Page 114 of Hidden By His Side

His hands felt cold. They no longer touched Summer. He tried to say her name again, but a pillow cushioned his aching head, and his eyes closed against the dizziness taking over.

“Summer.” His lips formed the syllables.

The world shifted and swayed. The beeping still hummed in the room. He clung to that as the dizziness rose and swept him away.

“It’s fine,” a voice said quietly. A male voice.

There’d been a lot of those voices. Too many. Ones from the past and new ones melding into a nightmare Summer couldn’t wake up from. A nightmare filled with voices and hands and grunts and pain.

“He needed the fucking treatment. We admitted to the break-in at his house, even sent the cops there. It’s not a lie to say that’s where the injuries came from.”

Forget about the voice. Think about the bridge.

She’d wanted to die on that bridge. When had it become a refuge?

That had happened the moment Ramiro dragged her into his arms. She wanted to be there again, curled up with the person she loved. His warm presence wrapped around hers would make her feel safe, even if it was a lie.

“He was extremely lucky. Shot three times, and all three missed anything vital. Someone was looking out for him.”

“Now you remind me of Hannah.”

Summer forced her eyes open. The back of a man was close to her. Too close. She bit down on a whimper.

The man had a white coat on. He bent over the nearby bed as a beeping thudded in Summer’s ears.

“The hand will be the worst because of all the muscles and tendons and bone damage. Granulation tissue growth has already begun, which is a good sign, but he’s sure to lose some functionality. Still, Ramiro is a lucky bastard.”

Summer’s eyes moved past the man. Ramiro’s face shined under the fluorescent lights, washed out, with a stark white bandage wrapped around his head. He didn’t look at all how she’d been imagining.

Her throat became even more dry as she stared. Ramiro had been shot. She’d thought he was dead.

The doctor shifted away, and Summer saw Ramiro’s torso. Long seconds passed, but when it rose under the white hospital sheet at last, she finally took her own breath.

Diego was in the room talking to the doctor, but their voices faded to indecipherable noise as she stared at Ramiro. His arm hung off the bed, the unbandaged hand dangling in the space between them, as if reaching toward her.

Summer wanted that hand. She could imagine the heat of it so clearly against her own.

She reached into the space, but she couldn’t close the distance. Her fingers brushed against his.

“Here,” Diego murmured as he moved to the opposite side of Ramiro’s hospital bed and shoved it closer until they were side by side.

Ramiro’s hand no longer hovered. It rested on her bed, limp and huge. Summer laid hers over it, watching the lines near his mouth fade.

“He came for you as soon as he could,” Diego said. “You know that, don’t you?” He wasn’t looking at her, which she was glad of. She didn’t want to be seen.

Ramiro had been with her during all of it. The memory of him had been the thing she’d clung to.

Summer’s fingers linked with his. She tugged his hand up near her face. His skin didn’t smell of Ramiro; it smelled of soap or antiseptic or something.

“I’m so sorry,” Diego murmured.

Summer didn’t want to hear any more. She nuzzled against Ramiro’s hand and closed her eyes, imagining him the way she was used to—steady and strong and larger than life. She could almost hear him calling her his baby girl.

The thought made her afraid to look at her stomach. She no longer felt the pain there that she’d felt before. Did that mean the baby was already gone?

Her eyes burned behind the closed lids.

Diego said something else. She didn’t care enough to listen.

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