Page 197 of Bona Fide

“Stop,” Em snaps, biting the inside of her lower lip. Averting her gaze, she finds something else to focus on, but I reach for her, yanking her small frame into the crook of my uninjured arm.

I bury my face into her blonde hair, breathing in her minty scent and letting a single tear fall. “Don’t you ever do that for me again. I will never survive this world without you, Em.”

“It’s my job,” she mumbles into my chest.

“You said your job was to keep me alive. You wanna do that, you need to stay breathing.”

“I’m careful.”

“It only takes one time. One wrong second and you’re gone. Please, Em. For me.” Her arms gingerly wrap around my waist.

“When this is all over, we’ll come to an agreement. Deal?”

I scoff, shaking my head at her trying to brush off the comment. “I always win, so deal.”

* * *

He’s out of surgery,but it’s still not looking good. Doctor I-Need-To-Retire couldn’t hide the fact that Francis pulling through was out of his hands and put into some superpower that was going to decide if he lives or dies.

I wouldn’t let him see Francis’s family. Not when his little sister, who was just as small and pretty as Emmy, shook the whole time in the waiting room. I swear I thought she would collapse or stroke out at any second. No matter how much her father held her, she wouldn’t and couldn’t stop.

I tried to small-talk with her, something I’m horrible at, but I did it anyway. Anything to keep her mind off her brother and focused on me. If it wasn’t for my need to get some air from the tension of the room, I never would’ve run into the doctor who was already on his way to us. I demanded he send someone in there with some damn hope in their voice and didn’t look like he didn’t want to be here.

So, while they are getting the news of Francis’s condition with some damn promise, I need some space of my own, and the closest I was going to get was the stairwell.

The media literally had tents outside waiting to hear more news of my condition, to get some word on Demi and how I was doing with the news that she fucked my father and got pregnant. They want to know if I knew, am I shocked, has it worsened my condition and mental state.

Little did they know that my mental state has worsened as the years have gone by, and instead of the hard shell of a man I used to be, I’m soft, weak, and broken. The years haven’t been good to me, and I kept it my job to keep those facts and feelings to myself.

Now everything is starting to seep through the cracks of my broken life for everyone to discover and pick apart. And I’ll do it all ten times over if it saves my siblings and Reagan.

The hallways to the hospital are pretty quiet compared to how they were two days ago when I was shot at the charity auction. I need a shower, preferably at home, but I’m not going outside to face the shitshow, and I’d rather be here to send Francis any sort of positive vibes that I might have left residing inside me.

Honestly, not sure if I’m doing more bad than good by being here. The only constructive thought going through my brain is that Demi is locked up in the White House like a caged rat for the media to swallow her whole like the snakes half of them are.

The doctors are putting Francis in a room so that he and his family can be more comfortable together, and I don’t want to overstep. They need alone time. I’m just the asshole he saved and now he’s hanging by a thread.

No wonder his sister couldn’t look at or even speak to me. I don’t think I’d be able to come to terms with a loved one taking a bullet for someone else. I’m just an entitled douche who gets special treatment.

Bowing my head into my chest, I rake my hand through my hair, frustrated and overwhelmed. I have to deal with this Demi shit, I have a job to do, a country to run, but the man that resides in me—he wants to run. I want to drop all this shit on the porch of that famous white building and just disappear somewhere that doesn’t remind me of the bullshit that has transpired. A place with no TV or newspaper. A spot where I can just lay my head and heal for once in my damn life. A space where Reagan can’t find me because every time she’s in my scope, I want to run right back to our chaos.

I bump into a soft body, snapping my head up before a heavy exhale protrudes through my lips.

I’m losing my fucking shit, I have to be.

I left her in a gift shop in Wyoming with overpriced souvenirs and her family. I gave strict orders that every eye that I left would watch over her or I’d be back to skin them alive. (I was in a “western theme” moment).

Taking a step back, I’d know that body, scent, those eyes anywhere. It doesn’t matter how many people crowd me every day, I’d never forget her.

“I had to sneak in with a family to get on this floor,” she admits softly, studying my frame. “But I had to see you.” Her eyes flick to my shoulder. “You’re bleeding.”

She closes the distance I put between us and reaches for my injury but pulls her hand back.

“Reagan,” I emit through a restrained exhale. “You can’t be here.” She’s already ignoring me, looking around the clad hallway for some assistance. When her arm raises to alert a woman in blue scrubs, I drive it down.

I don’t want help right now. I just want to stare at her like a selfish dickhead even though her being here is a major red flag. There is a huge possibility that she will be seen, and the flashing lights alert me that she cannot be seen with me. Let alone in the same building.

“You need help.” Keeping my grip on her, I guide us down the hall and to the first waiting room I find.

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