Page 120 of Reckless Hearts

Colt perks up like a kid. Maverick groans. “Stop encouraging him.”

Luke vanishes into the hallway, still laughing, and Maverick sighs, dragging a hand through his hair before grabbing his keys from the counter.

Colt watches him, amused but glassy-eyed with exhaustion. “You don’t have to?—”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Maverick mutters. “You’re pale, you’re hurting, and you haven’t eaten more than three bites. I’m getting you something you’ll actually eat.”

He doesn’t say it with softness. But he doesn’t have to.

He’s already halfway out the door before Colt can argue.

And I’m left here blinking back this rush of affection like it might knock me flat.

Because Maverick noticeseverything—the pain, the cracks, the wear Colt tries to pretend isn’t there. He sees the wince, the fatigue, and that’s it. That’s all it takes. One look, and he’s already moving like protecting Colt is the only thing that’s ever made sense.

The door clicks shut behind him, and the ache in my chest lingers as Colt turns to me with that quiet look I’ll never recover from.

He shifts, wincing, then pats the narrow space beside him with his good hand.

“C’mere, sweetheart.” He pats again, one brow lifted. His eyes soften, silently pleading.

Carefully, I toe off my shoes and climb in, mindful of the IV and his bandages. I settle on my side, facing him, close but careful.

His hand finds my hip under the blanket, gentle but insistent. Steady. Like he needs the contact as much as I do.

I don’t mean to cry, but the tears come anyway. Silent and sudden. Relief and terror tangled so tight I can’t tell which is which anymore.

I press my forehead to his chest, breathing him in. The scent of antiseptic can’t quite cover the familiar warm skin beneath it. I try to memorize this—him alive, breathing, smiling at me.

Colt kisses me first.

Not soft. Not sweet.

Desperate.

And I kiss him back, fingers curling into his hospital gown like I can anchor myself to him.

There’s no plan to it. No soft build. Just this overwhelming need to feel him, hold him, breathe with him.

Like maybe if I stay close enough, the rest of the world will stay quiet a little longer.

At some point, he pulls me fully against his good side. I stretch out beside him, tucked carefully into the curve of his body. My leg hooks gently over his.

We don’t speak.

We just breathe. Together.

His thumb strokes idly at my side, and the quiet stretches long and golden. We must stay like that for twenty minutes. Maybe more.

The hospital room buzzes low with machines. The hallway hums faintly with movement. But here, with him, the world feels still.

Colt shifts slightly, his hand tightening on my waist.

He looks at me like maybe, just maybe, we could have it all.

The door creaks open, and I jerk, cheeks going hot.

Maverick steps inside, a paper bag in one hand, a drink tucked under his arm.

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