Who are you, little girl?
I file the question away for later. Right now, I have more pressing concerns—but that doesn’t mean I’m taking chances.
“Tank.” I keep my voice low. “Stay on her. Don’t crowd her, but don’t let her out of your sight.”
He nods once, understanding without needing an explanation.
“Inside,” I tell Isabel. “Maggie will get you sorted.”
She doesn’t argue, but she doesn’t relax either.
Maggie descends on us the moment we cross the threshold.
“Oh, honey.” She’s all business, her hands gentle as she checks Josie’s bandages, her pupils, her pulse. “What a mess. Let’s get you into a proper bed. The guest room’s all set up—fresh sheets, extra pillows, the good painkillers Duck’s been hoarding since his knee surgery.”
“I’m fine?—”
“You’re not fine, you’re concussed and cracked and running on fumes.” Maggie shoots me a look. “Put her in the big guest room. I’ll be there in five with the first aid kit.”
“Yes ma’am.”
Josie groans. “I hate being carried.”
“Noted.” I don’t put her down.
The guest room is upstairs—private, quiet, with its own bathroom and a window that looks out over the back lot. I’ve had it set up for situations exactly like this, though I’ve never imagined I’d be using it for her.
I settle her on the bed as carefully as I can manage, propping pillows behind her back, pulling the blanket up over her legs. She watches me with an expression I can’t quite read.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing.” A pause. “You’re being very... domestic.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
But I like the soft look she wears as she watches me.
I want to stay. Want to sit beside her and hold her hand and make sure she keeps breathing. But I have a club to run, a man to interrogate, a threat to neutralize, and a meeting that can’t wait.
“Get some rest,” I tell her. “I’ve got business to handle, but I’ll check on you later.”
I move toward the door, but something stops me. The same thing that’s been stopping me for months—the pull of her, the gravity she exerts without even trying.
Fuck it.
I turn back. Cross the room in three strides. I lean down and press my lips to her forehead.
She goes still beneath me. I let the kiss linger—longer than I should. Her skin is warm under my mouth, and she smells like hospital antiseptic and a hint of perfume that’s all her.
When I pull back, her eyes are wide, searching my face.
“Stone—”
I brush a strand of hair from her forehead. “Rest that overworked brain of yours, Bright,” I say softly. “That’s all I want from you right now. Just… rest. Please.”
I’m at the door before she can respond, my heart pounding like I’m twenty years younger and twice as stupid.
