In My Arms

He got the text at 1am.

Don’t freak out, Hazza. I’m in the hospital.

He stared at the text, his eyes bleary from sleep, and then sat up in bed. Frantically swiping his finger against the screen, he pounded on her number in his contacts list until the call sent. The phone rang once and then she picked up. Her voice sounded raspy and muffled. “You’re freaking out.”

“Baby, you’re in the hospital. How can I not freak out?” He ran his hands through his hair and swung his legs over the side of the bed. “What happened? Are you okay?”

“I’ve got pneumonia.” She sighed and then started coughing. “Apparently my lungs are scarred from smoking and drugs, so long story short it was really bad and I got really dehydrated. I’m fine now.”

“Then why are you still in the hospital?”

“Oxygen levels or something like that, anyway, they said they’ll probably let me out tomorrow. Or the next day.”

He jumped up from the bed and switched the light on. His hotel room was strewn with clothes and shoes; he yanked a bag out of the closet and stuffed in what he hoped was a clean shirt. “I’m coming to Los Angeles.”

“Hazza—“she started coughing again and choked out, “Hang on just a second.” It sounded like she set the phone down; he could hear muffled voices in the background as she kept coughing. There was a brief moment of silence and then the sound of her fumbling for the phone. “Sorry. I’m okay, Hazza. I know your schedule is out of control the next few weeks. Really, I don’t want you to get in trouble over my weak, drug addled lungs.”

“You can argue with me all you want, Lizzie, but I’m going to be there in twelve hours. And I have a key to your house, so if you aren’t at the hospital, I’m going to buy you flowers and I’ll meet you at home. Fair?”

She was quiet for a moment and then, in a very small voice said, “I love you, Hazza.”

He could hear his pulse pounding in his ears. Damn it, she was sick and needed him—and he was an ocean away. “I love you, Lizzie. I’ll be there as fast as I can, I swear to you.”

“I’ll be here. Cedars-Sinai, Room 5-478.”

He again told her he loved her and, when the call ended, he rushed about the room throwing clothes, his journal, and underwear into his bag. Slowing only long enough to get dressed, he shoved his cell into his pocket and charged across the hall to Louis room. He pounded on the door.

After several moments of knocking, Louis opened the door and glared at him. “The fuck is the matter with you?”

“Lizzie’s in the hospital. I’m going to the States to be with her; I need you to finish packing up my room.” He pulled out his cell and dialed his manager. “I’ll be back at some point.”

“Is she okay?” Louis stepped out into the hallway, holding his room door open with one hand. “What happened?”

He shoved his room key in Louis’ hand and then turned, hoisting his bag over his hand and stalking down the hall. “Pneumonia.”

“You can’t just walk out on a press tour.”

“Watch me.”

His manager answered on the third ring, sounding equally as sleep deprived as Louis. “You’d better be in jail if you’re calling me at this hour.”

“I need you to get me either booked on a plane or get me a private jet. I need to get to LA. Lizzie’s in the hospital with pneumonia.”

“Harry, it’s pneumonia. People get it all the time.”

“Save your bullshit. I’m going to Los Angeles and I don’t fucking care if I ride in coach to do it. Get me on a flight.”

His manager sighed. “Harry—“

“When it comes to Elizabeth, I don’t fuck around.” He wanted to slam the phone against the wall. “Now, get me on a god damned plane.”

####

Cedars-Sinai Hospital was fairly quiet, but even still, he tugged his hat low down over his eyes as he walked into the reception area. He cleared his throat to get the woman’s attention. “Excuse me, but can you tell me how to get to room 5-478?”

The woman was older, probably older than his mum, and she had a warm smile. He couldn’t tell if she recognized him or not. Maybe she was used to famous faces. Maybe she was just genuinely kind. “Go straight down that hall past the first set of elevators. Take the second set up to the fifth floor and to the left. You’ll need to walk a ways, but you’ll run right into the nurses’ station.”

“Thank you so much.” He pressed his hands together in thanks and headed down the hallway. Past the first elevators and into the second; he pounded on the number five until the doors slowly closed. She was so close; Jesus, he should have been here sooner. He’d texted her nonstop on the plane and she assured him she was fine. Still….

