Page 55 of Jameson’s Salvation

But Kennedy was, like always, determined.

With Weston still gone, the team was already down a man. And since Jameson refused to leave her side even when Nixon, Holden, and McKenna had said they’d stay with her while he went home to shower and rest, he was out of the search for who’d hurt Kennedy as well.

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust his team, he knew they’d protect her. It was the visions that plagued his mind of her unconscious body. He’d never forget finding her shirtless, lying in the grass, unable to wake her up. He’d known he’d taken a risk moving her, but he wasn’t going to wait for an ambulance to get to her.

He’d scooped up her lifeless body and held her while Nixon had driven them to the hospital. So many thoughts had been racing through his mind he couldn’t remember the drive. He’d been scared out of his mind, a feeling that Jameson wasn’t used to. He’d seen plenty of death and carnage over the years, had dealt it out when needed. But he’d never held the woman he loved in his arms while she was bleeding and comatose. Then he’d spent the next six hours in hell.

Even now, listening to her complain about having to stay in the hospital, he couldn’t stop thinking about those hours. The minutes dragged on. The seconds had felt like an eternity. All Jameson could do was watch the steady rhythm of the monitors. The only sign that she was alive. She hadn’t even twitched in those hours. Hadn’t groaned or made a sound. The silence had been so deafening he’d turned up the volume on the machine. He’d needed the beeping to reassure him her heart was beating.

“That’s enough, Kennedy.” His tone was harsher than he would’ve liked but he’d heard enough.

“I don’t want to be here,” she complained. “I need to get home. And I have to check on my mom.”

“There is nothing you need to do at home. And Nixon is taking care of your mom.”

“But—”

“Stop. Please stop.” Jameson’s hands scrubbed over his face before they went into his hair and tugged.

“Jameson?” Kennedy called. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong? You’re joking, right?”

“I’m fine. Even the doctor said, it’s just a concussion.”

Christ—just a concussion.

“Yeah, a concussion brought on by a goddamn two-by-four to the back of the head. Do you have any idea how lucky you are? If he would’ve hit you just a little bit harder, he could’ve killed you. If you would’ve turned your head you could be in a wheelchair, drinking out of a straw for the rest of your life. There was a fucking rusty nail on the end of the board. If he would’ve hit you with that…” Jameson shook his head, trying to dislodge the image of Kennedy with a nail in her skull.

She had been so damn lucky the person who hit her hadn’t meant to kill her, or she’d be dead. His woman would be gone and it would’ve been Jameson’s fault for leaving her unprotected. His ass had been sitting in his office fifteen miles away from her while some fucker had attacked her. There was no excuse for his oversight. He should’ve been there.

“But none of those things happened.”

“They could’ve,” Jameson growled.

Hate and anger rose to the surface and threatened to consume him. When he found the man that hurt Kennedy, he was going to unleash his wrath. Hell was going to rain down on the motherfucker that hurt her. There was no doubt about it. The man would pay.

“You can’t dwell on what could’ve happened. It didn’t. And you found me and got me help. Of course, it could’ve been worse. The field could’ve gone up and I was lying in it passed out. But it didn’t and you saved me. I’m fine, Jameson. That’s all that matters.”

“Maybe I could stop dwelling on it if I could forget holding the woman I love while her blood seeped from her head and soaked my skin. Maybe I could stop dwelling on it, if I didn’t spend six goddamn hours praying for you to wake up. Maybe I could stop thinking about how fucking terrified I was when I saw what was happening, knowing I couldn’t get to you in time, if I could forget the sight of you shirtless lying in a field. So please, cut me a little slack, stop bitching about wanting to leave and let the doctor monitor you. Please, Kennedy, I’m fucking begging you. Just stop.”

“Okay,” she whispered. “I’ll stop.”

“Thank you.” Jameson blew out a relieved breath.

“I’m sorry. I’m being selfish. I just want out of this hospital bed. I want to be able to lie next to you and feel your arms around me.”

“Soon, Kennedy.” He sat in a chair next to her bed and gathered her hand in his. “You’ll be home soon.”

He hated to bring up her mom, but it was a topic they needed to discuss.

“Nixon’s not real happy he lied to your mom.” Kennedy’s hand convulsed in his. “When he went over there to fix her AC and tell her what happened, she had a lot of questions. He evaded most of them, but he’s unhappy. She’s worried about you and I think it’s time you told her.”

“You’re right. I’ll call her.”

“How ‘bout I call Janice and ask her to bring your mom to the hospital?”

“No way. She’ll—”