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"Even I didn't know how Noah was," Riggs confesses. He kisses my head.
There's a knock on the door, and someone clears their throat.
King Madden jumps out of my arms and onto the floor.
"Hey, buddy," Kalim says, crouching down and petting him.
King Madden barks.
Kalim chuckles. "You're a brave boy."
King Madden rolls on his back.
Kalim rubs his belly and looks up. "How you feeling, Blakely?"
Riggs shifts on the bed and slides his arm around my shoulder.
I grab the top of his hand and reply, "I'm going to live. Thanks to you both."
Kalim rises, and his face turns stern. "I'm just glad you're okay."
"Are we good?" Riggs asks.
The two men exchange a knowing look. Kalim nods. "All set."
"Thank you. For everything," Riggs acknowledges.
There's a lot Riggs isn't telling me, but everything hurts too much to push for more details. So I don't.
King Madden flies back across the room and jumps, barking and trying to get on the bed.
Riggs lowers and picks him up. He hands him to me and states, "I need a minute with Kalim." He rises, and they leave the room.
King Madden licks my face and softly barks, then tilts his head with his tail wagging.
"Well, I'm happy to see you too, sweetie," I coo, petting his head. "I'm sorry I took you around those bad people."
King Madden runs in circles on the bed.
I laugh.
Riggs walks back into the room with the doctor. He announces, "This is Dr. Phillips. He needs to give you another quick exam, then we can go home."
The doctor asks, "How are you feeling, Mrs. Madden?"
I smile. "My head's a little sore, but other than that, I think I'm okay."
"Let me check a few vitals," he states and takes out a light. "I'm going to shine this in your eyes. Just follow my directions, okay?"
"Sure," I say, but I wince when the light hits my eyes.
He spends fifteen minutes assessing me, then announces, "You'll feel better in a few days. In the meantime, drink lots of water, get plenty of rest, and let me know if any symptoms worsen."
"Thank you," I reply.
He grins. "I'm going to be shameless now." He pulls a pen and a small notepad out of his pocket. "You're my granddaughter's favorite singer. Would you mind giving me an autograph for her?"
I reach for the paper and pen, answering, "Sure. What's her name?"
