“She is,” I gently argued, already knowing Mallory would never admit to anyone that she was in pain. Regardless, I was sure even the nurse had heard the pain in her voice.
“We’ll see what we can do about that,” the nurse assured us both as she hurried around the room.
Once I was sure she wasn’t going to force me away from the bed, I sat beside Mallory again and leaned close, keeping my voice low when I finally answered, “I don’t know, but she has to be with the way she’s fighting. Besides, there’s no way y’all made it through this, only for you to be forced to deal with two of me.”
The corner of Mallory’s mouth briefly lifted in response to the smirk I sent her, but her weakened state dragged it and her eyelids back down as I continued. “After this? I’m definitely going to be sparring against a mini Mallory for the rest of my life, and I can’t wait.”
A whisper of amusement left her, her eyebrows rising like she was trying so hard to keep her eyes open. And once she could, once she was out of those woods, I’d show her the pictures of our little fighter.
Dipping closer, I brushed my mouth across hers. “Rest, Peach. Just keep waking up for me.”
Another hum, this one even softer.
Just as I started leaning away, she whispered a word—a name—I wasn’t sure I’d ever heard her say. At least, not in that way.
“Hudson.”
Mallory had yelled my full name in frustration. She’d introduced me to people, albeit rarely. But she’d never just called me by my first name before.
I stilled as my stare shot back to where she was lying, her face scrunching with discomfort before smoothing out. “Right here, Peach,” I promised her, since her eyes were still closed.
Her head moved in the smallest, almost imperceptible nods for a moment before she seemed to fall asleep again. When I reached out to brush my fingers across her cheek, she breathed, “We got everything.”
My fingers stilled on her cool skin as I tried to process the words I didn’t understand and wasn’t sure I heard correctly.
“Still don’t want a wedding,” she added, even softer than before, the words slow and drawn out, before her breathing evened out.
It took a good thirty seconds of me sitting there, fingertips still frozen against her cheek, before a smile broke across my face. Leaning forward, gratitude pulsed through me as I pressed my mouth to her forehead when I realized what she was saying.
What she was referring to.
Our conversation from yesterday morning on her cloud of a couch. From her talks about not wanting a wedding or to wear a dress, to worrying I’d resent her if we never had kids, to her being so sure I wouldn’t get the life I deserved if our marriage lasted, and me arguing with every confidence that I would get everything, so long as I had her.
And now, unexpectedly, we had more. Mallorywantedmore.
She was right . . .
“We got everything,” I agreed before promising her, “And, no wedding. Besides...” The corners of my mouth slowly curled up as I once again welcomed that flood of memories. “I remember getting down on one knee, and not getting hit by you.I remember getting to marry you.” I brushed my mouth across her forehead. “I remember everything.”
Other than a slew of healing wounds, getting winded too easily, and needing to sleep far too much, I was fine. Ifeltfine. But I couldn’t convince the team of that.
I couldn’t convinceGrayof that.
Whenever I tried doing anything for myself, everyone threw around the argument“You died,”like it gave them the right to do every little thing for me. And my defense of“I’d hardly calla minutedying”never seemed to help my case or go over well with any of them.
It’d been three days since I’d been released from my five-day stay at the hospital, and I was getting restless. I’d heard the doctor—I understood I couldn’t do anything strenuous just yet. I understood I couldn’t run or work out or fight with Gray, but I could get my own food. I could get up and walk to the bathroom without someone jumping to their feet and asking if I was okay—if I needed help. I could shift without Gray’s assessing stare snapping to me and darting over me in that worrying way he’d adopted.
If one more person told me to sit back down and rest, thatthey’dtake care of whatever I needed, I was going to snap.
Maybe it made me ungrateful; I really couldn’t tell at this point.
I just knew I needed to move, to do something, and no one was letting me.
Then again, my restlessness might have something to do with the fact thateveryonehad been gathered in Briggs’ house since Operation Davis because it was supposedly safer. Now that we’d finished our offensive attack, we were keeping everyone in one place while we waited to see if the Wreckers or this new family would retaliate. And, even though there were enough rooms and couches to fit all of us, it was feeling far too cramped.
It didn’t help that Briggs was growing more agitated by the day because Rush still hadn’t returned from New York, and, for the first time, he was withholding information from Briggs. Whenever Rush did text, he gave Briggs the same vague report as every other day:“I have Peyton. She’s safe at the moment. Trust me.”
So, Briggs barely had his anger in check. I was about to snap at the next person who so much as looked at me like I was fragile. There were nine of us in a five-bedroom house. And?—
