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Nathan searches the room for another blanket, but when he doesn’t find one, he kicks off his shoes. “I’m coming in. Is that okay?”

I nod, not being able to stop a big, goofy grin from forming. Groggy or not, this I’m sure of. I want Nathan close to me.

He climbs in, careful to stay on my right side and to not jostle the bed. When I try to pull him closer, Nathan says, “Don’t move.” He leans on his side, getting close enough to share his body heat. “Normally you’re the furnace.” Another moment passes. He lets out a shaky exhale and does his hair thing again. “You lost a lot of blood.”

And somehow, I survived.

“Ah, well, this was part of the job description, wasn’t it?” I tease.

“Dammit, Scarlett,” he says, grabbing my hand. “It could’ve been bad. Really, really bad. Next time, do not get in a small boat with a crime boss. And do not throw her dog into the water, got it? Promise me.”

I glance up at him. “You know I can’t make promises like that.” He’s inches away from my face, giving me a front-row view of his beautiful brown eyes. Now those, I could drown in.

I intertwine my fingers with his, like sharing this bed isn’t enough. I’ve stared down gun barrels and looked hardened criminals in the eyes, and not one has made me flinch. This proximity to Nathan, though? This direct eye contact filled with heat? This makes me nervous.

For a second, my heart stops beating. And then it starts racing.

Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep.

The machines I’m connected to betray me. My heart line spikes.

“That’s it. Unhook me,” I say, trying to find the right cord leading up to the monitor.

“Take a couple of deep breaths,” Nathan says after a quiet laugh, his thumb smoothing over the back of my hand. I mirror his dramatic deep breath in. He glances up at the monitors tracking other vitals. “Your heart rate’s looking good. Your blood pressure was much lower earlier.”

Earlier? “Nathan, how long have you been here?”

A moment passes before he confirms, “I’ve been here the entire time.”

Oh.

“I looked for you, on the boat,” I say softly. “You were the last person I wanted to see before…” More tears burn at the backs of my eyes. “I couldn’t see you.”

I search the outlines of Nathan’s face. He’s typically so neutral, as we were trained to be, but right now, he’s made up of tense lines and worried eyes.

“I’m right here,” he says, brushing hair off my forehead.

I relax against him. My gaze drifts from the swooping tinsel and the light that reflects off its strands to a cheery HAPPY NEW YEAR sign.

“We missed Christmas,” I say. “And all it took was a near-death experience.”

“Noted for next year.” Nathan props his arm behind his head.

“Are hospitals hard for you?” I ask.

After what must be a minute, Nathan says, “My brother never made it to a hospital.”

I place my hand on his chest, feeling the thump, thump, thump beneath it.

He adjusts my blanket to make sure it’s covering me. Once he’s done that, checked my vitals monitors, and thoroughly looked at my bandages, he takes in a slow breath and says, “My brother loved Christmas.”

I sit up more easily this time. “He did?”

“It’s why my parents went all out every year. They decorated the house, planned themed parties, had a yard full of inflatable characters. We had one day dedicated to cookie-baking for the neighbors and another to chopping down a tree that we’d spend the day decorating. My brother, Zach”—Nathan swallows thickly at the name—“he’d insist on going around passing out the treats we baked. It was so annoying.” Nathan doesn’t sound at all annoyed. “He loved the typical stuff, but he’d always put his own spin on it. Gathering up moss, ferns, and leaves for the reindeer lawn décor, building gingerbread castles instead of houses, adding so much loose silver tinsel on the tree you couldn’t even see the green…”

“That sounds really special,” I say, letting myself get lost secondhand in Nathan’s stories.

“It was. I miss him,” he says. “Jesus, he was such a stubborn ass. Never let us stray from the plan. The garland had to be hung just so throughout the house.” Now he’s laughing and tearing up, blinking quickly like he’s wiping away the memories.