When the elevator doors opened, he burst out into the hallway and headed left. The hall looked like it went on for miles. He heard several girls squeal as he passed an open waiting room; he didn’t slow down. There wasn’t time—nor did he have the patience—to stop and be polite.

By the time he got to the nurses’ station, he felt like he was going to burst into tears. To his horror, all the nurses were young and female—and they all looked up when he stopped at the desk. “Yes, erhm, I just needed Room 5-478. Please.”

A red head sitting in front of a computer nodded past the station. “That way, dear.”

“Thank you.” He brushed past the desk, not even offering them a smile, and past the closed doors of the hospital unit. Keeping his eyes locked on the room numbers, he forced himself not to break out into a full run. 5-475…5-476…5-477….

5-478.

He gently pushed the door open; the first sound that met his ears was her laughter. Tears pricked the backs of his eyes; he suddenly felt unprepared. She was okay, she was laughing—although they’d spoken on the phone and texted each other, there was some little part of him that didn’t believe that she was okay; that he’d get there and it would be too late. Her laughter relaxed him. It sounded like home.

She was talking to someone. “Fuck no I wouldn’t do Fifty Shades of Grey. I couldn’t even get through reading five chapters of that trash and, despite the fact I’d do all that shit with Harry, I wouldn’t do it on screen.”

“You’re telling me you two haven’t filmed yourselves fucking? Come on.” A male voice responded to her; Harry hesitated. Who the fuck was that?

“First, man, none of your business. Second, even if it was, I wouldn’t tell you. People start knowing that kind of thing exists and boom, next thing you know, that shit is all over the internet.”

“So, you’re saying yes.”

“I’m saying if it exists—and that’s an if—I’m not telling you. I don’t want to trend on Twitter for a sex tape. Ah, if it exists.”

“Liar.”

Harry couldn’t take it anymore. He walked past the tiny corridor leading from the door, past the bathroom, and to the main area of the room. His stomach dropped in his abdomen like he was on a rapidly descending elevator: she was dressed in a hospital gown, leads and wires running from her chest to a monitor next to the bed. She had an attachment on her finger, measuring something on the monitor no doubt, and her intoxicating blue eyes were shaded by dark circles underneath her lids. She looked paler than normal and her hair was piled on her head in a messy bun, but to him, she was beautiful. Her eyes lit up when she saw him. “Harry! You’re here! Oh my god, Hazza. I missed you!”

He was afraid to hug her because of all the lead wires, but he leaned over and pressed his lips to hers, cradling her against him. The urge to cry was there again; she was so fragile. He could have lost her—it was maddening how easy it could have been for something worse to happen and he have been helpless to do anything. He clamped his teeth down on his tongue until the feeling passed. “I’ve been so worried about you, love.”

“Hold me tighter, Hazza.” She pulled his hands down around her shoulders, tilting her head up to look at him. “I’m not going to break.”

He tightened his arms around her and held her close, trailing kisses across her cheeks. “I got here as fast as I could. I’m not even sure I packed clean clothes—I just dumped what was every on the floor in my bag.”

“You still have clothes at my house.” She guided his lips back to hers. “You don’t need clothes with me, you know that. Anyway. Hazza, I want you to meet my friend Chris. Ah, Chris Evans.”

Harry straightened and glanced across the bed at the man slouched in a chair. Now he could place the voice—Chris Evans, Captain America. Chris Evans, who had a past with Elizabeth. He extended his hand to him, keeping one hand protectively around Lizzie. “Pleasure to meet you.” It wasn’t. Harry didn’t care.

“Same here, man. Liz has told me a lot about you.”

“Thanks…uh…for being here for her when I couldn’t.” “Hey, it’s no problem. She’s a special girl.” Chris jumped up from his chair and edged around the bed. “I’m going to run down to the cafeteria and get something to eat. Do you want anything?”

“I want a brownie. Not a hospital brownie, but a legit fudge brownie. With peanut butter frosting.” Elizabeth glanced up at Harry. “Or a cupcake.”

“I’ll see if the hospital is serving any nonhospital baked goods.” Chris walked through the threshold of the door, pulling it closed behind him. “So, take that as a no.”

