I don’t know if she’ll try to pull something if your date is Amy. Just, please watch yourself at the gala.
Don’t let anyone get hurt—including you.
~Mark
I take Amy’s hands and note how cold they are. Rubbing them between mine, I reassure her, “If she tries anything, we’ll handle it.” Despite my disappointment with Mark—something I’m still working through with Dr. Halvorsen—Amy encouraged me to send him a thank you.
“He didn’t have to give you a heads up. Maybe he’s making amends as well.”
Instead, I stand by the woman I love. “You have this.”
She scoffs, “Please. People like Brielle don’t just disappear because time passes. They reappear when they think the spotlight’s bright enough.”
I remind her, “You’re not walking into this alone.”
Her eyes search mine. “I know. I’m just worried about what happens if—when—she shows up.”
“I can protect you if she does.”
“You don’t need to protect me, Bren. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of her on my own.”
“You’re not anxious about coming face to face Brielle. You’re warming up for it.”
That earns me a devilish smirk that makes my dick hard. While I’m contemplating being very late, Amy takes one deep breath, squares her shoulders, and says, “Okay. Let’s go see if we can better our world.”
I smile at her back as she goes to pick up her purse. To myself, I think,No one gets to hurt you tonight or any night.
That’s the first of many vows I plan to keep when it’s time to get there.
The ballroom is everything a fundraising gala is expected to be.
Black tie. Gorgeous evening gowns. Jewels dripping off of people. Amy murmurs to me, “If that necklace is real, it has to cost more than our entire annual school budget.”
I spin her to face me. I press a quick kiss to her lips before asking, “Are you ready to mingle?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
OPU colors dominate the room. Even in the space for the silent auction, our alma mater's flag hangs behind the tables, impossible to miss.
We immediately get swept into conversations about EMT uptraining. Potential nursing scholarships at state universities. Trainer education programs—programs which might mean the next generation of Willow Creek students don’t have to incur debt to help improve lives.
I wrap my arm around Amy and lean down to ask, “How are you holding up?”
She leans into me before looking up at me wearing the smile I want to put on her face every day. “This is incredible.”
I brush my lips against hers. “I agree. If we can implement even a fraction of this, we’ll make our home a better place.”
“Home.”
“What? Is Willow Creek not our home?” I guide her out onto the dance floor.
“You’re my home.”
The simplicity of her words causes my heart to accelerate. I spin her out, much to her delight. She’s radiating confidence and looks like someone who should be wearing a crown.
She’s magnificent.
After our dance, we move through the room, greeting donors, board members, hospital administrators. Amy is engaged, asking thoughtful questions. People lean in when she speaks. They listen.
