It felt easier to keep Josie at arm’s length. Easier to want her from a distance than to reach for her and watch it fall apart.
Except now she’s behind those doors, fighting for her life, and all my distance didn’t protect either of us from a goddamn thing.
Eight months.
Eight months of watching her. Wanting her. Memorizing every detail like a man starving for a taste of paradise he won’t let himself eat.
What a fucking waste.
The doors swing open. A doctor steps through, scanning the room.
“Mr. Armstrong?”
I’m on my feet before she finishes my name.
She’s small, middle-aged, with tired eyes and the calm demeanor of someone who delivers bad news for a living. I close the distance between us in three strides, looming over her.
“How is she?”
To her credit, she doesn’t flinch at the raw, rough need in my voice. “Stable.”
The word hits me like a fist to the chest. My knees nearly buckle, but I force myself to stay standing.
Stable.
She consults her chart. “Ms. Bright sustained three broken ribs, a fractured left wrist, a suspected concussion, and multiple lacerations requiring stitches. She also has significant bruising to her chest and abdomen from the seatbelt, steering column and airbags.”
Each injury lands like a punch. Ribs. Wrist. Concussion. Lacerations. Bruising. I catalog them, my jaw tightening with every word.
“But she’s going to be okay?”
“She’s very lucky.” The doctor’s expression is measured, professional. “The impact was primarily to the driver’s side, but a few inches further forward and we’d be having a very different conversation.”
A few inches.
My hands curl into fists at my sides. A few inches and she’d be gone. A few inches and I’d never get the chance to?—
I shut that thought down hard.
She pauses. “Her scans look good. No internal bleeding, no spinal damage, and her brain activity is good. Though we’ll need to do further testing for concussion and other complications when she wakes.”
Lucky. She’s lying broken in a hospital bed and they’re calling herlucky.
She places a hand on my arm. “There is swelling on her brain though, so we’ve put her in a medically induced coma. It’s unlikely she’ll wake for a few days. She needs this time to rest, and allow the brain to heal.”
I nod once.
She’s alive, and that’s all that matters.
“Can I see her?”
“She’s being moved to a private room now. Room 114, upstairs two levels then head down the hall, it’s the first on the left.” The doctor hesitates. “She’s still unconscious—between the concussion and the pain medication, she likely won’t wake for several hours. But you can sit with her.”
“Thank you.”
I make my way to her room, stopping in the doorway as my chest cracks wide open.
She looks small. That’s what hits me first—how small she looks in that hospital bed, surrounded by machines and wires and sterile white sheets. Josie Bright, who fills every room she walks into. Who took on Summit and a cartel and a corrupt system without flinching. Who stood toe-to-toe with me from day one and never once backed down.
