I sighed into the receiver. “Yes.”
“And your injuries are…you’re not…” It was the first time he sounded shaken. “You’ll be okay.”
“I’ve come off of worse games,” I told him. “Broken wrist, cracked ribs, some bruises, light concussion. I lost my gallbladder, but they assured me I didn’t really need it.”
He swore under his breath. “And Micah?”
“He was there, but he wasn’t hurt. And thanks to someone,” I said, unable to hold back my smile, though I had a nasty cut on my lip, which made it hurt, “they found the person who hurt us.”
Micah wasn’t hurt tonight, but the ‘us’was appropriate. I knew the car had been coming for him. I knew Hunter was waiting for Micah to step into the road to meet me, and I’d run faster than I thought I was capable of to keep him from doing what he planned to do.
Killing for Micah would be worth it.
And so would dying for him.
And this recovery would be nothing so long as he was by my side. I was a little afraid that he would panic once the shock wore off. He’d blame himself, and he’d run, thinking he was protecting me.
I had to work on him before he got that wild idea.
I was not letting him go this time.
I was done being patient.
“He will go to jail,” Tyoma said after a long silence. “He will take a plea deal and serve jail time.”
“Yes.” I figured as much. Not as much jail time as he should serve, but it was better than nothing.
“I will take care of it after that,” he murmured. “I’m still working on how he managed to get past all the security, but I will find who he was working with.”
I refused to ask what that meant. Instead, I thanked him and told him that he should fly out soon, then let the phone fall to my side as the little machine beside the bed clicked and gave me my next dosage of painkillers.
It was easy to doze after that—floating on a hazy cloud somewhere between afternoon sun and sleep. I had no idea how long I was drifting before there were noises in my room, and it didn’t take much to realize the hands on me didn’t belong to a nurse.
“Micah.” His name came out thick and slurred, but I forced my eyes open to take him in.
He looked exhausted—dark circles under his long lashes, cheeks flushed, hair still a bit of a mess. His hand moved sluggishly up and down my arm as he leaned over me.
“You’re awake.”
“You’re back,” I said. English was coming a little easier now that the pain medication was starting to wear off. “Was…difficult with police?”
“No.” He leaned over the side of the bed and dropped his face into the crook of my neck. He wasn’t running, and that meant something. “The detective was nice. They have Hunter in custody, and I gave them all the messages he’s sent me over the years. I told him what Hunter did to my house—and to yours. And…and everything else.”
I wrapped my good arm around him and held him as close as I could manage with the big, ugly bed between us. My side was aching and sore from the cracked ribs and the surgery, so I couldn’t make room for him, and I hated it.
“Promise me,” I said.
Micah pulled back, his forehead furrowed in a deep frown. “Promise you what?”
“Not run. You…” Okay, maybe words weren’t as easy as I thought. I licked my lips with an overly dry tongue and sighed. “You love me.”
He burst into laughter. “Oh my god, you needy weirdo. Yes, I love you. I wasn’t lying when I said that.”
“So you’re…you don’t…” What were the words I was looking for? “You love. You stay. Yes?”
“Vanya,” he said quietly. I really loved the way he said my name. Almost as much as I loved saying his. “I know I was a shit before, but I meant what I said when I told you that I was going to make this work. Everything’s out in the open now, okay? And, ah—and I’ve made a decision.”
“What decision?” My hand drifted upward, alonghis back, into his hair, his soft waves curling around my fingers.
