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I laugh, because I’m his little Red Riding Hood and he’s my Big Bad Wolf. Always and forever. I rush across the room, and grab his hand, the one that doesn’t have an IV.
“Oh my God, you scared me,” I breathe, inhaling his neck, and kissing his cheek. “Sweet Lord, Pax.”
“You scare easily,” he points out, and his arm wraps around me, tugging me closer.
“No,” I answer firmly. “You got hit by a car. A car.”
“We don’t know for sure it’s a car,” he replies. “It could’ve been a truck. Or an SUV. It sorta felt like an SUV.”
He rubs at his hip, and I roll my eyes to hide my panic.
“You’re ridiculous,” I tell him.
He grins.
“Yeah. But you love me.”
“Yeah.”
Pax tugs me until I tumble over the bed railin
g and collapse into his side. I snuggle there, into his arm, and he smells unfamiliar, like iodine and sterility. Not like my Pax.
“You stink,” I mumble into his arm.
He chuckles.
“You don’t.” He sniffs at my hair. “You always smell the same. Like Lavender and vanilla. You’re my home, babe.”
“The drugs have you addled,” I tell him, but his words warm my heart. They almost make all of the panic and anxiety worth it. Almost. “Did you know the girl?” I ask. “The police said she left the scene.”
I feel my husband shake his head. “Nope. She was just a random chick with a flat tire. She didn’t know how to change it.”
“Then how did she flee the scene?” I wonder aloud.
Pax shrugs. “She was probably freaked out and drove on the rim. Who knows?”
“We’ll never know,” I agree. “All that matters is that you’re going to be ok.”
“You should go home and get some rest,” Pax tells me. “Seriously. I’ll be ok, sweetheart.”
My gut clenches, because God. If the car or truck or SUV, or whatever the hell it was, had been just one more inch to the right, Pax wouldn’t have been so lucky. It makes me sick to my stomach and I clench his hand tightly.
“No. I’m staying right here.”
“But what about Zu?”
“I had Maddy call Chelcie.”
“Babe, go home. Just come back in the morning. You won’t be able to sleep here.”
I’m trying to protest when a nurse interrupts us. “Yes, Mrs. Tate. You really can’t be here tonight. He’s in recovery, and I need to monitor his vitals. I’m not sure I’ll get an accurate pulse read if you are in bed with him.” She gestures toward the monitors with a wry smile, and Pax laughs.
“True,” he points out. “You affect me, Red.”
“Still?” I ask breathlessly, and he grins again.
“Do you really doubt that?”
