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“Sounds like you’ve made a full recovery,” he murmurs to himself, then, creasing a smile in the rearview, he lets me know he’s got my back.
“We’ll find her, Sir. And it’s good to have you back in one piece.”
The huge V12 thunders out of the hospital grounds into city traffic, and my mind is only fixed on finding Holly and keeping my promise.
Teammates.
And never letting her out of my sight again, not even for a minute.
“Madison?” I ask in reply, his own eyes meeting mine again. “Have them take thatfuckingpainting of me down, will ya? Makes me sick,” I grunt, turning away swiftly so my eyes can be on the street, searching for what matters most now.
Not some stupid picture of myself or my name on a plaque.
The only thing that matters to me now.
Whatever it is, Holly. We can work it out. I promise. Just don’t do anything stupid or run where even I can’t find you.
Madison can sense my mood almost as well as Sister O’Halloran, and he does his job just as I’ve asked.
Cruising the streets, some of which I still struggle to remember the names of, but the most direct route back to her apartment seems to make the most sense to me right now.
I bark at him to slow down or stop a few times, sure that I see her. But it’s always someone else.
One girl walking with her man made my heart sink lower than I thought possible.
The thought of her alone out here at night, in the freezing cold, is bad enough.
The idea of her with anyone else? I can’t even bring myself to have the thought because it’s not gonna fucking happen.
I’m trying to keep my eyes peeled, but with blanketing snow and my mind drifting back to the memory of her legs wrapped around my shoulders, mixed with my feelings of stupidity for leaving her alone in the first place… I zone out more often than not.
Until Madison clears his throat, slowing the car.
“Uh… Sir?” he says calmly, pulling the huge car over to the curb, keeping it at a crawl until I see what he means.
It’s her.
Holly!
I know Madison’s never met Holly. But the girl marching in the snow looks like she’d fit the description of an upset girl walking home alone.
The kind I’ve instructed him we’re going to find, even if it takes until next Christmas.
Her head’s down, and her hands are tucked into her pits. Each step is long and heavy, almost like she’s stamping her feet to keep warm.
Before the car stops, I’m already out the door, skidding on the icy snow and leaving the door open as I hear Madison bring the car to a skidding halt.
“Holly!” I call out, already breathless, as I start to run toward her.
I call out again, but she won’t even look around.
I trot up beside her, slowing from a run to a jog and finally keeping pace with her.
“Holly?” I say again, not wanting to frighten her or make her more upset by grabbing hold of her.
“Mr. Carter,” she says in a low tone, her voice shaking with cold. Not from anger or hurt.
“Holly, stop,” I command her, grateful when she finally does.
