Angels, Pop Stars, and...More Spies? Oh My!

Chapter 8

Chapter 8

I sat up in bed, cringing when my wing moved. Joshua sat in a chair next to the bed, watching me in silence. I caught his gaze. Forcing a small smile for his benefit, the nurse and the doctor exchanged a glance. Don't ask me how, but in some way they were able to fix my wing all in one night. Being all ligaments and tissue, it wasn't a major injury. The main thing that was concerning, according to them, was my bleeding. President McGallen, after Joshua shared the story about last night's events, saved my life. Stopping the bleeding as much as he could and pulling the bullet out, he was my savior. Without him, well, I would be dead. Angel wings, at least along the curve of the wing, are full of ligaments, tissue, and important blood vessels. In an indirect way, getting shot in the wing is fatal for any Nephilim, adult or child.

"Well, Miss Rhinehart, I have some good news for you. At the rate you're healing, you should be able to leave this afternoon. Naturally, I suggest you stay off that wing for a few days. No flying. But, at least once a day, please stretch your wings. Only once should suffice, but you may do more if you wish."

My doctor, a fifty something year old man with graying black hair and soft brown eyes, said. I smiled, nodding. Joshua's hand slipped into mine where it sat on top of the bed, squeezing it. I looked over at him, smiling. He smiled back, but something flickered in his steely gray eyes. I raised an eyebrow, but his eyes trailed to my injured wing. Around the wound was bloodied gauze. The nurse at the end of my bed, checking my heart rate on the machine beeping next to me, watched our little exchange and grinned.

"Ember, why is it always the hospital?" Joshua asked, smiling a slight smile.

I shrugged. He stood up, leaning forward to press a quick kiss to my lips. I sighed, my smile dropping as I glanced over at the doctor. He was preparing to take off my bandages, slipping on baby blue latex gloves. I took a deep breath and stared at my lap, where I clasped my hands tightly. Joshua hates seeing blood. He admitted to me, quite embarrassed, that he can tolerate blood. He'll never be a doctor. Scratch that off his list of possible career paths. Turning around to face the window, which overlooked the busy Los Angeles freeway, he took a deep breath and placed his hands on his hips. I stared at his back, unsure of where else to look. Honestly, I don't want to see my injury one bit. Even if it is a minor one. I did hit my head last night, but the doctor said I didn't have a concussion. Just a giant lump under my hair, which I've become so self-conscious of. Don't ask me why.

"Okay, Miss Rhinehart, I'm just going to remove your bandages and then you should be able to dress and check out." my doctor's voice cut through my thoughts.

I turned to look at him, nodding and plastering on another small smile. He smiled back, clearing his throat before peeling off the bandage and gauze. It was a quick rip and...Oh My God! It's tiny! My eyes grew wide in shock. The only evidence left of being shot was a tiny scratch barely visible under the once again pearly white feathers of my wings. My jaw dropped. Okay, that is nothing. The doctor disposed of the gauze and bandage, along with his gloves, and cleared his throat.

"Surprised?" he asked.

I nodded, looking over to him. Joshua still stood by the window. His posture wasn't as relaxed as usual. I thanked the doctor for fixing my wing and he and the nurse left. I glanced over to my boyfriend, taking in his rigid posture. Something's wrong. He's never this tense. Ever since he arrived this morning, while Ariana and her parents went to her magazine photo shoot, he's barely said anything. Something's...off.

"Joshua, what's wrong? And don't say nothing. I can see that you're upset about something." I said, my voice the only sound besides the beeping heart monitor in the room.

Due to my "special circumstance" (hello, Nephilim with angel wings), the hospital gave me a private room. That and the fact that when I came in, the President of the United States was with me. Garret and Addy are on a mission in some African country, according to Jonathan. They'll be gone for the next three weeks. Joshua turned back around and I saw the look on his face. Anger.

"Ember, I should've gone with you! I could've protected you!" he said in a husky tone, throwing himself into the chair next to my bed.

Pushing the covers aside and folding my wings in, which only hurt a small bit, I retrieved the fresh clothes Joshua brought this morning. Slipping out of my hospital gown, I dropped it onto the bed. Joshua watched me, but his eyes were far away in thought...or at least I thought they were until the ghost of a smile crossed his lips. I shook my head, smiling.

"What? It's not nothing I haven't already seen." Joshua mumbled at an attempt at humor.

I chuckled, tugging on the black yoga pants he brought for me. Of course, it was the one pair I own that he says my butt looks good in. Note to self: never have Joshua pack for you. Ever. Indeed, when I glanced over my shoulder at him, he was staring at my butt. Tugging the lime green Nike shirt he brought for me (my running shirt), I swayed my hips slightly. He laughed half-heartedly. I turned back around and sat down in his lap, curling into his warm body. He wrapped his arms around me, allowing my legs to stretch out to the floor. I kissed the underside of his jaw.

"I'm serious, Ember, I could've protected you."

I shook my head, sitting up in his lap and meeting his gaze. Placing my hands on his shoulders, I smiled.

"Joshua, I know you think this is your fault but it's not. It's mine. I decided to go flying when I did. I don't want to hear yourself blame you again, okay?"

Joshua's hands sat at my waist, his index finger tracing little circles on my lower back. I sighed but Joshua nodded. I smile again, wrapping my arms around his neck and kissing him sweetly. What is it with kissing Joshua and hospitals? Seriously. First my concussion (which was such a long time ago) and now this time. Jeez.