Come Hell or High Water - Striker x Reader (18+)

62. Hell or High Water

Author's Note: This chapter contains content that may be troubling for some readers. Please proceed with caution.

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Fresh tears pricked my eyes, and my mind reeled as I watched the door to my room in anticipation, waiting for it to open. I clutched my white bedsheets to my chest, my stomach rolling from both my pain and my anxiety.

What did I do? I repeated over and over again in my head. It was the only coherent thought my brain could conjure. I brought a hand to my face, wiping my misty eyes with the heel of my palm before laying my hand over my flushed cheek.

The door eventually opened to reveal Stolas, a rather frustrated expression on his face, and my chest tightened when he closed the door behind him. I raised the head of my bed and said quietly, "Where'd Striker go?"

A frown crossed Stolas' face as he approached the bed and laid his hand over mine. "He . . . stepped outside for some fresh air."

I furrowed my brows, looking up at him in confusion. "Was it because of my dressing change? I — I told him he didn't have to look. . ."

Stolas shook his head and gave my hand a gentle squeeze. "No, my dear," he said softly. "He . . . I think he just needs some time to process things."

My eyes fell to the sheets still bunched up in my balled fist, and I sniffled, attempting to ward off the urge to cry again. "I know he feels guilty — it's written all over his face. But . . . I hate seeing him like that."

"I know, my dear." Stolas spoke with sincerity, but I could hear the resentment in his voice — I could still see how much he hated Striker.

Stolas pulled up a chair and sat at my bedside, holding my hand and cooing soft reassurances like he'd done so often over the past month or so. He talked about anything and everything — his daughter, the last book he'd read, his "love life" — and I listened, reclining back in my bed and doing my best to relax.

"Octavia asked about you this morning," he said at one point. "She was wondering how you were doing."

I blinked. "Really? I didn't think she really liked me that much."

He smiled sheepishly. "Well, I suppose she may have had a change of heart lately." He looked down at our hands clasped together. "I had told her what happened that night — about how you saved my life. . ."

I pursed my lips for a moment, then said, "So, what did you tell her? This morning, I mean."

"That you had surgery yesterday and were still recovering," he replied. "I didn't want to overwhelm her with details, so I simply said you had developed a severe infection."

"Yeah, that's about as simple an explanation as you can get," I remarked, a small grin tugging at my lips. "I'm pretty sure she would've looked at you funny if you told her I had an incision and drainage of a peritoneal abscess that caused a bout of severe peritonitis and septicemia."

Stolas chuckled. "My dear, I didn't understand a word of that — and I highly doubt Via would either."

I giggled, flinching after the laughter sent a sharp pain through my stomach. "Oh, shit — okay, nothing else funny. Laughing hurts like hell."

"Ah, of course," he quipped in a playful tone. "We must remain serious at all times. Joking is no laughing matter!"

His banter caused me to laugh a little harder, and I brought my free hand to my stomach when the pain grew. But I smiled through the pain, taking a deep breath and saying to him, "You are such a dad, y'know that?"