Wicked Restless

“You know me—flair for the dramatic,” he says, swallowing hard.

“Andrew, I’m going to work on removing the tube in your nose, and it should make it a little easier to talk. But I’m going to need you to lie still and just be patient for a few minutes, okay?” the doctor says.

Andrew nods, and I squeeze his hand again, threading my fingers tightly with his. I roll his hand over in mine, opening his palm, and with the tip of my finger, I write I love you again and again. Andrew keeps his promise to the doctor, and we don’t talk for almost an hour while they work around him, eventually removing many of the monitors and tubes attached to his body. My eyes never leave his the entire time, and even though he can’t speak, I see the love in his eyes for me.

Eventually, the room clears, and for a small window of time, Andrew and I are alone.

“I didn’t fight, Emma,” he whispers, his voice still raw. I lay my head flat on his chest, the welcome stroke of his hand over my head and through my hair keeping time with the rhythm of his heart as I watch the lines zigzag up and down on the monitor.

“I know. Thank you,” I weep against his chest. His hand stills as he leans forward as much as he can, his lips finding my head.

“That man…he would have found me eventually,” he says, and I lift my head to look at him, my brow pinched.

“They said it was some bookie or something, and he thought you owed him money?” I stare deep into Andrew’s eyes, and his mouth falls into a peaceful line.

“It was my demon,” he says, rolling his arm over and motioning to the deep burn scar on his wrist. “He wanted to torture me one last time, I guess.”

My eyes hover over his scar, and I pull his arm to my lips, pressing a soft kiss over the round mark, wanting to hide it all with my love. I rest my head back against him, knowing any moment his family will be back to break up our small bubble. They miss him too, but I’m selfish.

“Someone else took care of your demon for you,” I sigh. “Owen can fill you in more, but I guess the investigators figured out where he lived, and when they got to his house to question him, they found him in the living room dead from a gunshot wound.”

Andrew’s chest pauses, and I tilt my head up to look at him. I don’t like it when he’s not breathing. Not breathing…it makes me nervous.

“Do they know who?” he asks.

I shake my head no and return my focus to the feel of his fingers in mine. Andrew does the same, and we both lay silently, our hands making long, methodic strokes along each other’s skin. I can never get enough of the feel of him—life beating through his body, love pumping through his veins.

“My brother thinks you’re cute,” he teases after several minutes of quiet. I smile against him, turning my head just enough to press a kiss over his heart. “I mean, I’d understand if you want to jump ship and get on Team Owen. You could probably take Kensi in a fight.”

“I like this Harper,” I say, pulling my legs up onto his bed with me so I can lie next to him and snuggle in closer. Andrew leans his foot to the side, tapping his toe into the tip of my shoe. It makes me giggle.

“You always did have a thing for my shoes,” he jokes.

I shove him lightly, then bury my face against his arm.

“Not true,” I say, bringing my eyes to his, blushing and glancing to the side of his face. “It’s the holes in your ears. I told you I liked them.”

He laughs, moving his hand up to feel the small plastic circle tucked in his ear. The hospital took the metal gauges out, so Owen brought him new ones.

“Yeah, I’m a pretty sexy beast,” he says, laughing and immediately wincing from the pain.

The chatter outside his door starts to build, and I know our time alone is done. There’s so much I want to say, so many kisses I need to give and embraces that I need to savor. But I guess I have time now. Andrew Harper was a gift, a friend when I was scared and alone, a savior when I almost lost everything, and the love of my life that I got lucky enough to find a second time. He’s all mine. And I’m his. And I am never letting go again.

His room fills with his family and Trent, Owen quickly putting a phone in his hand so he can talk to Kensi. Andrew tends to them all, hugging and talking and smiling for them—giving them light and hope—giving them the good parts. But he never lets go of my hand. And just when I think he’s losing his grip, starting to move his attention from me to the other amazing and deserving people in his life, he turns my hand to the side, smoothing it flat and writing in it a letter at a time.