Elizabeth rolled her eyes and patted the mattress. “Want to snuggle uncomfortably in here with me?”

“Hell yeah.” Harry slid into the bed, pressing up against her, and wrapped his arms around her shoulder. “I was in a fucking panic.”

“They only kept me here because of my…um…prior substance abuse history. I wasn’t breathing all that spectacularly and I was dehydrated and just, basically, a hot mess. I feel better now,” she rested her head against him, “especially now that you’re here.”

Harry laced his fingers around hers, then brought their interlocked hands to his lips. He kissed her knuckles. “I hate being away from you.”

“Awards season is right around the corner and then your tour. I don’t even want to think about how miserable that will be. I’ll be out doing my hustle for the snobs in the Academy and you’ll be out pimping your album.” She sighed, snuggling up against him. “You’d better buy me new batteries for my vibrator.”

“Only if you let me watch.”

“I always do.”

He chuckled and then tightened his hold around her, pressing his lips to the top of her head. “I walked out on the press tour. And, I’m not going back until I know you’re okay.”

“Did your manager have a stroke when he found out?”

“He got me on the plane. After that I stopped answering his calls.”

She started laughing and then looked up at him, reaching up to press her hand to his cheek. She looked so beautiful, with her messy hair and wide, blue eyes—it reminded him of how she looked in the morning. No makeup, flushed cheeks; that lovely smile when she looked at him. She took his breath away. “You’re a naughty boy, Hazza.”

“I told him when it comes to you, nothing else matters.”

She looked at him, a smile playing on her lips. He couldn’t take his eyes off her, but before he could speak, he heard the swish of the door as it was pushed open. A nurse rounded the corner and stopped, glancing from Elizabeth to him, and then back again. “So, this one’s the boyfriend, am I right?”

Elizabeth nodded. “This one’s the boyfriend.”

The nurse checked the monitors and then handed Elizabeth a clipboard. “The doctor finally filled out the paperwork for you. Just sign right there on the bottom…very good…and then sign here and initial here. You’re a pro, Elizabeth.”

“I try.”

The nurse handed her a clear plastic bag containing medicine bottles. “Here’s another inhaler and a couple refills just in case. One puff as needed. The pills are for your pneumonia. Take one pill in the morning and one pill in the evening, both with food or milk, and make sure you take the whole bottle. Don’t stop once you start feeling better—you need to take the whole bottle to knock this pneumonia out. If you have any trouble breathing or chest pain, come back and get checked out.”

Elizabeth nodded. “Will do.”

The nurse unsnapped the leads from her and took the pulse/ox reader off her index finger. “It was nice meeting you both. You two are adorable together.”

After the nurse left, Harry leaned over and kissed her. “I’m going to take you home and nurse you back to health, baby girl.”

She picked up her cell phone from the roller table and leaned back against him, holding the phone out to take a selfie. “I like the sound of that. For starters, I need a nap. And then a full body massage.”

“Well, if you’re going to twist my arm like that.”

He watched her fire a text off to Chris, Hey Avenger. Get the car and assemble your ass at the door. I’m breaking out of here.

She looked down the front of the hospital gown and held it out for him to do the same. “Help me get these leads off me. They’re stuck with, like, super glue. So be gentle.”

“How long were you in here?”

“Three days. You can thank Chris for that, but I just wanted him to take me to Urgent Care. He took me to the emergency room instead.”

“I’m glad he did.” He pulled a circular lead off from below her collarbone. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“The doctor said I have to quit smoking—again.” She pulled the hospital gown off and slid a pair of short, cut off denim shorts up over her legs. “What, twelfth time’s a charm?”

By the time they got all the leads unstuck from her skin—Harry was sure it took longer than it needed to, since his hands kept wandering—and she was dressed, they figured it had given Chris enough time to get the car ready. They were right, but standing in between them and the vehicle was a sea of fans and paparazzi. Son of a bitch.

He tightened his hold on her hand. “Just hold onto me and walk. I got you, baby girl.”

