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“I’ll be okay. I’ll ride with the ambulance, and I won’t leave the hospital until you get there.”
“I’m not leaving you,” he says sternly.
In a tone I’m sure he thinks I’m not going to argue.
“Listen, Willa told me one of the most important things about this is keeping you and your brothers’ identities safe. So far, I fucked all of this up. I won’t fuck up that too. So go.”
His jaw flinches. Deep wrinkles form on his forehead.
“Please, Cole. Trust me. I’ll be okay.”
He studies me for a hard second. I see the fight in him.
“I’ll wait out in the truck until the ambulance gets here,” he finally says, reluctance lagging in his voice.
“Thank you,” I say with a tiny, forced smile.
“Stay safe.” Concern passes over his stringent face again. “I don’t want anything happening to you.”
“Right. If anything happens to me, my aunt will kill you,” I say, trying to pull off a joke in this dire situation. It’s just like me to deflect from the severity of everything.
“No.” He grabs my arm. His glossy eyes bounce around my face from my mouth to my eyes. “Idon’t want anything to happen to you.”
“I’ll behave.” I hold my weak smile, understanding what he’s saying. He’s not concerned about my aunt. He’s worried about me. “Promise.”
“I don’t think you know how to do that.” He turns around and heads for the door. “I’ll call you when I get to the hotel.”
???
After being interviewed by the police, Amanda waking up, and meeting her father, I head for the hospital exit. With each step taken, I try to shed the night’s events from my tense and stressed body.
The breezeway opens, I step outside, and the warm air hits me. I exhale and take in a breath of the fresh air.
I always loved Florida. I miss Aunt Willa. I miss my second home.
If it didn’t hurt so much to be here, I would’ve never left.
Cole’s truck pulls up. The weight on my shoulders lightens, knowing he’s with me. For once in so many years, I’m not alone. Granted, he’s here due to my mistake.
He’s still here.
I know better, though.
Heroes don’t stick around.
Not forever.
I open the door and climb inside. His truck smells like him. Steely, distinguished, and comforting. I sink into the seat and relax a little.
“How’s Amanda?”
I close my eyes. “She has a few cracked ribs and a concussion.”
“But she’s awake?”
“Yeah. Her dad showed up. He seemed to make her feel better.”
“Good.” He puts the truck in drive, and we head out.
