Blow A Kiss, Fire A Gun | TH

Chapter eighteen

Tom was never a fan of hospitals. He'd been in one numerous times from being beaten, bullet wounds, standoffs with rival mobs and once or twice just for being careless but now he wasn't the one in the bed. Now you lay under the white sheets, looking completely and utterly lifeless, the slow beating of the monitor was the only thing that actually assured him that you were still alive.

It had been a tough night. Tom had refused to sit down for a long few hours and even when he finally took a seat, he refused to close his eyes. He demanded updates from the nurses every hour, much to their annoyance. The bloodied suit he'd been wearing had ultimately been replaced with a hoodie and jeans thanks to his mother as well as finding out through Sam that Nick had been obtained at the warehouse.

It was difficult to get him to change, he didn't even want to leave the waiting room but Nikki had assured him that the last thing you'd want to see when you woke up was him, covered in blood.

The moment they wheeled you into the recovery room, Tom took your hand into his, rubbing a thumb over the skin and pressing light kisses to your knuckles. He even refused to let go when they needed to do certain tests. It was safe to say that Tom wanted to be there when you opened your eyes, though he feared your reaction wouldn't be at all pleasant.

You were covered in bruises, cuts and scratches from head to toe. Some even covered by bandages and gauze while Tom had escaped with nothing, not a scratch on him and a part of him-, no, a huge part of him felt guilty, that he could've and should've done more but in the moment he was panicked, he left you and took far too long to reach you.

He rested his head on the white sheets, rubbing soft circles over your bare hand. Your skin was cold-, so fucking cold and the room stunk of detergent, had he mentioned yet how much he hated hospitals.

Seven hours. It was seven hours of walking around the halls, running on cold coffee and pressing gentle kisses to your hand before you finally began to stir, groaning and blinking repeatedly when your eyes hit the blinding white that was the hospital room.

Tom was almost asleep, drifting in and out of consciousness when he felt you stir. At first, he thought that maybe it was his mother taking a seat on the edge of the bed or Paddy jumping up to try and wake you again but when he felt someone-, you, when he felt you squeeze his hand his eyes shot open.

"Hey sleepyhead," he mumbled the words, voice still husky and laced with sleep. "You're up."

You whimper, his words were barely audible considering a large amount of pain you were currently in. It came from everywhere. The area above your chest was thumping, waves of pain shooting through you and you could practically feel where someone's fingers had wrapped around your neck, you still felt suffocated.

"Hurts." Your voice was shaky and you blinked back tears, confusion washed over you. "It hurts."

"I know, take it easy babydoll." He inched closer, a small smile forming because oh god, you were alive. You had survived what would possibly go down as the worst night in his books.

You looked around the hospital room, noticing the bundle of flowers and the teddy that sat on the side table. "I-I don't know what happened,"

"What do you remember princess?" Tom handed you a small cup of water and carefully, you drunk the contents. The water was almost icy cold and felt heavenly sliding down your throat.

You took a deep breath, craning your neck despite the pain to look over at Tom who looked utterly exhausted, his eyes red and puffy like he'd been crying and his hair was fluffed, curls tossed all over the place.

"Nick, I remember Nick." You grimaced at the memories, shaky hand clasping Toms.

"Princess, you don't need to go any further for now. Just let yourself recover first." Tom suggested. But as ever, you were stubborn.