He pushed through the doors, silently praying to any god that would listen to part the sea of humanity in front of him like Moses parted the Red Sea. He tried not to shove the screaming girls back, keeping his head tucked down and Lizzie close to his body. The paparazzi were yelling from every direction: “Is everything okay, Liz? Why were you in the hospital?” and “Harry, what do the rest of the guys think about you leaving the press tour?” and the always persistent, “Does this health scare push you two closer to a wedding date?”

“It’s just pneumonia, not the bubonic plague.” Harry edged through the crowd, keeping his eyes fixed on Chris’s SUV. “Can you stand back, a little ways? She’s sick and doesn’t need pushed around like this. You’re being rude.”

“Is there any truth to the rumors you hooked up with a model in Italy, Harry?”

“No.”

“Did you see the pictures of Liz and Lee Pace? Liz, did that kissing continue off set?”

“No.” Harry answered, this time his voice angrier and louder. “Leave her alone, okay? She just got out of the hospital.”

Chris had jumped out of the driver’s seat and, along with a uniformed man that may have been hospital security, cleared the area in front of the back passenger door. The clatter of camera clicks surged. A pap to his left called out, “Harry, how do you feel about Liz and Chris spending time together while you were away?”

He tugged Lizzie closer to him, wrapping his arm protectively around her and tucking her head to his chest. “Taking someone to the hospital doesn’t constitute spending time together. He’s a good friend.”

“But he’s her ex-boyfriend.”

“And I’m her boyfriend.” Harry shrugged. “That’s how it is.”

Chris opened the door for her and Lizzie slid in, Harry jumping in after her and closing the door behind them. After a moment, Chris opened up the front passenger’s side door and climbed in. He slid across into the driver’s seat and threw the car into gear. “Jesus, do you have to go through that all the time?”

“Unfortunately.” Harry tousled Lizzie’s hair and pulled her close. “Are you okay?”

“I’m exhausted.” She smiled at him, pulling his arm around her body. “Next time, let’s hitch a ride in the back of an ambulance and have them rocket us through Los Angeles.”

####

Harry thanked Chris profusely when they got home. He seemed like a nice enough guy—and obviously respected the relationship he had with Lizzie. He wasn’t flirty or acted like he was trying to get in her pants. Maybe he was a legitimately nice guy. Maybe.

He kept his arm wrapped around her waist and led her to the front of the house, using his own key to unlock the door. The house was in her name alone, unlike the apartment they shared in New York, but for all intents and purposes he lived there with her. Not that they’d been together much recently, but when they were together, they kept house in Los Angeles. The few times he was in LA and she wasn’t, he stayed at her place. It didn’t actually looked like anyone lived in the house since they were rarely home, but maybe one day it would.

They walked up the winding staircase and to the bedroom, the door still propped open with her Oscar. “Let’s get you undressed.” He picked up a shirt off her bed and turned, raising his eyebrow quizzically. “I was wondering where this went.”

“I stole it, that’s right.” She giggled, pulling her tank top over her head and unsnapping her bra. “If I can’t sleep with you, I’ll just sleep in your clothes. It’s fair.”

He chuckled, running his fingertips down the bold Fleur Rebelle tattoo under her right breast. “If I had my way, you’d be sleeping with me every night.”

“Brent has me looking at scripts again. I’m not convinced I want to commit to anything right away, especially not now when I feel like I don’t want to commit to dinner.” She tugged his shirt over her head and sank down onto the bed, rubbing her eyes with her fists. “I don’t even have the energy to argue with him at this point. How can pneumonia make me so damn tired?”

Harry tucked the blankets around her and gently kissed her lips. “You rest, baby girl. I’ll make us dinner and then we’ll take a hot bath and I’ll rub your back and we’ll go to bed early.”

Her lips turned up into a smile. “You can still fuck me tonight, Hazza. We’ve been apart for too long to share a bed like twelve year olds at a sleep over.”

“Nap first.” He kissed her again, smoothing her hair off her forehead. “Do you mind if I use your computer a few minutes? I need to email management and let them know, hey, I’ll be back in a few days.”

“You don’t have to ask, Hazza. It’s downstairs in the living room.” She stifled a yawn, snuggling down underneath the covers. “Come back and lay with me when you’re done.”

