Page 19 of Her Redeemed Protector

“You must stay awake!” I rub her hand rigorously. “Talk to me. Tell me more about your life.”

She draws in a labored breath. “I’m… I’m from Lakefall Valley, but?—”

Her words tumble into silence as her body slackens.

“Savannah!” My voice cracks, fear seizing my throat as I brace for what comes next.

Arriving at the hospital, I sweep Savannah into my arms and make for the emergency room. Perhaps hearing the noises around her, her eyelids flutter open. She begs, “Don’t leave me. Please, hu…” She trails off.

I stride toward the nurse, urgency sharpening my voice. “She’s been in an accident. Her name’s Savannah Mitchell.”

“And you are?” the nurse inquires with clinical detachment.

“Huxley Cometti. I’m her boyfriend.” The lie spills before I can consider it, a necessary deception to ensure I remain by her side. Hospitals have their rules, after all.

“Please wait here,” she instructs.

I reluctantly loosen Savannah’s grip on my hand. She’s whisked away behind the swinging doors, lost in a flurry of white coats.

Alone, surrounded by the unsettling hush punctuated only by footsteps and distant conversations, I feel out of place. I call Cora-Lee to update her on the situation, and she instructs me to keep in touch.

Meanwhile, the news flashes on the TV with breaking coverage of a rescue at a farm near York—that’s us. Despite my efforts, Savannah’s face flashes on the screen for half a second, and the rest of the clip only captures the top of her head behind me.

Watching the scene unfold from the outside, doubts about my role begin to surface. Who am I to pretend I’m her boyfriend? Meeting Savannah stirred deep feelings within me, but does that give me the right to act on them? She asked me to stay, but in her semiconscious state, could she have truly meant it? The weight of these questions makes me reconsider my presence here, wondering if my actions are driven by genuine concern or misplaced feelings.

I saunter back to my car. As I drive away from the hospital, my phone erupts, Sam’s name flashing on the screen. I answer the call on speaker.

“Comet, is everything all right? Cora-Lee filled me in about Bethany Anderson. She also mentioned you came across a car accident. Are you okay?”

“I’m intact, sir. It’s the woman who helped us with the rescue. Savannah Mitchell. Her truck veered down an embankment. She’s just been admitted.”

“Is she going to be okay?”

“No visible injuries, but…” My voice falters, the weight of her situation pressing down on me. What if something is really wrong with her?

Silence stretches over the line, as if both of us are waiting for the other to restart. Sam’s voice eventually cuts through, tinged with concern that I can’t quite place, whether it’s for me or for Savannah. “Do what you need to, and if there’s any way I can help, just let me know. And great job today.”

“Thank you, sir,” I reply. “By the way, any updates on Jack?”

Sam exhales softly. “No changes yet, I’m afraid. Ava’s still in labor. It looks like we’re in for a long haul.” He pauses, perhaps taking time to process it all. “It’s hard to imagine my little brother about to be a father.”

“I have no doubt he’ll rise to the challenge. His Marine grit hasn’t faded.”

“I’ll make sure to pass that along,” Sam responds with a chuckle.

The call ends, and I keep driving toward Red Mark, the only place where I know I can get my sanity back. Then I hear a tremble on the passenger floor, realizing I’m still in possession of Savannah’s purse.

I stop and make a U-turn toward the hospital. I’m going to give her purse to the medical staff and check if she’s okay, that’s all.

As I drive, her phone won’t stop buzzing, and the screen lights up with call after call through the open zipper. I ignore it. Whoever it is seems frantic and cannot wait, but they have to.

8

SAVANNAH

The beeps of the heart monitor weave with my intermittent drifts into awareness. As medical staff hover over me, urgency fills the space, but my thoughts are tethered to one unwavering image—Huxley Cometti. His arrival was so serendipitous that it was as if he had leaped through the realms of fiction to stand by my side. Even now, in his absence, the focus of his concern and his tender masculinity stay on.

Amid the hums of medical jargon, the term “left ventricular hypertrophy” cuts through the fog, drawing my scattered thoughts back to the circle of white-clad figures around me.

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