Page 79 of No Sweet Goodbyes

After waking up and demanding that I get her the rest of the letters I wrote, Emma only went to sleep after she read every single one of them.

Me? I don’t think I’ll ever be able to sleep again.

The shrill ringing blares like it’s right next to my ear, instead of three feet away on the nightstand.

“Ortiz.” I grunt into the mouthpiece as soon as I hit Answer. I haven’t even opened my eyes yet, because I’m hoping that whoever it is will be quick and I can get back to holding her.

“Dominic. You and Emma need to get back here,” my father barks. “Bee’s waking up.”

“On our way.”

He hangs up, and I just drop my phone on the bed next to me.

“Emma.” I press a kiss to her neck. “Emma, you need to wake up.”

“Huh?” She jerks upright, almost taking me out in the process of sitting up. “What’s going on? What time is it?” She’s groggily rubbing her eyes and trying to fully wake up. “I’m up. I’m up. What’s going on?” Her yawn is sudden and fierce.

“Bee’s waking up.” I move to get out of the bed before she scrambles over the side and collapses in the blanket.

“Dominic,” she whines almost pathetically. “Please help me.”

Since my muscles are sore, I know her body has to be killing her. Between the sparring that we did, followed by graduation, and then everything that happened when we were in bed together after that, I’m surprised she’s able to stand. And that’s not me being cocky in the slightest.

I’m fuckin’ beat.

So I do what any smart man in my position would do. I pick up my phone and take a picture of Emma sprawled out in my shirt and nothing else. She might be short, but her legs are stunning.

“Asshole,” she grunts, but she holds up her hand for me to help her and has a smile on her face. “Did you at least get a good picture?”

“Your ass looks fantastic,” I point out as we get dressed. “I may not be able to help with the chaos outside of this room, but I can make sure you know exactly how beautiful you are.”

“God, Dominic Ortiz.” She leans into my embrace after picking up her phone and slipping on her shoes. “You really do know how to make me feel better.”

“I know.” Feeling cocky isn’t all that unusual for me. But knowing how to handle and care for Emma without screwing up every time I turn around? That’s new. “Let’s go.”

It feels like an hour passed during those few minutes of levity, but barely fifteen minutes pass between my father’s call and when Emma and I pull into the parking lot at the hospital.

“I hope she’s awake.” Emma’s fingers tighten around mine as we walk into the building. “I don’t know what else I can hope for, other than that.”

Step by step through the halls that lead us to the pediatric unit, I know Emma is thinking nonstop about the state Bee might be in.

That little girl was shot in the head.

We don’t know what the likelihood is that she’ll wake up.

We don’t know what the chances are that she’ll be okay.

“She’ll be okay.” Emma reads my mind like always.

“Stop.” I pull her hand until she’s standing with me. “I have to tell you something.”

But the words don’t come.

Instead, I reach into my pocket and grab a piece of paper. One of the letters that I didn’t finish. One that I couldn’t send because I couldn’t figure out exactly how to even write all the words.

“Dear Emma,” I read from the page.

Her eyes are seeking, curious, and I can’t look away.

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