“I will, love.” He pressed his lips to her forehead and then left the bedroom, following the hallway to the staircase. Her house was fantastic; it had been built in the 20s and was dark and cavernous, with stained glass windows and exposed wooden beams. He knew Joan Bennett had once lived there and, prior to that, Jean Harlow. Lizzie had left the décor of the house much as it was when she’d bought it, only updating the master bathroom and the wall colors more to her taste. And she did have fantastic taste; the house, gardens, and pool/patio area in the back was stunning.

He sat on the couch and picked up her laptop, running his fingers across the touch pad to pull it out of sleep mode. Her lock screen popped up: a picture of them in Paris, kissing in front of the Eiffel Tower. He then typed in her password and the computer sprang to life. She’d left the internet browser up on Chanel’s website—apparently she liked the pale pink pea coat and flattering white handbag—and he moved the curser to the top of the screen to open a new tab. It didn’t respond as fast as he thought it should have, so he tapped it again.

The browser minimized completely.

“Fuck.” He momentarily closed his eyes. As he opened them, he realized she’d left a chat window open as well. LittleMissLiz64—that was his girl. AnnaNesmith—he was sure that was Anna Blessing: Blessing was just her stage name. His eyes drifted across the closing line of the chat; there was Lizzie’s typical ‘haha, k, peace out’ and above that, Anna had typed, ‘gotta go meet Tom for dinner. Look, just call him. Worst case scenario, even if you don’t tell him, you two can have phone sex or something.”

He knew he shouldn’t read anymore. He needed to just close the window and pull up his email account. It wasn’t his business and, anyway, maybe they’d been talking about something completely normal. Like, maybe she was planning on flying to Europe to see him. Maybe it was supposed to be a surprise. He needed to just let it be.

But he couldn’t.

He scrolled to the top of the conversation, idly skimming through discussion of shoes and which designer she should go with for her Oscar gown. But then he saw it, it was Anna who brought it up.

AnnaNesmith: I saw People Magazine voted you two couple of the year. I saw not because I have a subscription—thanks for that, by the way—but because I was in line at the grocery store and was trying to look busy.

LittleMissLiz64: hey, you’re welcome. You know shit isn’t real until it’s in People. But no, actually, I’m not as a prolific People reader as you are. I had no idea.

AnnaNesmith: It’s right on the cover. Harry and Elizabeth are the couple of the year! Here’s the link. Your hard earned subscription bucks got me access to their online site too.

Harry clicked the link that Anna had sent; it brought up the People website and, sure enough, the screen was filled with a picture of him and Lizzie walking hand in hand down Carnaby Street in London. His eyes drifted across the paragraphs describing them and so-called “insiders” revealing secrets about their love life. He had to admit, though, some of the article was surprisingly accurate: One thing’s for sure, Harry isn’t about to let this girl go. Insiders close to the couple say the sapphire ring Liz has been sporting is a gift from the singer, who reportedly spent a cool 10 grand on a romantic London vacation for their six month anniversary. But the most adorable moment ever? Cameras caught the One Direction hottie singing What Makes You Beautiful to her on the red carpet before this month’s Brit Awards. Notoriously silent about their relationship but obviously in love: We want a relationship like yours, Hazbeth.

He flipped back to the chat window. Lizzie had typed, Okay, so that one isn’t bad. But one good article doesn’t make up for all the other shit that goes on. Jesus, do you and Tom go through this?

AnnaNesmith: Like what? I told you to stay off Twitter. And I bet you didn’t listen.

LittleMissLiz64: I had to post shit for the movie. You know how it is. Look, I know that he’s got fans. I know they’re jealous girls. But I get sick and tired of all the shit on there about me, saying that I’m a slut and just using him or we’re just together because it gets us both publicity. These girls tweet me and say I should die because I’m with him. I don’t deserve him. He deserves someone who isn’t a junkie and a whore. I am so in love with him, but I get tired of this bullshit from his so called fans.

AnnaNesmith: So don’t be an idiot. Stay off Twitter and you don’t have to hear it.

