Page 93 of Night Shift

I blinked, surprised by the rush of happiness his words unleashed within me. Tears welled up, spilling over despite my attempts to hold them back. “Atticus, I—I love you too,” I managed to whisper. “I’ve never felt so…loved, so truly loved.”

Just then, the door opened with a soft click, and a nurse stepped in. Atticus stepped back. “Good morning, Samantha. How are we feeling?” she asked.

The interruption, although necessary, sliced through our intimate bubble and jolted us back to reality. But even as the nurse went about her checks, Atticus’s promise of a future filled with love made my belly flutter with excitement.

When the nurse finally left, we were alone again, surrounded by the sterile furnishings of the room and the faint hum of medical machinery. Atticus’s doctor’s mask had fallen over his features once more. I was disheartened that we had been so unceremoniously interrupted at such a tender moment. There were so many worries swirling inside me that I didn’t know where to start to deal with them. A wave of frustration overtook me. “Atticus, can you help me sit up? I hate this—hate being stuck in a bed like a patient,” I grumbled, trying to shift my position with little success.

He moved closer, raised the head of the bed, and helped adjust the pillows behind me so I could sit up more comfortably. “There, how’s that?”

“It’s good. Thank you.” I smiled, enjoying his attentiveness.

Once I was settled, the myriad of questions swirling in my mind found their way out. “What happened after…after I got knocked out? What happened to everyone else…your brothers?” I needed to know, to understand how I’d ended up here, safe but broken. I was terrified that someone else might have ended up like Igor and the men on the tugboat.

He hesitated for a moment, as if weighing how much to tell me. “We got you out of there, Sam, and that’s what matters most to me. Colton’s team, my brothers, they…they took care of the Volkovi and were mostly unscathed. But Mac”—his voice softened—“he…he helped us find you.”

My heart skipped at the mention of my father. “My father?” A pang of dread hit me.

Atticus took a deep breath before continuing. “He…he didn’t make it, Sam. He was shot. But before he…he died, he wanted me to tell you he was sorry. That you deserved better. You need to know that he played a big part in getting you back to us in the end.”

The news struck me like a physical blow, leaving me breathless. My father, despite everything, was a part of me. Tears pooled in my eyes as I grieved the man who had been my tormentor most of my life but was still my father. “So, I’m…parentless now,” I said, the words tasting bitter. “All alone.”

“No.” He took my hand and squeezed in gently. “You’re not alone, Samantha. Not now, not ever. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. I promised to protect you, to love you, and I intend to keep that promise for the rest of our lives.”

The intensity in his gaze and the sincerity of his words wrapped around me like a warm blanket. “I love you, Atticus,” I said, the words coming easier this time. “And knowing you’re here…it means everything to me.”

His thumb brushed away a tear that had escaped down my cheek, and he sat on the bed next to me.

“This whole thing is just so mind-blowing,” I said. “It doesn’t seem real, you know? I have all my memories about what happened, yet I still feel like I’m missing a lot of the pieces.”

He watched me for a moment. “Let me see if I can fill in some of the missing details. Maybe I should start from the time I left for work.”

Then he chuckled and shook his head. “Um, by the way, that little video you texted me almost made me have a wreck,” he said, giving me a quick kiss.

My face instantly flushed. “Oh, God. I’d forgotten all about that naughty little video.” Atticus laughed and then winced in pain.

“Did you get hurt?!” I exclaimed, sitting forward. I hadn’t even considered the possibility that he might have been shot or something.

“No, no, it’s not a big deal. I did take a hit, but Coton’s high-end Kevlar vest saved my ass. I’m just a little bruised.”

“Show me! Show me right now!” Atticus lifted his shirt to reveal a nasty, dark red welt on his lower side. I tenderly ran my fingers across his ribs. “That looks like broken ribs to me. Did you get an X-ray?”

He leaned over and gave me another kiss. This time it was sweet and heart-melting. “Yes, Nurse Sheridan, I did. One hairline fracture, but mostly just some bruises. I’ll be fine.”

He lowered his shirt, and I leaned back. Curiosity getting the better of me, I asked, “Why didn’t you answer my call?”

He sighed. “I was in the middle of delivering a baby. I heard my phone ringing in my pocket, and then when your text came through, I felt it vibrate, but there wasn’t anything I could do. There wasn’t an OB in sight, just me. But as soon as I finished, I checked it and saw your message along with a bunch of notifications from the security firm, and my world…it just stopped.” He shook his head as if he still couldn’t believe it all had happened. “You sharing your location with me? That was quick thinking, Sam. It gave us a fighting chance to find you. It probably saved your life.”

Wiggling my eyebrows, I let out a small laugh. “Well, you know, sharing locations is what us youngsters do,” I teased, poking fun at our age difference.

Before he could respond, Dr. Fitzgerald, a neurologist, walked in.

“Hello, Miss Sheridan,” he said in a warm greeting. “I’ve been reviewing your scans, and you’re quite lucky not to have sustained more serious injuries.” He then went over the details of the scans and treatments I’d undergone since my arrival. “We’ll need to do a follow-up CT to ensure everything is as it should be. So it looks like we’ll be keeping you here for a couple more nights, just to be on the safe side.”

Then, Dr. Fitzgerald’s expression shifted into one of concern. “Samantha, considering the ordeal you’ve been through—being kidnapped, traumatized by some seriously bad men, and losing your father on top of the concussion and other injuries—I strongly recommend seeing a therapist to help you navigate through this. It’s a significant amount to process psychologically,” he said gently.

I nodded, agreeing without hesitation. “Sure, I have no objection to that.” I glanced briefly at Atticus before returning my focus to Dr. Fitzgerald. “I worked with a therapist for a long time in college to manage my panic attacks. She helped me a lot, but since moving to Tacoma, I haven’t had the time to find a new one.”

Dr. Fitzgerald smiled. “I have a good friend who is an excellent therapist. I’d like to recommend her to you. She’s helped many of my patients through various kinds of trauma.”

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