He groans in response.
“Do you know where you are?”
“Hospital,” he says horsely.
I smooth his hair back in slow, soft motions. “Yes, but everything is okay. You’re going to be just fine.”
He squints at me, groggy. “Why’re you crying?” His voice is rough, barely more than a rasp.
I laugh—more of a sob—and shake my head. “Because you scared me. You’re not allowed to die, remember?”
His hand curls weakly around mine, and his eyes slip shut again, but not before I hear him mumble, “Sorry, Ellie girl.”
I start to move, pulling my hand away, but he won’t let me go.
“I’m just going to tell your nurse that you woke up.”
“Stay.” His eyes reopen, heavy-lidded. “Please.”
“Okay,” I whisper, brushing my thumb over the scruff on his cheeks and press the call button instead.
There’s a hospital-issued water bottle sitting on the rolling table beside his bed. I grab it and hold it up to him, guiding the straw to his lips. He manages two big gulps, his throat bobbing with each one, before sinking back against the pillows with a quiet groan.
“Thanks,” he murmurs, scratchy, but clearer. “And don’t worry about me dying, because me and you are dying on the same day.”
I set the water bottle aside, careful not to let go of his hand. Breathing a smile I say, “You say shit like that and then pretend you haven’t seenThe Notebook.
He smiles with his eyes closed. “If I’m a bird?—”
He drifts to sleep for a moment before suddenly, jerking upright, his whole body tense, and the heart rate monitor spikes in response, beeping frantically.
“Ryker,” he rasps, eyes wide, panic flooding his face.
“Hey, hey—look at me,” I say quickly, tightening my grip on his hand. “He’s in custody. It’s over. You got him.”
He lets out a relieved exhale, sinking into the pillows.
When his eyes land on my cheek, he winces. His breathing sounds shaky as he tries to inhale. “I should’ve killed him. I should’ve fucking tortured him.”
I shake my head, sweeping my thumb over his knuckles. “No. You’re better than that. You got me out. That’s what matters.”
His eyes find mine, darker, more alert. “Did he?—”
“He didn’t.” I cut him off gently. “And I’m okay. Only a few scrapesand bruises.”
Once the doctors convinced me Dominic was stable, I finally let them check me out. I didn’t have any serious injuries—at least none that were visible. Just some bruising along my ribs, minor cuts on my wrists where the rope dug in, and the split in my cheek where Ryker slapped me. It didn’t even need stitches.
Physically I’ll recover quickly.
It’s the rest I’m not so sure about.
Dominic goes quiet, and I can see the war still playing out behind his eyes. The guilt. The fear. The anger. I lean forward and press my forehead lightly to his.
“You saved me,” I whisper. “That’s all I’ll remember.” Lifting my head, my gaze locks with his. “I love you, you know. I love you so much, and I can’t believe I almost lost you.”
A tears streaks down my face and Dominic catches it. His smile is weak and tired, but it’s there.
“Took you long enough.”
