Page 74 of Peaches & Pistols

My attention fades in and out, but the voice sounds kind.

“I’ve got her.” “I need to get her to the hospital.” “Fuck.” “Yea, I’ll wait.”

The hand jostles my shoulder again. I open my eyes long enough to recognize James before they grow heavy and close again.

“Mia. Open your eyes, Mia.” James waits until I do. “Try to stay awake.”

As I slip back into my warm slumber, Charlie whispers, “Hold on just a little bit longer. He’s coming.

Cold air seeps into my cocoon.

“Mia. Sweetheart.” A hand touches my forehead and cheeks. “Mia, wake up, honey.”

I hear him through a tunnel, but I’m so sleepy and warm…

“We need to get her to the hospital,” Greyson snaps at James.

“I fucking told you, but you wanted me to wait,” James counters.

“I know. Thank you for finding her, I owe you my life.”

“No thanks needed. Let’s just get her to the emergency room,” James says.

“Help me move her to my truck.”

“No, just take mine. I don’t want to move her. She’s been really out of it, I think she might have a concussion,” James adds.

“Fuck. You’re right. I’m not thinking straight.”

“How about you leave your truck, and Reid can come get it. I’ll drive—you won’t be able to focus if you do.”

“Yea. Okay,” Greyson relents.

My head is gently lifted from the seat, and I groan, being shifted to lay on Greyson’s lap.

“Sorry, honey. I’m so fucking sorry,” Greyson repeats while stroking my hair. His touch feels so good, but my head hurts so badly. Sleep. I need sleep.

“She’s at school, you need to rest,” Greyson insists.

“I need to hold her.” My lower lip wobbles, tears imminent.

“Don’t cry, honey. Please.” Greyson wraps me in a hug, and I can’t help but sink into him. We just got home from the hospital—home—Greyson is my home.

He wanted to carry me up the long flight of stairs, but they’re too narrow, so he insisted on helping me with every step.

“The doctor said to rest. You need sleep to heal from the concussion and hypothermia. Until I say otherwise, your job is to sleep, rest, stay warm, and do whatever I tell you to do,” Greyson says, leaving no room for argument.

I was moderately hypothermic, and I don’t remember half of the things they did to bring me back safely. I was tested for everything under the sun, and after an overnight stay for monitoring, I was discharged mid-morning.

All I could think about, and ask about, was my daughter. I need to hold her, feel her little heartbeat. I nearly lost my chance to be her mama.

“Bossy.”

“Damn straight. Until further notice, I’m the boss of making sure you eat, hydrate, rest, and recover.”

His grumpy disposition makes me smile, because I know beneath the rough exterior, he was worried sick, and he needs to feel like he’s taking care of me. Such a mother hen.

“Yes, sir.”