Page 36 of Owned In Misty Mountain

I blink up at him, dazed.

They let him carry me straight into the back of the ambulance.

He climbs in behind me, sits, cradles me against him like I’m the only thing in the world worth protecting.

—-

He doesn’t talk during the ride.

Just holds me.

His hand cups the back of my neck. His thigh is under mine. Hispalm finds mine and laces our fingers.

And every time the ambulance bumps or jerks, he pulls me in tighter.

Like he thinks he can keep the world from hurting me ever again.

—-

The hospital is bright and sterile.

They separate us to run tests.

I feel it the second I’m not touching him.

But every time I look toward the curtain, he’s there.

When they finally let him in, he stands next to the bed and grabs my hand like it’s a lifeline.

And for hours—until I fall asleep to the sound of machines and murmuring nurses—he doesn’t let go.

—-

They keep me overnight.

Mike sleeps in the chair with his boots on, arms folded.

He looks exhausted.

But when I stir in the early morning, he’s already awake.

Watching me.

Like I might vanish.

“You’re still here,” I whisper.

His voice is like gravel. “Of course, sweetheart.”

—-

He helps me dress once I’m discharged.

Gently peels the gown away and helps me slip my arms into my clothes.

His touch is steady. Careful.

His fingers brush the healing scrape on my temple like it hurts him.

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