Page 71 of All Along The Watchtower

Bree bent over the bed, brushing a kiss to Ed’s temple. “I’ll be back soon. Don’t go anywhere.”

When she hesitated, I squeezed her shoulder. “He’s gonna be okay. C’mon.”

Shouldering our bags, I led her out of the hospital for the first time in days.

The hotel wasn’t far, which was good because Bree looked ready to pass out. I kept glancing at her as I drove the short distance, worried she’d fall asleep right there. Her head kept bobbing forward before she’d catch herself and jerk upright again.

Check-in was mercifully quick. The clerk didn’t even blink at our obvious exhaustion or the fact that we definitely looked like we hadn’t showered in three days. I signed whatever they put in front of me and took the key cards.

In the elevator, Bree swayed into my side. I wrapped an arm around her waist to steady her, and she didn’t protest. I knew she’d never willingly lean on me. But I still had to resist the urge to pull her in close. I didn’t want to take advantage of her mental or emotional state just because I needed to comfort.

“Almost there,” I murmured as we reached our floor.

She mumbled something unintelligible as I guided her down the hall to room 317. The key card clicked. I shouldered the door open.

And stopped dead.

One bed. A king-size, but still just the one. I’d been so focused on just getting us somewhere to rest, I hadn’t even thought to specify. Shit.

I stepped in, glancing around to see if there was a sofa that might fold out, but there was nothing. I set the bags down, already turning back for the door. “I’m sorry. I’ll go back down and fix this.”

Bree walked right past me, heading for the bathroom. “I don’t care. I’m gonna shower.”

The door clicked shut behind her, and a few moments later, I heard the water switch on.

Well, okay then.

I knocked on the bathroom door. “Your bag.”

Bree opened it a crack and dragged the duffel inside.

While the shower ran, I settled at the small desk and opened my laptop. A flood of work emails demanded attention. I knocked out quick responses to the most urgent ones, confirming I’d remote in for tomorrow’s meeting.

The water shut off. I rubbed my eyes, trying to focus on the screen.

The bathroom door opened, releasing a cloud of steam. Bree emerged wearing pink pajamas covered in… were those unicorns? I blinked, certain exhaustion was making me hallucinate.

“Your turn.” She towel-dried her hair, seemingly unaware of how the whimsical sleepwear completely contradicted her usual image.

I grabbed my bag and retreated to the bathroom before she caught me staring at those ridiculous unicorn pajamas. The hot water felt amazing on my stiff muscles, and I stayed under the spray longer than strictly necessary, letting it pound away some of the tension of the past few days. God knew there was plenty of it to work through.

When I came out in sweats and a t-shirt, Bree was curled up on the far side of the bed, already dead to the world. Her damp hair fanned across the pillow, and she’d pulled the blanket up to her chin. Even in sleep, she maintained that careful distance she’d been keeping since I showed up on her doorstep for Peyton.

I stared at the floor, contemplating how badly my back would hate me for sleeping on it. But after three nights in hospital chairs, the thought was almost physically painful. My muscles twinged in protest at the mere idea.

Carefully, I eased onto the other side of the bed, staying as close to the edge as possible. Bree didn’t stir. The scent of her shampoo drifted across the pillow, and I drifted to sleep anddreamed of piña coladas and getting caught in the rain with the woman softly breathing next to me.

CHAPTER 33

BREE

I woke disoriented, unsure what had pulled me from sleep. A slice of moonlight cut through the dark between curtains that weren’t my own. Where the hell was I? My extra firm pillow moved, and I realized my head was resting against a broad chest that rose and fell with deep, even breaths.

Ford.

And then I remembered. Pop’s AFib attack. The stroke. The hospital. The hotel room with only one bed.

Had he gathered me up in his sleep? Or had I gravitated to him like some comfort-seeking missile? I couldn’t remember the last time I’d slept this deeply. My muscles felt heavy, saturated with exhaustion and relief.

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