The Blessed Read Free Page A

guy.”
    She felt a tingle in her stomach as he slid aside the curtain. He looked anxious, almost like a chain smoker who had given up cigarettes earlier that day. Tense. He ducked quickly into the space. He was tall and lean, olive-skinned, with thick, styled hair, long, slightly muscled arms, and a barrel chest that was barely enclosed by his jacket and a T-shirt of The Kills.
    A vision.
    “I didn’t think anyone was awake,” he said in a baritone whisper.
    “Here to give me last rites?”
    “You have a death wish?”
    “After last night, possibly.”
    “Do you always invite strangers into your room?”
    “I prefer the company of people I don’t know very well.”
    “Sounds lonely.”
    There was an awkward silence and Cecilia had to look away from him. The understanding and compassion in hisvoice was overwhelming. Her eyes welled unexpectedly with tears. “I’m not crying. I must still be high or something.”
    “I understand.” He stepped forward. Closer to her. Shrinking the space between them. He smelled like incense. Cecilia began to question the wisdom of confiding in this guy. Hot guys cruising clubs was one thing, but hot guys creeping hospitals was quite another. She tensed up. “Do I know you?”
    “Wouldn’t you know if you knew me?”
    The truth was she hung out with a lot of guys, and it was difficult to keep them straight. So running into one turned into a game of Twenty Questions with her. Something she was good at. “Were you at my gig tonight? Did you bring me here?”
    “No . . . ” he said slowly. “Cecilia.”
    “You know my name? You better be psychic or I’m screaming,” she said, backing away suddenly.
    He pointed to the foot of her bed. “Your name is on your clipboard.”
    “What do you want from me?” Cecilia asked, holding her punctured arms up as far as the vinyl tubes would stretch, like a medicated marionette. “I can take care of myself. Despite what it looks like.”
    “I can see that.” He nodded and tapped her hand gently.
    “Who are you?” she asked, immediately pulling away.
    “Sebastian,” he said, reaching for her again.
    She relaxed into his touch.
    He took notice of the hard-shell guitar case leaningupright against the wall beside her bed. It was stickered, stained, chipped, and battered. It had seen better days, but he had the sense it was protecting something precious. “You’re a musician?”
    “That’s what I told my parents when I ran away.”
    “Everyone’s either running from something or toward something.”
    “Well, then,” she said, feeling some camaraderie. “Which way are you headed?”
    “Both, I guess.”
    “At least one thing we have in common.”
    “At least.”
    “Seriously, I just always felt like there was something deep inside of me I needed to say,” CeCe tried to explain. “Something . . . ”
    “Trying to get out?” he asked.
    She looked up at him in surprise. He understood.
    “Yeah.”
    “Another thing we have in common,” he said.
    He moved in even closer. Into the light. Close enough for her to feel the warmth of his body and his breath. To see him. To smell him.
    “So, Sebastian . . . ” Even his name appealed to her. It fit him. She knew his type. Devastatingly good-looking guy, nice moves, but probably cheating on his night nurse girlfriend right under her nose. “What are you doing here?”
    “Visiting.”
    “A girlfriend?”
    “No.”
    “Well, you don’t look like a blood farmer, organ broker, or bone thief . . . ,” she said. “Are you one of those dudes who cruises the hospital for sick chicks?”
    The loud clang of a tray dropping and some hallway chatter startled them. He’d looked edgy since he’d walked in, but she could sense he was ready to leave. Right then. “You looking for someone or is someone looking for you?”
    “I found what I was looking for,” he said, reaching down into his jeans pocket.
    “Whoa, what the hell are you doing?” Cecilia reached for the