You are Dolores Cannava, a young Italian-American nurse desperate to make her own way in the world and break free of her dysfunctional mafia-connected family and traumatic past. Elvis Presley is just returning home from his two-year stint in the Arm...
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TW: Please scroll to the end only if you need them--I don't want to spoil anything for those who hate spoilers!
Broken Glass Chapter 10
Shit shit shit shit, Elvis chants in his head as you vomit violently onto the pavement, go grey as a ghost, and your terrified eyes roll back into your head. His lean arms wrap around you quickly when you collapse, keeping you from falling into your own sick or hitting your head on the ground.
"Shit," he curses, out loud this time, following your center of gravity and scooping you up into his arms. "Lori! Come on, darlin', wake up f'me," he pleads softly.
Your body seems awfully tiny and much too light for someone who's presence he can never truly ignore, even when he wants to. His heart slams in his chest, his blood already up from his temper, though it fizzled out the moment you started shivering and sobbing and apologizing like he was sending you to the gallows. The look of resigned fear on your face was enough to give him nightmares and that was before you'd lost consciousness.
He is no stranger to fainting women, it being a staple of his fame since almost the beginning. While he never could quite understand why he of all people caused such a reaction in young ladies, he was always as calm and gentle as he could be. It was his fault they got overexcited, after all—they couldn't control it just as much as he couldn't.
But this was different.
You certainly hadn't passed out because you were overcome by the joy of his presence. Instead, you look like death, and he's not remotely calm about it.
"What the hell happened? What'd you do to her?" Gene asks accusatorily, running up behind him, followed by the rest of the guys in various states of concern.
"What'd I do...? Shut yer damn mouth 'fore ya catch flies, ya idiot, and go call the doctor," Elvis huffs back, hoisting you up into his arms, swinging around, and hightailing it towards the house.
The fear that lances through him at your pallor and lifelessness hits like a knife. The seed of anger he's held on to so tightly this last week withers at the thought he's done real damage here.
This is my fault.
He's not exactly sure how but he knows. He only had to take one look at your face when he called you out to understand you hadn't meant to hurt him and your past scared you enough to risk the lie. Stupidly, he'd wanted the satisfaction of confronting your wrongdoing, for you to have a smidge of the hurt he was feeling.
But he never wanted this.
How could he have missed something was wrong? You are so damn strong, meeting every challenge thrown your way that he never considered you might be unwell. Selfish idiot, he chastises himself.
He comes close to kicking down the door to his home, but Charlie scoots around him fast enough to open it before he resorts to property damage.
"Come on, Little Bird, wake up for me," he murmurs softly as he oh so gently sets you on the long sofa. He hates the boneless way you settle, eyes closed and completely unconscious. Nerves shudder down his spine and he doesn't bother to hide them.
