brought in magazines, the sort he normally hated, filled with celebrity news and nothing much more. It was all fluff, not news at all, because the news was filled with the tragedy in Chicago. As the days passed, more and more was divulged about the man who was guilty of the violence. His past was analyzed, dissected, and exposed, looking for reasons behind his atrocious act. He wasn’t a religious extremist or a terrorist in the modern sense. Rather, it appeared he was just a man who lost his job and spiraled downward into an abyss of bitterness and hate.
Sebastian could care less about all that. He refused to give time to someone who didn’t deserve for his name to be immortalized. Regardless of his troubles, there was no excuse, no possible reason to explain or justify what he’d done to the forty-three innocent people who’d been killed while going about their day.
“You’ll make me famous.”
The words whispered through Sebastian’s mind, bringing a chill up his back despite the overheated room. They were the words the shooter uttered just before aiming his gun toward Madeleine in some crazed bid for notoriety.
What a sack of shit.
Shaking off his black thoughts, Sebastian gave Madeleine his full attention.
Even in the hospital, injured and fragile, she was lovely.
The sun caught the myriad colors in her hair, highlighting the vivid oranges among the darker reds. It was a living mass of color, coiling down her back into riotous waves.
His hand twitched, itching to touch the springy curls. They would circle his fingers, ensnaring him in their soft vibrancy. Abruptly, he realized what he was thinking and stood up, tucking both hands into the front pockets of his trousers.
He had no business fantasizing about Madeleine—her hair or any of the other hundred gorgeous parts of her. She was vulnerable and grieving and his self-appointed job was to protect her from any further harm.
Pacing across the room, he came to a decision. He returned to face her.
“This isn’t working.” She continued to stare out the window, unresponsive. “Not for me, but especially not for you, Madeleine.” At the sound of her name, she blinked, which gave him all the encouragement he needed. “You can’t stay here, you know. You’re overdue to be discharged.”
No response.
“Since the bombing, the hospital is overcrowded. You’re taking up a room, and other patients need it more than you.”
That brought her head swinging around. It was the first real response he’d seen from her since that first night. He pressed his advantage, refusing to allow her to recede from him again.
“I have nowhere to go.” Her voice was weak. Rusty.
“You do. I want to take you back to England with me.” There. The words he’d battled from saying were out. When the thought first occurred to him, he’d dismissed it. As the hours and days passed since, he’d come to accept the idea. Embraced it as the best course of action.
She stared blankly. He allowed the suggestion to rest in the space between them and hopefully take root in her as it had him.
Instead, she turned back to the window. There was no view to speak of, so she stared at the sky and nothing else.
Sebastian wasn’t having it. Reaching over, he pulled her hands apart from each other, noticing with some surprise how tight her grip was. Taking one hand in his, he tugged, but her gaze stayed resolutely fixed on something outside the window.
“Madeleine.” Her hand shifted in his, restless. “I just want you to think about it. I have things to take care of in the meantime. While I’d like for you to come with me, the fact is that I’ll need to be leaving soon regardless.” He heard her breath catch and nearly relented. But it was imperative she snapped out of this fog. Steeling himself, he continued. “And you’ll need to be moving on as well. I’d guess they’ll allow you two more days here, at most.”
At that, she turned to him, her
Sebastian could care less about all that. He refused to give time to someone who didn’t deserve for his name to be immortalized. Regardless of his troubles, there was no excuse, no possible reason to explain or justify what he’d done to the forty-three innocent people who’d been killed while going about their day.
“You’ll make me famous.”
The words whispered through Sebastian’s mind, bringing a chill up his back despite the overheated room. They were the words the shooter uttered just before aiming his gun toward Madeleine in some crazed bid for notoriety.
What a sack of shit.
Shaking off his black thoughts, Sebastian gave Madeleine his full attention.
Even in the hospital, injured and fragile, she was lovely.
The sun caught the myriad colors in her hair, highlighting the vivid oranges among the darker reds. It was a living mass of color, coiling down her back into riotous waves.
His hand twitched, itching to touch the springy curls. They would circle his fingers, ensnaring him in their soft vibrancy. Abruptly, he realized what he was thinking and stood up, tucking both hands into the front pockets of his trousers.
He had no business fantasizing about Madeleine—her hair or any of the other hundred gorgeous parts of her. She was vulnerable and grieving and his self-appointed job was to protect her from any further harm.
Pacing across the room, he came to a decision. He returned to face her.
“This isn’t working.” She continued to stare out the window, unresponsive. “Not for me, but especially not for you, Madeleine.” At the sound of her name, she blinked, which gave him all the encouragement he needed. “You can’t stay here, you know. You’re overdue to be discharged.”
No response.
“Since the bombing, the hospital is overcrowded. You’re taking up a room, and other patients need it more than you.”
That brought her head swinging around. It was the first real response he’d seen from her since that first night. He pressed his advantage, refusing to allow her to recede from him again.
“I have nowhere to go.” Her voice was weak. Rusty.
“You do. I want to take you back to England with me.” There. The words he’d battled from saying were out. When the thought first occurred to him, he’d dismissed it. As the hours and days passed since, he’d come to accept the idea. Embraced it as the best course of action.
She stared blankly. He allowed the suggestion to rest in the space between them and hopefully take root in her as it had him.
Instead, she turned back to the window. There was no view to speak of, so she stared at the sky and nothing else.
Sebastian wasn’t having it. Reaching over, he pulled her hands apart from each other, noticing with some surprise how tight her grip was. Taking one hand in his, he tugged, but her gaze stayed resolutely fixed on something outside the window.
“Madeleine.” Her hand shifted in his, restless. “I just want you to think about it. I have things to take care of in the meantime. While I’d like for you to come with me, the fact is that I’ll need to be leaving soon regardless.” He heard her breath catch and nearly relented. But it was imperative she snapped out of this fog. Steeling himself, he continued. “And you’ll need to be moving on as well. I’d guess they’ll allow you two more days here, at most.”
At that, she turned to him, her
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