Twisted-Games

exercises, so please.” She gestured down the hall. “Go ahead.”
My suspicion ramped up another notch, but fuck it, I wouldn’t look a gift
horse in the mouth.
I walked to the king’s room and stopped in front of the door, my breath
knotting in my throat when I saw Bridget through the small window.
She sat next to her grandfather’s bed, holding his hand and looking
smaller and more vulnerable than I’d ever seen her. Even from a distance, I
spotted the paleness of her face and the redness of her eyes.
Something grabbed my heart and twisted. Hard.
I opened the door and stepped inside. “Hey, princess.” I kept my voice
soft, not wanting to disturb the hushed quiet or wake up the king. Sunlight
streamed through the windows on either side of the hospital bed, adding a
touch of cheer to the somber mood, but there was no avoiding the beeping
monitors, or the tubes stuck to Edvard’s chest.
Bridget’s shoulders stiffened, and a few beats passed before she faced me.
“Rhys. What are you doing here?”
“I came to see you.”
Something felt off. Maybe it was the way she avoided my eyes or the
tightness of her expression, but she’d gone through hell the past few days. I
couldn’t expect her to throw herself into my arms with a big smile. “How’s
your grandfather?”
“Better. Weak, but stable.” She squeezed his hand. “They’re keeping him
here a few more days, but they said he could be discharged next week.”
“That’s good. Can’t be too bad if they’re letting him leave.”
Bridget nodded, still avoiding my gaze, and unease rippled down my
spine. “Let’s talk in another room. He just fell asleep.”
She gave her grandfather’s hand another squeeze before we stepped into
the hall. Elin was gone, and only the smell of antiseptic and faint beeps from
the monitor on the other side of the door disturbed the air.
“Here.” Bridget led me to a room two doors down. “This is where I’ve
been sleeping.”
My eyes swept over the space. It had a pullout couch, a kitchenette, and a
bathroom. A thick blanket draped over the back of the couch, and a halfempty
bottle of Coke sat on the table next to a pile of magazines.
I pictured Bridget sleeping here alone, night after night, waiting to hear if
her grandfather’s condition had worsened, and a needle of pain jammed into
my heart.