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I don't remember throwing myself at her.

All I remember is the sound.

Metal.

The awful groan overhead.

I heard it—somehow, impossibly—and I looked up.

I saw that fucking fixture sway ominously.

Then I saw her standing there.

Completely unaware.

Jesus Christ.

I nearly lost her.

Again.

Not because I left this time.

Not because I was stupid enough to walk away.

But because somebody tried to take her from me.

No. Fuck no.

That is not happening.

Not while I'm breathing.

Not while my heart is beating.

Not while there is one ounce of fight left inside me.

The EMTs finally arrive.

And I refuse to let them take her out of my sight.

“Sir, we need room⁠—”

“No.”

“Mr. Figueroa⁠—”

“No.”

Amanda reaches for me.

“Less.”

Just one word.

But it's enough.

I immediately grab her hand.