LittleMissLiz64: It’s not just Twitter. It’s the paps too. I mean, example: I went to the store yesterday to get cough drops. Because I’m sick. Of course, it turns into a media circus and these fuckers are asking if I’m pregnant and what does Harry think about it blah blah blah and then they start with how they saw pictures of him with women in London and is it true he’s cheating on me. I’m over that shit. I needed cough drops. Not treated like garbage.

AnnaNesmith: Did you talk to Harry about it? I mean, obviously he’s not going to have a solution for the pap thing, but he needs to know how you feel.

LittleMissLiz64: I don’t want to stress him out. He gets upset enough as it is when the paps bother us. I try to stay happy and positive about it, but god damn it Anna, it’s bullshit. They invent stuff to get us upset. Between them always claiming he’s cheating or I’m cheating and those fucking girls wishing I was dead, I can’t handle it. I want to be with Harry. But I can’t take this shit all the time.

AnnaNesmith: You need to tell Harry. He filed and got a restraining order against those paps that were harassing him. He might not be able to fix it, but he do something.

LittleMissLiz64: I know. I really do, but when we’re together….I mean, when we’re together, everything is perfect. I love that man to the very depths of my soul. We spend so much time apart these days…Idk. I guess I don’t want to spoil the, like, 10 minutes we’re together by whining. I’m not like that.

AnnaNesmith: Well, no, you’re not. But he loves you. Seriously, that kid is head over heels for you. He wouldn’t want you feel this way. Hell, I don’t want you to feel this way and I’m not your boyfriend. Tom would be jealous.

LittleMissLiz64: I’m telling you. I’d give up Hollywood and acting and all this shit just to be with him. They wouldn’t even have to get the full sentence out. Done. I’m literally lost without him.

Tears pricked the back of Harry’s eyes; he closed the chat window and closed the laptop. Leaning back against the plush pillows on the couch, he pulled out his cell phone and pressed his index finger to the contacts list, followed by his manager’s phone number. It rang twice.

He cleared his throat. “It’s me, Harry.”

“Everything okay with Liz?”

“Yeah, she’s got pneumonia pretty bad. They let her out of hospital this afternoon, but she’s worn out.” His bottom lip quivered; he swallowed hard. “I’m going to stay here with her until she’s back on her feet. She lives alone and…ah…I’m not leaving her.”

His manager was silent for several beats. Finally, he said, “I know you love this girl, but Harry. We need you for the press tour. You’re Harry Styles. The fans—the girls—expect to see you there.”

“I need to be here with her. She’s my life.”

“Harry—“

“Look, in a week and a half we’re scheduled in New York. I’ll meet up with the guys there.”

“Which, I assume you offer to do because you two have an apartment in New York.”

“You know, One Direction isn’t going to last forever. I want my relationship with her to last until the day I die and if I want to take a week off from a press tour because she’s sick, then I’m going to do it. There’s no negotiating on this, man. My mind is made up.”

There was again silence on the other end of the phone and then, a low sigh. “New York. I expect you to be there on Wednesday, all smiles and dimples and waving and the Harry Styles they want to see. Got it?”

“Got it.”

Harry hung up the phone and tossed it onto the couch cushion. He stood and retreated back upstairs to the bedroom, where Lizzie was sleeping snuggled under the covers just as he’d left her. Her breathing was raspy from congestion, but it was slow and even. He hesitated in the doorway watching her sleep; overcome with how deeply he loved her. She was willing to give everything up for him—she was willing to go through paparazzi and fan hell to stay with him. As much as she wanted to protect him from how it made her feel, he wanted to protect her more. She was everything to him. He wasn’t going to lose her—not because of paparazzi.

He crawled into bed beside her, wrapping his arm around her body and sliding close to her. The tears he’d been holding back spilled over his cheeks. He pressed his face to the top of her head and breathed in the sweet smell of her shampoo. God, he loved her.

She woke slightly, rolling over to face him and buried her face against his chest. “Hazza. I thought it was some kind of awesome dream that you were here and I’d wake up to find you gone.”

“I’m here, Lizzie baby.”

“Don’t leave me anymore. Okay? Leaving me is shit.”

He pressed his lips to her forehead. “Nothing will come between us, baby girl. I swear to you.”

And he meant it.

Notes