Page 76 of Heartbreaker

That I’m sorry I’m a mess, that I’m sorry I’m an asshole, but I’m working on it. That I want to be better, not just for me, but for her.

That I’m desperate to be worthy of her.

I thought I’d have time—time to talk to her, to explain, to figure things out, but what if I don’t?

I run faster, trying to push that thought from my mind.

“Rome,” he repeats, grabbing my wrist. “You’re so close to going back to Indy. Don’t fuck it up now; there’s nothing you can do over there.”

“I don’t fucking care about Indy. I care about Lana,” I say, then rip my hand away before running toward her truck. To my left, a security guard is jogging my way, probably instructed to lock me down, but I don’t care.

Except the guard doesn’t catch up, because instead of following me, Tyler has tackled him to the ground. He looks over his shoulder, a grin on his face, that looks just like when we were kids, getting into trouble for no reason.

“Go!” he shouts. “Check on Lana!”

Relief rushes through me, if only for a moment, and I nod before continuing.

“Roman, you can’t—” Oliver says, not getting close, looking over my shoulder at Tyler, now fighting the guard to keep him away from me and give me the space I need to get to Lana.

“Fuck off,” I say, pushing him aside. And I’m grateful when he doesn’t come for me. Finally, I approach Lana’s truck, on its side. My gut drops, and I swallow back bile, trying to be brave, to stay in the moment, not to remember my own terrifying crash.

As I approach, they’re pulling her out of her truck gently, her body seemingly limp, and nausea roils.

“Rome!” voices call, but I ignore it, shaking off another pair of hands trying to hold me back. If I have to, I’ll hit someone, but thankfully no one stops me again as I reach Lana, now being laid onto a stretcher.

“Lana!” I call, moving to her side, and the world stops when I see her pretty green eyes on me.

“Hey there, pretty boy.” Her lips tip up, eyes a bit dazed, but still, relief moves through me in such a way that I almost become lightheaded. “You know, if this is your idea of a grand gesture, I think we need to go back to boyfriend school,” she says with a weak laugh. My throat tightens as I reach out and grab her hand. When she squeezes, that relief becomes something tangible I can hang onto.

She’s okay.

She’s okay.

My heartbreaker is okay.

“Sir, we have to take her to the hospital,” an EMT says.

“I’m coming with,” I state. The EMT looks around nervously.

“We’re married,” Lana lies, and in that moment, I know she’s definitely okay, scheming as always. I smile down at her, and she returns it. “Let him come with. He’s very protective of me.”

“Damn right I am,” I say, grazing my knuckles over her cheek. When no one argues, he just shrugs and starts pushing the stretcher on all-terrain wheels toward the exit.

THIRTY-SEVEN

“Oh my god, I’m not broken, Rome,” I whine as he carries me into his hotel room a few hours later. I could have left the hospital much earlier, the ER deciding that there wasn’t much wrong other than some bruising on a rib and a mild concussion, but Rome insisted on them doing every test under the sun.

That’s how I found out my iron level was low, I’m thoroughly hydrated, and that I’m definitely not pregnant. Did any of these things have to do with the accident? Absolutely not, but it seemed to ease something for Rome, so I let it be.

After he was satisfied that I was as healthy as can be, we left with some mild pain relievers, an instruction to monitor any uncharacteristic sleepiness, and a prescription for iron supplements.

“I want to take care of you,” he murmurs, setting me into the bed almost reverently, a pile of pillows propping me up.

“And you are. You have been. But I’m okay,” she assures me. A flash of panic crosses his face for a moment, his eyes closing as he takes in a deep breath.

“I was so fucking worried, Lana. I saw the tire explode, saw you go down, and all I could think was that we fought the last time we talked.” I give him a soft, understanding smile as I lift my hand to cup his cheek when he sits on the edge of the bed.

“I’m okay now,” I say. “I’m fine. You were there when they cleared me all four times.” I smile, but he doesn’t.