I opened my mouth. My throat felt like sandpaper.
"Where's Derek?"
"That bastard!" Ryan's jaw clenched. "I called him, and he was eating."
The hospital room door slammed open.
Derek rushed in reeking of alcohol, exaggerated tear tracks streaking his face.
"Lexi! You scared me to death!"
He threw himself at my bedside, sobbing like he couldn't breathe. But his hand—silently, carefully—pressed down on my IV tube.
The tube flattened. The medication stopped flowing.
I caught the viciousness flash through his eyes. My stomach turned.
"Derek, get away from my sister!" Ryan tried to shove him back.
"Ryan, what do you know!" Derek roared. "I'm worried about her!"
My mother-in-law shuffled in behind him, dabbing at her eyes while stealing glances at me. That look—like she was checking to see when I'd stop breathing.
I swallowed the bile rising in my throat and weakly reached for Derek's hand.
"I'm sorry… I was careless… I knocked over the washbasin…"
Derek froze.
Wild joy nearly spilled from his eyes.
"Lexi, don't say that." He instantly switched to his devoted-husband mask. "It's my fault. I shouldn't have left you home alone."
"I'll never do it again."