The End - Blackbird book 7

5. the proper words

Brock would've grabbed a quick bite and headed back to the hospital. Instead, he forced himself to take the time for a good dinner and an even better shower. Gillian was fine, and she was asleep. No matter the cold hole in his belly at being away from her, he knew he wasn't needed at her bedside.

Not exactly true, he thought as he rubbed his face under the warm rain. He recalled the difference of knowing her always around when he was committed in Portland, compared to the long, hollow days committed in DC.

Andrea's call found him in his room, putting on some clean street clothes. Plain to see that bigmouth Connor had told her his mother had been shot on the street—well, can you blame him, Brockner?—because she didn't ask about Gillian. She was worried about Brock. She asked a thousand times how he was holding up, and said a thousand times how much she wished she could be there with him.

"Reg's gonna be okay. You know that, don't you, Dad. So you don't worry, please. Everything's gonna be alright."

"Of course, dear. Told you she'll be home in a few days."

"Gosh. Wish I could hug you now, Dad. I love you."

"Me too, dear. Now go to bed. It's late and you gotta go to school in the morning."

He drove all the way to the flower shop with Andrea's call in his mind. It was so odd, finding out that his daughter was old enough to get the picture of his side of the situation.

While they wrapped the bouquet of wildflowers he'd picked, Brock had to face the crucial question of the card to go with it. He declined those with colorful letters and big red hearts, and finally chose a sober blank one. He needed a long moment to decide what to write on it, until he made up his mind on behalf of a safe, 'get well.' He hesitated before signing. Should he write 'Brock', 'Brockner', 'SSA Brockner', 'Declan Brockner', just 'Declan'...? Good Lord! How could things be so complicated between them that he didn't know how to refer to himself!? He signed a neutral Brock as he told himself everything would change as soon as she was out of danger.

Oh, yes. Enough stalling already, both of them. What happened had to be a fair warning for them about wasting time in idle insecurities. It couldn't matter whether his guilt thought he didn't deserve a second chance. Maybe he wasn't worth the love of a woman like Gillian. But she loved him. For Christ's sake! He'd been the last thing in her mind when she thought she was dying! So maybe he wasn't worth it. Maybe he didn't deserve it. Yet she loved him. And he loved her. She'd become such an important part of his life, even against his will—especially against his will! She was the only one who made him feel understood and supported. She was a challenge and she was peace of mind. She was the dragon slayer he needed to keep from harm. She was the bright, sensitive woman in a punk disguise that could make him feel proud, surprised, pissed, touched.

Of course they were afraid of trying. Both of them. But it was about time they grew up past their fear to be loved and happy.

Yes. About damn time.

He killed the engine with a determined scowl, grabbed the bouquet and got out of his car. He zipped up his jacket as he crossed the hospital parking lot. He could feel the stress of the day trying to take its toll on him. As soon as he checked Gillian was fine, he'd get a serious drowse on his chair.

He navigated the empty lobby and waited for an elevator. One was on its way down. It stopped at the third floor and went on. When it jingled open, Brock stepped back to give way to a man coming out. And needed to fight back his urge to drop the flowers and jump on the man's neck.

King Gillian didn't look surprised to see Brock there. He stopped just outside the booth, glanced down at the wildflowers and met Brock's stormy scowl.

"Save it," he said, anticipating Brock's menacing growl. "I'm glad you're here for her. Tell Russell to let me know when I can see her again."

Brock was too furious to reply without his fists. So he could only watch King Gillian leave with quick, firm strides.

Again! Brock snorted as he got on the elevator. Meaning he'd gotten away with it after all. Brock invested the short trip to the third floor in breathing deep to calm down, but he was still pissed when he stalked past the nurse station and around the bend.

"... 'love you, baby' with my wife still there!"

Brock halted a step away from the door and heard Aldana's muffled giggle. Why were they talking so loud? They'd wake Gillian up!

In the room, Gillian took a hand to her chest as she grunted, because laughing hurt even more than before.

"But the week sleeping in the couch paid off," said Cassidy. "'Cause ever since, she can't wear jeans to work."

"To the office..." Gillian said with more sore grunting.

"C'mon, Gillian. You said 'work'."

"No, I didn't."

Brock tiptoed in and found Aldana covering her mouth not to laugh out loud, as Gillian frowned back at Cassidy. She was awake? Before he could get mad at the other two for allowing Gillian to stay awake, relief took over. She was even talking! She was fine. That alone was enough to calm him down. Then he understood what they talked about.

"Discussing local chefs?" he asked, approaching the bed.

Cassidy nodded with a fake exasperated sigh.

He and Aldana stood up, but Gillian didn't pay them any attention, her eyes nailed to Brock's mild smile. Cassidy's words made her snap out of her stupid contemplation.

"See? Romeo's here, and he's staying. So go back to sleep."

Gillian couldn't tell if she blushed, but she did try to glare at Cassidy. He didn't see her because he turned to Brock.

"She wouldn't admit it, but she refused to sleep 'cause you weren't here. So you make sure she rests all she needs."

Brock only nodded. His lips wanted to make a grin of his smile—she waited for me? So he grasped the excuse of the flowers. He turned his back on them to grab the empty vase in the toilet and fill it with water.

Aldana picked up her things and went back to Gillian's side. "Take care, Reg," she said, kissing Gillian's hair. "Night."

"Night, Al," Gillian muttered, wishing they would just leave. Brock was back, and her numb mind didn't have room for anything else.