The Missing

different, though. Cullen knew it for a fact, because he had a very real, very huge ache centered square in his chest, taking up the void that had been his heart ever since she’d gotten shot. “My God,” he muttered, burying his face in her hair. “I’ve been so damn scared . . .”

    He wouldn’t say it, though. Saying it made it real. Until she actually woke up and talked to him, that was more reality than he could handle. Even after she woke up, he suspected that would be too much.

    She cuddled into him, her hands curling into his T-shirt. “I’m okay.”

    “You’re in a damn coma. That’s pretty damn far from okay,” Cullen gritted out. Finally able to touch her, even in a dream, he hadn’t thought he’d pull away from her so quick, but he did, leaning back just enough so he could see her face. “You died on us three damn times.”

    “I know.” That plain, simple statement froze him clear to down to his feet. “Close to four, I think.” She reached up, touched her fingers to his mouth. “But I heard you. You kept calling me, and you just wouldn’t let go.”

    Wrapping his arms around her, he said, “I’m not going to, either. Ever. So you might as well wake up.”

    He pressed his forehead against hers and whispered, “Come on, Taige. You need to wake up, baby.”

    “I’m trying . . .” She grimaced as she spoke, and then she started to fade away.

    In his arms. As he was holding her. She faded, growing more and more insubstantial until he couldn’t see her, feel her, smell her—although he did hear her.

    I love you . . .

    AT first, when Cullen woke up, he wasn’t certain what it was that had disturbed him. His head had that muffled, disconnected thing going on that came from far too little rest, and he knew however long he’d been out, it hadn’t been long enough.

    But then he heard it again. Something soft.

    Something faint.

    Something he’d been praying for, pretty much nonstop, for the past four days.

    A sound. From Taige.

    Her lips were moving. Her lids were still closed, but her lips were moving. He couldn’t understand what she was saying at first, and the words had no real sound to them. At least no coherent sound.

    He was out of the chair so damn fast, he tripped over his feet and ended up on his knees beside the bed. Apt enough, since she’d been knocking him to his knees on a regular basis for a good, long time. He reached out, folding her cold hand between his. She wasn’t as cold . . . was she?

    She whispered again, her lips forming the same words, and finally, he understood what she was saying: “I love you.”

    “Taige?”

    Her lids flickered. A faint smile curved her lips. And between his hands, hers moved, her fingers sliding between his. She squeezed, oh so faintly. And then, a soft sigh escaped. She fell silent, as though that simple movement had drained her.

    But for the first time since she’d been hurt, Cullen breathed just a little easier.

TWELVE

    A WEEK after that, seven days after she’d roused from her coma and smiled at Cullen, they finally let her leave the hospital. She didn’t remember smiling at him, talking to him or the doctors, the nurses, Dez. Nothing, not until a day or two later when she fully woke up.

    Taige did remember the dream, though. Just like most of her dreams with Cullen, it had been almost painfully real. But it hadn’t been bittersweet. No, that dream had been different.

    It had left her hopeful.

    Hope wasn’t something she had wasted a lot of time on over the past few years, and letting herself feel it now was more than a little bit terrifying. Fortunately, the drugs clouding her brain, the pain that managed to bleed through those painkillers, and her very overpowering desire to put some miles between herself and the hospital all combined to keep her from dwelling on much of anything else for too long.

    Right now, the only thing Taige really needed to dwell on was the art of breathing. Since waking in agony to find tubes shoved in her chest, she realized that breathing was a lot more complicated than the typical person realized.

    The window was down. It was hotter than hell outside, but she needed the feel of the air on her face, the wind moving through her hair. Cullen sat next to her, speeding down Highway 180. It didn’t seem like he could go more than a minute without glancing over at her. “Are you okay?” he asked. It was only the tenth time he’d asked since they’d pulled out of the