Chapter 163: My life isn’t worth hers.

Lysander’s POV

Fuck!

Everything hurts. Every fucking thing.

I feel like I’ve been put into a grinding machine and turned every which way.

A groan escapes me as I lift a hand to my head, attempting to steady the swimming sensation. Which, I quickly realise, is a stupid fucking attempt because it only makes the pounding worse.

What the hell happened to me?

I try to sit up, but a sharp pain tears through my stomach.

"Shit!"

I look down and find myself shirtless, with a thick bandage wrapped around my abdomen. There are faint reddish stains on the white dressing.

Then my memories come rushing back, the penthouse, the gunshots.

Nerissa.

My heart immediately begins pounding.

I throw the covers aside, ready to get out of bed and find my wife, when the door suddenly swings open.

Jeremiah walks in.

"The fuck, man? What are you trying to do?"

He stops when he sees me attempting to stand.

"Are you fucking serious?"

"I need to see Nerissa."

He crosses the room in a few strides and practically pushes me back onto the mattress.

"Will you stop being an idiot for five fucking minutes?"

"Get your hands off me."

"It took Rocco a hell of a lot of time to stitch those wounds. He won’t be pleased if you tear them open."

I reluctantly settle back against the pillows because, honestly, sitting up hurts like a bitch.

"Where’s Nerissa?"

Jeremiah sighs as though he’s already exhausted by me.

"She’s fine, Lys. I need you to worry about yourself first. Your wife is fine."

That makes me breathe a little easier.

Which is ridiculous, considering I’m the one who got shot. Twice.

But I couldn’t give a damn about that right now.

"That reminds me..."

I look at Jeremiah.

"She died, right?"

He doesn’t pretend he doesn’t understand who I’m talking about.

"Yes. She’s dead."

I nod slowly, letting the information settle.

"How about the body?" I ask. "I hope Dorothy didn’t walk in on the mess. She’s a good housekeeper, and those are fucking difficult to find. I wouldn’t want her quitting because she’s scared."

Jeremiah stares at me.

"Who’s Dorothy?"

"My housekeeper, dummy."

"Right." He shakes his head. "Anyway, I called the cleanup team to take care of it....so you don’t have to worry about your house keeper finding a dead body in your home."

"Did you?"

"Did I what?"

"Call the cleanup team. Because I know you hate working with them."

His expression changes.

"Fine. Fernando did, but it’s just semantics."

A chuckle escapes me.

Big mistake.

Pain shoots through my abdomen, and I immediately regret finding anything funny.

"Take it easy," Jeremiah says.

"I am taking it easy."

"You’re literally sitting up and arguing with me after waking up from a mini surgery."

"Then stop saying stupid things."

He rolls his eyes.

For a moment, he looks like he wants to refute that, but thankfully decides against it.

We sit in silence for a while.

I stare at the ceiling, trying to piece together the last few hours. My body feels heavy, my head is pounding, and I can barely remember how I got from the penthouse to here.

But I remember Nerissa.

I remember her hands pressing against my stomach. Her voice trembling as she called my name.

After a while Jeremiah speaks.

"She saved you, you know."

I turn my head slightly.

"Hmm?"

"Nerissa. She saved you."

I frown.

"How do you mean?"

He shifts in his chair, rubbing a hand over his jaw.

"When you were brought here, you had already lost a dangerous amount of blood. Rocco was working on you, trying to stabilise you, but you needed a transfusion."

I listen without interrupting.

"Rocco needed a donor since he couldn’t get some from his hospital as quickly as he needed it. I wasn’t here at the time. I was dealing with the cleanup crew and making sure the penthouse was taken care of."

"Get to the fucking point, Jerry."

He gives me an irritated look.

"Your wife offered her blood."

I stare at him.

"What?"

"She was a compatible match. Rocco tested her, and she insisted on donating."

For a second, I don’t say anything.

My wife? Nerissa?

The same woman who would rather bite off her own tongue than admit she cares about me?

"She almost died trying to save you," Jeremiah adds quietly.

Something cold settles in my stomach.

"What do you mean she almost died?"

He exhales.

"We took too much from her."

I feel my jaw tighten.

"Fuck!"

The movement sends another wave of pain through my stomach, but I barely notice it this time.

"How are we even a match? And why would you let that happen? Rocco?"

"I wasn’t present during the transfusion, Lys."

"Then who the fuck was?"

"Fernando was around, but he wasn’t the one overseeing it. Rocco explained that he didn’t have the proper equipment for the procedure here. He warned her to tell him immediately if she started feeling weak or dizzy so he could stop."

"And?"

Jeremiah looks at me.

"She didn’t."

Of course she fucking didn’t.

I close my eyes and drag in a slow breath.

Nerissa.

Always so damn stubborn.

That woman has absolutely no sense of self-preservation when she gets something into her head.

I open my eyes again.

"Where is she now?"

"Resting. She woke up earlier, and Isabella was with her."

"Did Rocco check her?"

"Yes. She’s recovering well."

I nod, though it does little to settle the uneasiness in my chest.

I want to get out of this bed. I want to walk into her room, and have a talk with her.....instead I’m stuck here, barely able to move without feeling like someone is driving a knife through my stomach.

"She shouldn’t have done that," I mutter.

Jeremiah raises an eyebrow.

"She was trying to save your life."

"I’m aware of that.....My life isn’t worth hers."

He goes quiet.

I’ll have to remind that woman of the dangers of what she did later. She can be angry with me all she wants, but she doesn’t get to throw her life away because of mine.

Not even if it means saving me.

Especially not then.