Page 56 of Her Redeemed Protector

The tension in my chest unwinds a fraction. We continue driving, the minutes stretching long and thin. Soon after, the gleam of the hospital lights comes into view.

Leaping out of the car, Fabian wraps me in his arms. For a heartbeat or two, I let him. But then I pull away, reminding him that it’s just a friendly embrace, a source of comfort after all he has been through.

With a nod, he releases me, understanding the boundary I maintain.

Unfazed by the law enforcement officers in the lobby, a possibility that unsettled him just this morning, Fabian strides through the ER, his concern for Kayla eclipsing all else.

“This way, sir.” A nurse leads us down a corridor.

There, I spot Huxley, his shirt shredded and hanging from his body like the sails of a battered vessel. His sleeve, violently ripped away, has been replaced by a bandage that binds his arm.

As Fabian strides ahead, I move closer to Huxley. “Hux, you’re hurt,” I whisper.

“It’s nothing. Just blisters,” he replies, his tone the sound of a man who’s bearing the marks of battle.

“Is Kayla okay?” I ask.

“She’s safe,” he confirms.

“And you?” I press further.

“Like I said, just blisters,” he repeats evenly.

“No, I meanyou,” I persist, my palm resting over his heart, feeling the rise and fall of his chest beneath my touch.

His arms, strong and sure despite the evening’s toll, circle me. “Just stay like this for a moment,” he breathes out, face resting on the crown of my head.

I welcome his body. My fingers itch to trace the white bandage against his skin as if it could soothe him.

But the interruption comes too soon, as Fabian reappears, desperation carving lines of worry into his features. “Savannah, Kayla needs you.”

Hux releases me. “She’s been asking about you,” he reveals, then stops to rummage into his pocket. “Before I forget—your dad’s. Tell him the truck’s an old faithful, and sorry about the bullet scratch on the hood.”

We swap keys, and I respond to his smile with one of my own, though I know he’s trying to lighten the mood for my sake. Inside, all I can think about is how close he came to danger.

He gives me a silent nod, sending me on my way. “Go on. Don’t keep her waiting.”

My man is in pain, and I know cuts and blisters wouldn’t make him suffer like that—there’s something more behind that smile. But my need to be with Kayla surges to the forefront, the instinct to comfort shifting focus from Huxley to the child we both fear for.

In the pediatric ward, Kayla’s small frame is a bundle of tension and tears on the white sheets. “Easy, Kayla,” I soothe, pressing her back into the pillows.

“I was so scared,” she admits, her small fingers tightening around my hand.

“But Huxley told me you were super brave,” I tell her, smoothing her hair and adjusting her fringe.

“Did he?” Her eyes light up with a weary sort of pride.

“He sure did,” I affirm, smiling at her.

“Huxley was super brave, too.” Her voice grows steadier as she mentions his name. “I said it right, didn’t I?” she asks with childlike enthusiasm.

I nod, and with a bright smile, she shows me the border collie keychain he’d given her. Huxley’s thoughtful gestures never cease to amaze me, always seeming to know just what might bring a bit of solace. It’s like that toy elephant he picked out for Bethany Anderson—a symbol of safety and care.

“He’s really nice.” She beams, and I can’t help but agree.

As night deepens, her plea for me to stay tugs at the corners of my resolve. I understand, with a keen ache, that I cannot forge a bond of motherhood with her. Her father lingers just outside, and Kayla is his responsibility. I must steel my heart against the pull of what cannot—should not—be.

“Why can’t you stay?” Kayla’s voice is small, her eyes searching for understanding in mine.

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