Page 46 of Wicked Promises

I gasp, but I can’t seem to get any air. Black spots flash in front of my vision.

—what did you do, Margo?—

This wouldn’t the first time you destroyed a family.

“Breathe, honey,” Lenora says.

And then Robert is on his knees in front of me, his hands on my cheeks.

“With me, now,” he says. “In and out.”

“You shouldn’t be out of bed.” Lenora strokes his hair back. Her other hand is on my shoulder.

I take a moment to appreciate them both.

They’re grounding.

“Margo,” Robert says firmly. “We’re not sending you away. Len said you’re staying with the Blacks until I’m well enough to go home. It should be any day now, right?”

He sucks in a noisy breath, holds it, then blows it out.

I mimic him, and cool, sweet air rushes back into my lungs. We keep going until my heart has slowed. My hands shake, but I mask it by smoothing out my pants.

“We’re not giving you up,” he repeats. He uses the arm of the chair to lift himself off the floor. He makes it almost all the way straight before he doubles over.

“Robert!” Lenora yells, grabbing his arm. “What’s wrong?”

“My chest is on fire.” He coughs into his hand, then grimaces at it. One of the monitors behind his bed starts beeping.

I hadn’t realized he was still connected to them.

A second later, a nurse rushes into the room. “Robert, what are you doing out of bed?”

She guides him back into it, making sure everything is in place. The monitor is still going crazy. He rubs at his chest, shaking his head. He coughs again, and blood sprays across his blankets.

The nurse hits a button at the head of his bed while Lenora and I watch in horror. The air seems to be sucked from the room. His face goes deathly pale, and his eyes roll back a moment before he seems to go unconscious.

A team pours into the room, and Lenora and I are shuffled back against the window.

Robert jerks, surrounded by nurses, and they quickly flatten the bed.

“Get them out of here,” someone orders.

A nurse separates and herds us out, down the hall. I clutch at Lenora’s hand.

“What’s happening?” she demands.

“Looks like a complication with his chest tube,” the nurse explains. “Please wait here, I’ll be right back with more information.”

She leaves us in a waiting room.

Lenora drops into a chair and covers her face with her hands. “Death can’t take him, too.”

Oh God.

Why is it only just now occurring to me that her daughter died in a car accident?

I slip my arm through hers, drawing her hands away from her head. Slowly, as if I not to frighten her, I thread my fingers through hers.