeed working.”
It’s working. Last night, as he’d lain in bed in the quietness of his room, he’d realized…
This was enough.
Weirdly, perfectly, enough. To be alive, to wake up in the morning and find Pippa still here, to watch Creed mend, smile, laugh as he and Imani played video games.
To see Imani safe and starting to unwind out of her cocoon.
To breathe in and out and watch the sun rise and set behind the drying vines, to pet Sherlock in front of the flickering fire in the outside hearth. Or watch his marshmallow brown as Pippa sat across from him, trying not to burn hers.
To hear her stories of Lauchtenland, her childhood, and see in his mind’s eye a girl with long dark braids, and to share his own stories of a wild and perfect childhood on the Marshall farm.
