“Yeah,” Tate says, bringing my hand to his lips. “You get to keep me.”
“Even though I’m fucked up and complicated and apparently make terrible decisions under pressure?”
“Especially because of that.”
“Why?”
“Because fucked up and complicated people need love too. Maybe more than anyone else.”
I close my eyes, the weight of the last two years lifting off my chest. Christ, I can finally live without constantly looking over my shoulder, worrying about danger lurking, ready to pounce. The lies, the fear, the impossible choices - all of it’s over. My father’s taken care of, the syndicate’s destroyed, and the man I love is sitting next to my hospital bed telling me he wants to keep me.
The door opens again, and Dr. Gandolfo comes back in.
“Sorry to interrupt, but there are a lot of people in the waiting room asking when they can see you.”
Tate grins. “Told you. They all want to see the hero who took down a criminal organization.”
“I’m not a hero.”
“You are to them. And to me.”
Dr. Gandolfo checks my chart. “You’re stable enough for short visits, if you’re up for it.”
I look at Tate, at this man who I thought I’d lost forever, who’s here holding my hand and talking about family dinners and teammates who want to thank me.
“Yeah,” I say. “I’m up for it.”
As Dr. Gandolfo leaves to get the others, Tate leans over and kisses my forehead.
“Welcome to the beginning of our future,” he whispers.
THIRTY-EIGHT
zane
Sunrise Manor looksdifferent in the daylight.
The last time I was here, it was dark, and I was burdened by federal investigations and syndicate threats. Now it’s a bright Tuesday afternoon, and I’m sitting in Tate’s truck trying to work up the nerve to walk through those automatic doors.
“You don’t have to do this today,” Tate says from the driver’s seat.
“Yeah, I do.”
“We could come back next week. Or next month. Whenever you’re ready.”
It’s been six weeks since I got out of the hospital. I’ve been going between physical therapy and doctor appointments, trying to get my strength back. Tate moved me into his place because I couldn’t handle being alone, of waking up in the middle of the night thinking I was back in that warehouse.
And my dad has no idea about any of it.
“What if he doesn’t recognize me again?” I ask.
“Then we’ll deal with it.”
“What if he’s worse than last time?”
“Then we’ll deal with that, too.”
“What if seeing him in bad shape fucks me up for days?”
