Chapter 164 To Reconcile
Winona Sullivan gritted her teeth, her face contorted in pain. If not for the debilitating agony that sapped her strength, she would have sprung up to tear his mouth to shreds.
The nurse, unimpressed by the spectacle, was already weary from her night shift in the ER. Dealing with difficult relatives was the last thing she needed. Celebrity status or not, she wouldn't tolerate anyone questioning her methods. "How else am I supposed to know whether it's her stomach or her appendix, gallbladder, or something else?" she retorted, her tone laced with annoyance.
Zachary fell silent, chastised.
Handing him a ticket, the nurse dismissed him curtly, "Room 7, you're next."
Observing Zachary's deflated demeanor, Winona felt a wave of relief wash over her, easing the tension that had been constricting her chest. She attempted to rise, planning to walk unaided, but the man beside her instinctively bent down and swept her into his arms. "Feeling pleased?" he asked, a hint of bitterness in his voice.
Winona Sullivan, unwilling to engage in his twisted line of questioning, averted his gaze, replying curtly, "No."
"Then drop the smug look," he paused, then added with a hint of mockery, "It's hideous."
Winona shot him a fierce glare, retorting, "I'll bite you to death!"
The diagnosis was swift: acute gastroenteritis, necessitating hospitalization. In Silverton, there were only two hospitals, and the best one could hope for was a three-bed ward.
Relatives were left to make do with folding beds from the nurse's station—hard, narrow, and uncomfortably short. As Winona was admitted late, the ward was already filled with the sonorous snores of sleeping patients.
Zachary gently placed Winona on the hospital bed, asking softly, "Do you want some water?"
She shook her head, feeling drained after her earlier bout of vomiting. As the nurse approached to take her temperature, she turned her attention to Zachary. "There's nothing for you to do here; you should head back."
She was concerned that in his current attire, he might catch a cold. If that happened, he would surely blame her, and she would inevitably end up nursing him back to health.
Zachary loomed over her, his expression unreadable. "I was carrying you around for all the paperwork and checks just fine earlier. How come you're not sending me away then? Now that you're lying down, are we strangers?"
The nurse interjected dutifully, "We'll need to run more tests. You can't leave the bedside."
Winona Sullivan conceded with a sigh, "Fine."
Throughout the three years of their marriage, Winona had rarely experienced the warmth of a husband's care. As she succumbed to the pull of sleep, she considered this moment a belated reparation for past neglect.
Exhausted from the night's ordeal, she closed her eyes, surrendering to the soothing darkness.
After the nurse completed her check-up and left with the tray, Winona's arm remained outside the covers, quickly turning cold from her elbow.
Winona Sullivan lifted her hand slightly. "Grab me a hand warmer, please. Stuff it under my palms," she requested.
Zachary Bailey sat crossed-armed in a chair beside her, pretending to sleep with his eyes closed. At her words, he opened his eyes and glanced her way.
The main light in the room was off, leaving only a dim bedside lamp that cast a faint glow around the bed, careful not to disturb the rest of the ward.
Half-buried in a fluffy pillow, Winona's partially visible face was as pale as parchment, her eyes shut, long lashes casting deep shadows on her cheeks.
Whether from the cold or the pain, her sleep was fitful. Her brows furrowed, and a look of discomfort marred her features.
Zachary's gaze lingered on her pale lips; his tall, slender figure remained motionless for a long time. It wasn't until Winona stirred in her sleep, roused by the cold, that he finally stood and left the room.
During the winter months, Winona's hands and feet were perpetually cold. The hospital blankets were thin and stiff, offering little warmth. Even in her drowsy state, she found it difficult to fall into a deep sleep, her mind trapped in a foggy half-dream.
As the hours ebbed away, a sudden warmth permeated the previously frigid bed. Two objects, one nestled beneath her IV-laden hand and the other at her feet, broke the chill.
"Thank you," she whispered, her eyes remaining shut. The familiarity of Zachary's touch was unmistakable. The comforting warmth soon lulled her into a profound sleep.
Upon the nurse's return for a subsequent check, Winona stirred briefly from her slumber. Through half-lidded eyes, she noticed Zachary still occupying the chair, clad in the same pajamas stained lightly from her earlier perspiration.
Observing her conscious state, Zachary offered her a wordless glance.
"Perhaps you should head home, change, and get some rest?" she proposed, her voice laden with fatigue.
The stomach pain had receded, and she required nothing immediate from Zachary.
His usually aloof eyes were now clouded with exhaustion. His lips parted slightly, "Are you in pain?"
"No," she responded, her voice barely a whisper due to her exhaustion.
Zachary shot her a icy stare before he closed his eyes once more. "Then be quiet and sleep."
After a minute of silence, he reopened his eyes. As he had expected, Winona Sullivan had turned away from him and was once again lost in sleep.
Zachary Bailey was left speechless.
As the clock struck eight the following morning, the doctors began their rounds. Justin arrived with Zachary Bailey's clothes, accompanied by Matthew Watson, Melissa, and Isaac. Zachary had informed Isaac about Winona Sullivan's hospitalization the previous night when he had borrowed Isaac's car to purchase warm gloves.
Justin's hair was in disarray, giving the impression that he had been roused abruptly from sleep. "Sis, are you feeling better? How did you suddenly contract gastroenteritis?"
Winona, drained, merely nodded. She had managed only three hours of sleep since the previous night and was now eager to have the room to herself.
"All right," Justin conceded, stepping aside and reaching for his phone to play a game.
Melissa shot him a disapproving glare, snatched his phone, and handed him a thermos container. "Serve your cousin some oatmeal porridge. You're an adult, yet all you think about is games. How will you cope when you start working for your brother-in-law's company?"
As Justin served the porridge, he grumbled, "Sis will secure me a cushy, high-paying job where I can play games all day."
Winona promptly burst his bubble. "Why would I arrange such a perfect job for you? Neither the Bailey Group nor any respectable company offers such a position. Maybe you should read the Constitution; it seems to cover easy jobs with fat paychecks where you can play games all day."
Justin was left speechless.
Holding the bowl of aromatic porridge, he suddenly contemplated keeping it for himself.
Matthew Watson reached out to take the bowl from him. "Let me."
Before he could finish his sentence, another hand appeared on the opposite side of the bowl – it belonged to Zachary Bailey.
Their eyes met, and neither man showed any inclination to back down.
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