Page 180 of True Blue

“Hmm,” she murmurs, cheek pressing into my shirt. “You’re warm.”

“Ditto,” I murmur, tightening my arms around her while I allow myself one deep inhale of her hair.

Indie is in my arms, holding onto me as tightly as I’m holding onto her.

I’m dead. This is heaven. I died somewhere in the hallway outside. Or maybe on the drive over here. But I’m definitely dead, and this is heaven because Indie is in my arms again.

After months of just being next to her, minimal contact unless she initiates, this is salvation. God, I have missed the weight of her against me, soft and warm and so goddamn sweet.

I even push my luck and press a soft, barely there kiss to her hair. I think she feels it, though, because she just nuzzles her face against my chest again.

“…you smell nice,” she mumbles sleepily.

A helpless smile spreads across my face. Across the room, Mimi quietly snorts while typing something into the computer.

“I already let Chief Rohan know what happened,” she says without looking at us. “We’ll take care of your patients for the next two weeks. You need rest, chickie.”

“I have Melissa… Peterson tomorrow,” Indie rasps, the words sounding like they’re being dragged with force from her. “Ask her about her daughter’s recital… Swan Lake…”

Affection slips across Mimi’s stern face.

“I will,” Mimi promises.

Then she turns her attention toward me.

Her brow raises, her expression sharpening into something stern enough that my spine straightens instinctively, “You take care of our girl, loverboy.”

Indie snickers weakly against my chest. “Loverboy…”

Mimi smiles fondly at her before looking back at me, expression sobering.

“Her fever was one-oh-one when I checked. If it hits one-oh-four, you take her to the emergency room immediately. Not urgent care. Emergency room. Jefferson is closest to her apartment, right?”

I nod.

“Go to Jefferson and tell them Mimi Manning—no goddamn relation to Peyton—sent you.” She smirks like she knows her name carries weight. “They’ll take her right back.”

I nod once more, memorizing the words. “Jefferson. Manning. Not Peyton. Got it.”

“She really just needs rest,” Mimi continues, gently brushing Indie’s hair back from her damp forehead. “Lots of fluids. Water, broth, soup, whatever she can keep down. She’ll probably throw up at some point, and the concussion won’t help. Just keep her hydrated.”

“What about sleeping?” I ask, my voice cracking despite everything I do to keep it steady. Indie is dead weight against me now, her breath warm through my shirt. “After a concussion, I mean. Is it safe? I always heard you had to keep someone awake.”

“No, what she needs is sleep. We did a CT, and everything looks okay. She’ll have some bruising and a nasty headache for a bit. Wake her up every few hours to get her to hydrate.”

“Her stitches will dissolve. But if you need anything,” Mimi scribbles something down on a sheet of paper that I see is her phone number. “Call me. If you have any questions. Day or night, I don’t care.”

“Thank you,” I say, pocketing the number while holding my girl close. “Really. Thank you.”

Mimi’s eyes soften as she looks down at Indie.

“You’ve got a special one here, kid,” she says softly, patting my shoulder. “And she’s just head over ass for you.”

My head snaps up.

“You think?”

She rolls her eyes like my question is offensively stupid, and it makes something bright bloom inside my chest just as a nurse wheels a wheelchair into the room.