Page 100 of Worth the Shot

I lift a cup of ice water to his lips. “Small sips.”

He listens. Mostly because he knows I’ll start swinging if he doesn’t.

A knocks sounds at the door and the surgeon walks in. He’s bright-eyed and far too cheerful for 7 AM. How do they do that?

“Well, look who’s awake. How’s the pain, Brennan?”

“Pretty bad,” I answer for him, because I’m physically incapable of not being Delaney Collins, Trauma Nurse. “He needs Tylenol again and probably Oxy for breakthrough.” The surgeon nods. “Got it. Well, good news, no surgery for now. CT’s still clean. No entrapment, no worsening swelling. We’ll keep him on antibiotics, sinus precautions, concussion protocol. Follow-up in clinic in a few days.”

Brennan’s gaze snaps to mine. “I can go home?”

The surgeon hesitates. “As long as someone stays with you for the next 24 hours. Someone who’ll notice changes, check pupils, wake you up if needed.”

Brennan looks at me like I’m the whole damn sun rising over the horizon.

“I’ll take him,” I say, steady even though my insides are currently playing hopscotch. “He won’t be alone.”

The surgeon nods and leaves.

Brennan settles back into his pillow and reality settles over me. For the next 24 hours, I am this man’s lifeline, the same way he’s been mine these last few months.

“You stayed all night,” he murmurs.

I roll my eyes so he won’t see everything else. “Someone had to make sure you didn’t wander off.”

But my voice cracks at the edges, and he hears it. He always hears it. He reaches toward me, slow and clumsy. “Laney. Come here.”

I sit on the edge of his bed and take his hand.

“I’m okay,” he whispers.

My eyes close for a moment.

“I know.” Then quieter, “I wasn’t.”

The morning light radiates around us while we sit like that. His pulse is steady under my fingers, but my chest is tied in knots. He’s watching me like he’s seeing something he never has before. Like he’s up to something. Then he smirks. Even bruised and stitched, the bastard smirks.

“You were scared,” he teases, using his one functioning eye to full advantage. “Stay with me, Brennan,” he mimics dramatically.

“I would whack you right now if I could,” I mutter, arms crossing.

“I’m sorry, you’re right. Totally not funny.” He softens. “Would hate for you to lose your best friend like that.”

The smirk does something primal and feral to me, so I focus on the paperwork like it’s a lifeline. “Please follow every wound-care step these next few weeks. I wrote it all down. And I can give you visuals when we get to your place so you⁠—”

Before I can finish, he uncrosses my arms and pulls me down onto the bed beside him. Sometimes I forget how strong he is, how easily he can shift me around like it’s nothing, even when he’s lying here half broken.

“Laney.” His palm slides up and down my arm, slow, warm, intimate. “I’ve got it. All of it. I promise.” The walls feel like they collapse around me. My heart kicks at my ribs for ever questioning where my heart lies.

“What’s your pain level?” I ask, still staring at the discharge instructions like they’re a holy scroll.

“Zero.”

“You’re lying.”

“Delaney.” His voice is firm, but gentle and so serious. “I’m going to be fine. I’ll follow everything you say. But you need rest. Your shift ended twelve hours ago. Let’s go home.”

“Okay…” I draw it out. “Let’s go. Brat. You’re bossy when you’re injured,” I snarl.