How To Own A Mafia Boss

5.

I wake up the next morning with a cramp on my neck, and after a quick look at my wristwatch, the realization I have to get to the bakery in the next ten minutes.
I jerk and hurriedly stand up, collecting my bag, and dashing out of the door. I'm almost at the elevator when I remember that my jacket is still in the room. I feel little pinpricks of frustration jab at my throat and run back to the room. Six minutes more till our customers start showing up, and the twins must have been trying to reach me.
The time is 6:54 A.M. when I should have been out almost an hour ago for god's sake.
I stop right in my tracks.
He's looking right at the door where I'm at, and even from my position, I can tell his eyes are a translucent silver color. His lips are pale and chapped, and the skin around his eyes is blue. But he's sitting up, and he's looking at me.
Holy hell, he's awake. I should alert someone.
But my brain is sluggish. All it's doing is repeating to me that he's awake, he's awake, a week and two days and he's awake.
"Your alarm was really loud," he says after we've stared at each other for what seems like hours. I can't tell by how raspy his voice is, but he sounds like he's trying to be cautious. Maybe I'm creeping him out by staring at him like this.
If he heard my alarm, then he must have been awake for at least an hour. How did that escape my notice? Why didn't he wake me? Why didn't—shouldn't the hospital know when their patients spontaneously come out from short-term comas? So that they can run MRI scans and s*it, oh my god oh my god he's awake.
The relief that courses through me at this moment is too crippling for words, and I'm staring at the man I rescued, unable to look away. He's staring right back. Stainless steel eyes are peering from beneath blond lashes, and he seems to be gauging, waiting for my next move.
He's gorgeous. Holy hell. He's lost his color, he's a little gaunt and probably dehydrated. But dear God, he's beautiful.
I finally get a hold of myself and go to the beeper near the bed, then hit on it. A voice comes from the machine. "AJ, the doctor is on his way. Is there a problem?"
"He's awake."
I hear a sharp intake of breath break through the detached calm. "Okay."
Seconds later, a barrage of doctors and nurses begin to poke and prod, taking his vitals and asking him questions.
I don't move for a long time because I want to hear him speak again. When he finally does with a voice raspy from disuse, a simple 'I don't remember' to the millions of questions, I come undone.
***
There's not much excitement in a small town and gossip spreads like wildfire, so I'm surprised when the hospital doesn't immediately become full at the news that the stranger is awake. Though I shouldn't be. Dr. Willis had hinted that this would be kept under wraps for the safety of the stranger. It still feels strange to have this moment without the support system I've come to rely on from Beachbay, so I sit stiffly outside his room, waiting for any kind of feedback.
At least, till Simone and the twins do show up. We can't afford to have a day of no profit right now, but I'm grateful for their presence. It somehow tethers me and gives me the strength not to break down.
They gather around me, Simone with tears in her eyes that she'll pin on pregnancy hormones if I call her out on it. So I look at the twins instead, whose eyes are also suspiciously wet.
"You're not crying right now, are you?"
DeAndre's head goes high. "Simone infected us with her pregnancy hormones."
Then and there, I know everything will be alright. I have family around me now. I won't break or crumble.
"We'll probably have to keep him with us, won't we?"
My head snaps up at DeBraun, because I honestly hadn't thought about that. Oh, h*ll, I'll have to house, feed, and clothe him, won't I?
"AJ?" DeBraun calls again.
"Of course. He'll stay with us till he gets better if there's no other option."
This answer seems to satisfy them, as if now that I'm angling for his survival, so are they. "We'll go get tea from downstairs." And they disappear, chattering loudly about whatever.
"You're a good woman," Simone says suddenly, a fierce amount of feeling in the words. When I don't reply for a while, she continues, "You know that, right? You didn't have to take me in. You didn't have to jump into the creek to save that man. And you definitely don't have to take him in, either. But you've done and will do all those."
I swallow awkwardly. "Is this your turnaround way of thanking me?"
She laughs. "And you're terrible with compliments, too."
It's silent for a few moments. "The twins were right. There'll be nowhere else for him to stay in the meantime and recover. Not till the Police can find his family, at least."
Simone smiles softly. "You know that's not the truth. You just won't let him stay elsewhere."
I realize she's right.
Am I being stupid? I can't handle one more mouth to feed for God's sake. I have no money to make the much-needed repairs at Deónne's. I have no money to pay back a load of debt Quentin's treachery has left on my head.
Yet, here I am, slowly getting comfortable in the knowledge that I'm not going to let him go anywhere else. Not if I have a say in this. I push my head into my palms. "Oh, Simone. I think I have a savior complex."
She doesn't touch me, but her next words feel like a caress. "I think you just have a f*cking heart of gold. And that my child and I are lucky we get to experience it."