“What are you doing here?” he growls.
The sound of his voice snaps something in me. “What am I doing here?” I repeat, advancing on him, terrified that at any moment he might go still. He’s too pale, too cool to the touch when my fingers brush his ribs. “What are you doing here, Kazimir? You should be at a hospital.”
His jaw tightens. “This is faster. The hangar was south, the hospital too far north. Middle ground.” He gestures weakly at the room, the home, the grounds.
“This is reckless,” I fire back, wrapping my hand around his. “You’re hurt. You could have died.”
He scoffs weakly. “I didn’t.”
“You don’t get points for that,” I say, my voice shaking now. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to see that headline and not know if you’re alive or dead?”
Kaz’s eyes search the room behind me. “You should go to your room?—”
The doctor clears his throat, amusement flickering in his eyes despite the tension. “I’m Michael,” he says mildly. “And in my professional opinion, Mr. Baranov, I’d prefer she stays.”
Kazimir shoots him a look.
“What?” the doctor replies, unfazed. “Your blood pressure has gone up since she came into the room, and your oxygen level as well. I’m not one to look a gift horse in the mouth.”
I glare at both of them. “I might kill him myself if he recovers from this.”
“You are loud,” Kazimir mutters, his eyes slipping closed in a way that makes my heart race.
“And you are impossible,” I shoot back, squeezing his hand. “You don’t get to shut me away after pulling something like this. I’m not leaving until I know you’re okay.”
He starts to say something else, then winces as Michael adjusts a stitch. The doctor hums thoughtfully. “You shouldprobably conserve your energy,” he advises. “Arguing with her is ill-advised.”
Kazimir glares at the ceiling. “You’re enjoying this.”
“Immensely.”
Despite myself, a shaky laugh escapes me, and the sound seems to surprise us both. I move closer, my anger still there but softened by the reality of his injuries, and the way his skin feels too cool under my fingertips. “Is he going to be okay?” I ask, ignoring the way Kazimir sighs in annoyance.
Michael nods, his eyes still on the wound, prodding the edge of it. “Yes. It was a through-and-through, and I don’t like how close it got to his spleen, but if he can manage a quiet recovery, I think he’ll be fine. I have a bag of O-negative on the way; you lost more blood than I’d like, Kaz. You should have come back sooner.”
Kaz mutters something about asking questions and getting answers…too low for anyone to hear. But his eyes are open, and the pressure of his hand in mine is steady.
“You scared me,” I say quietly.
His gaze shifts back to me, something raw and unguarded flickering there before he reins it in. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not,” I insist. “But you will be. Unless you pull this again. Then I’ll come after you myself.”
Michael finishes the last bandage and steps back, stripping off his gloves. “He’ll need rest,” he says. “Someone should keep an eye on him tonight.”
“I will,” I say immediately.
Kazimir opens his mouth to argue, then stops. His eyes search my face, calculating, conflicted.
“She’s not leaving,” Michael adds cheerfully. “And frankly, I wouldn’t try to make her.”
Silence stretches between us, thick and loaded.
“Fine,” Kazimir says at last, the word heavy with resignation. “Stay.”
Relief crashes through me so hard my knees almost buckle.
They move him carefully, helping him up the stairs and into his bedroom. I hover uselessly as they settle him onto the bed, adjusting pillows, checking vitals, murmuring instructions.
