*Isabella's POV*
With that, I hugged him. I just fucking wrapped my arms around his stiff, rigid body, pulling him against me. He felt like a statue carved from ice and guilt. "You don't fucking deserve it," I whispered into his chest, my voice muffled by his shirt. "But I got you. I'm here. You did nothing wrong. It's all him." I knew it wasn't that simple, nothing ever was with them, but it was what he needed to hear right now.
He sagged against me, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. "Thank you, Isabella," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I'd be nothing without you."
"Don't even say that," I said, pulling back slightly to look at him. My mind was already racing, connecting the dots that didn't quite add up. "Besides, do you know who shot him? It's not like we know if it's related to the club. Why do I get the feeling there's something you're not telling me?" I sighed, the question hanging in the sterile air between us.
"I was with you the whole time, so I don't know anything else," he said, his gaze shifting away from mine for a fraction of a second. "But of course it's linked to the club."
"Maybe," I shrugged, but I could tell there was more. So much fucking more than they were letting on.
Just then, the door to Jacob's room opened and the nurse came out, a small, tired smile on her face. "Mr. Lancaster is okay. I checked his vital signs and gave him a painkiller," she said. "The doctor will come check up on him later." She added.
"Can we see him?" I asked nervously.
"Yes, but he'll be in and out of consciousness due to the medicine, so you best let him rest," she said.
"Thank you," I said, and she nodded and walked away, her squeaking shoes echoing down the hall.
"Shall we?" Damien said, his voice quiet.
I turned to him, my expression hardening. "You will behave in there," I said, my voice low and deadly serious. "No matter how much you want to yell at him, you will swallow your fucking words. Because if I see the slightest snarky comment coming out of your mouth, I will fly you back to Raleigh faster than a bolt of lightning can hit a tree."
Damien didn't say anything. He just looked at me, his eyes wide, and gave a slow, nod. I knew he would listen. I knew he understood. And with that, we entered the room once more.
"How are you feeling?" I asked, my voice soft as I settled into the hard, uncomfortable chair beside Jacob's bed. I reached out and took his hand, needing the physical confirmation that he was warm, alive.
"Like someone shot me," Jacob said, a ghost of his usual cocky grin playing on his lips.
I couldn't help it; a small, laugh escaped me. "Just a heads up," I teased, squeezing his hand gently, "someone did shoot you."
He let out a weak chuckle, which quickly turned into a sharp wince. "Fuck, don't make me laugh," he gasped, his free hand moving towards his bandaged shoulder. "It hurts like a bitch."
Before I could respond, Damien's voice cut through the quiet from his position by the wall. "Did you get a glimpse of who they were?" he asked, his tone all business.
"Damien!" I snapped, whipping my head around to glare at him. "Not now."
Jacob just sighed, his eyes closed. "I'm sure they already have him," he said, his voice weary. "They had witnesses and all. It was right in the fucking open."
We were all quiet for a beat of silence, the only sound was the steady beep of a machine monitoring Jacob's heart rate. The weight of everything that had happened in the last few hours settled over us, heavy and suffocating.
"I need sleep," Jacob mumbled, his words starting to slur. "What time is it?"
"Early hours of the morning," I said softly.
"Go get some sleep too, sweetheart," he said, his eyes fluttering open to look at me, his gaze full of a gentle concern that made my heart ache.
"Let's go, Isabella," Damien said, his voice gentle now. "We'll come back later this afternoon."
"I want to stay with him," I protested, my grip tightening on Jacob's hand.
"I understand that, but it's been a long, shitty night," Damien said. "You'll pass out if you stay here."
"Yep, listen to Damien, please," Jacob added, his voice fading. "Go get some sleep. I'll be fine here."
I finally relented, nodding slowly. I leaned in and planted a soft kiss on his warm cheek. "We'll be back soon," I whispered. With one last look at his tired face, I let go of his hand and stood up, following Damien out of the room.
The drive to the hotel was a silent, blurry haze. I don't even remember getting out of the car. All I knew was the bone-deep exhaustion that had settled into every fucking cell of my body, a weariness that went beyond just being tired. We checked into the same hotel we stayed at the first time we were in New York this time, though, things were different. We shared the hotel suite.
The door clicked shut behind us, and the opulent quiet of the room felt like a physical weight. I couldn't even keep my eyes open long enough to appreciate the view or the fancy furniture. My mind was a complete blank.
I stumbled towards the bed, my movements clumsy and slow. I couldn't be bothered with pyjamas or even brushing my teeth. I just stripped off my clothes, letting them fall in a heap on the floor, and slid under the cool, crisp covers. The sheets felt like heaven against my skin.
A moment later, the mattress dipped beside me. Damien did the same, his movements just as weary. He didn't say a word, and neither did I. There was nothing left to say. In the darkness, I found myself shifting, my body seeking his on its own accord.
I ended up tangled between his arms, his warmth a solid, reassuring presence against my back. It wasn't about sex or passion; it was about comfort, about finding a moment of peace in the middle of a fucking nightmare. We drifted off to sleep in less than a second, two lost souls clinging to each other in the dark.