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“I’m good,” I tell him honestly because I feel hope and relief. And pain, too, of course.
“Just got a good look at my reflection. Scary shit,” I admit.
He laughs. “You look beautiful, and I’ll help you shower. At home.”
A shiver steals down my spine at those two words. At home. As if his home is our home.Some day.With the promise of a shower, I wipe down my body and wet my hair, dressing quickly because I’m so eager to get the hell out of this hospital.
One last glance in the mirror. It’s the best I can do. “Okay. Ready,” I say, ignoring the butterflies in my stomach.
His eyes heat at the sight of me in blue jeans and a t-shirt, but Joaquin licks his lips like I’m a giant, juicy steak. “I should have taken more flannel pajamas for you,” he growls.
I laugh. “Let’s go play nurse. I hope it involves one of those sexy white uniforms.”
He takes my bag and shoves the prescriptions and after-care instructions inside before he zips it up and points at the wheelchair.
“Have a seat.”
“No fucking way. The bullet was in my back, not my ass.”
He smirks, amused by my outrage. “If I had my way, I’d sling you over my shoulder and walk you out of here.”
“So, what’s stopping you?” I ask.
He leans in and plants a kiss on my mouth. “The fifty-seven thousand stitches holding your beautiful body together, plus the army of nurses and guards ready to throw my ass in jail for abusing a patient.”
I start to object, but then a stab of pain from my shoulder to my gut has me doubled over. When the pain recedes, I know Joaquin speaks the truth.
I raise my hands in surrender and Joaquin pushes the chair closer and eases me into it.
“Is this better?” he asks.
“Ouch!” I say, trying to get comfortable.
“Shit, I’m sorry. You okay?”
I suck in a breath. Once we’re moving, I’m fine and ready to go home, but a full recovery is still weeks away. “Yes, actually I am. So, let’s get going.”
Joaquin laughs and pushes the chair down the hall. One elevator ride, a long walk through the lobby, and we’re out in the sweet, blessed sunshine. His hand grips the back of my neck and gives it a supportive squeeze. “Stubborn woman.”
I laugh. “It’s all part of my charm,” I remind him.
“It is,” he says with a hint of affection.
We pass dozens of cars as he pushes me across the parking lot, the sun so welcome on my face after days or is it weeks breathing institutional air. I look around, puzzled “Where’s your bike? I’m ready to feel the power between my legs again.”
“Seriously?” He smiles and shakes his head. “The doc explicitly said no wild rides, on dicks or bikes.” He motions to the deep blue pickup truck and opens the door.
I take a step forward and sigh. “Bummer. Because I was totally looking forward to a few of our wild rides.”
Joaquin laughs and picks me up gently and deposits me on the front seat. “Doc also said no heavy lifting and no significant weight on this side.”
Without another word, he sets me on the passenger seat and straps me in, stopping only to press one hot kiss to my lips. “I’m so fucking glad you’re all right, Will.”
He pulls back and quickly closes the door, taking his time to round the car and toss my bag in the back.
In this moment, more than all the moments before, I’m also glad that I’m all right. All right, and here with this man who’s captivated my mind and my body, who is showing he cares without realizing it, or maybe he does realize it, and this is what it looks like when a good man cares. It’s not like I would know if one walked up to me and bit me on the ass.
“Ready?” he asks as he settles behind the wheel.
