Page 121 of Theirs to Hunt
"As soon as she’s settled, I’ll come back and bring you both."
I look between them.
"I figured you’d want to see her together."
Grayson nods once, crisp and silent.
Brooks presses his hands to his hips and nods too, slower.
"You did good," Brooks says quietly.
I don’t know if he’s talking to me or himself. Maybe both.
I squeeze his arm as I pass.
"She’s tougher than you think."
And quieter, under my breath, "But she’s going to need you. Both of you."
Then I turn and head for the elevators, ready to walk my best friend through the fog of pain and into whatever the hell comes next.
Chapter ninety-two
Bobbie, Tuesday 09:49 a.m.
The elevator dings softly as we reach the third floor.
I glance down at Reagan, propped with a pillow in the hospital bed, her head tilted slightly to one side. She is alert, but her pupils are slow, her lips chapped, and there is still a faint smear of dried blood along her temple despite the butterfly tape and careful cleaning.
She is quiet as I wheel her down the hallway.
The kind of quiet that is not empty but full.
Like her body cannot keep up with what her mind is still processing.
"I look like hell, don’t I?" she murmurs, voice gravelly.
I chuckle, easing her around the corner.
"You look like someone who headbutted a Bentley from the inside and still walked away. I would say you are doing alright."
That earns a ghost of a smile.
"That thing saved my life."
"It did," I nod. "So did the reinforced frame, the bulletproof glass, and probably the fact a certain six-foot-three lion refused to let go of you."
Her breath catches. For a second I think she will laugh, but her eyes start to water instead. She blinks rapidly, lifts a trembling hand toward her face, and mutters, "God, I do not even cry pretty."
"You cry alive," I say, unlocking the door to her room. "That is better."
I wheel her inside slowly. The room is quiet, dimly lit, soft neutral walls holding the hush. A corner chair waits beneath the window, and I already know who will be sitting there the second I leave.
I lock the brakes, sit on the edge of the mattress, and brush a limp strand of hair behind her ear.
"You good?"
She nods, barely. Then her fingers twitch around mine, grabbing hold.
