Page 74 of Find You Again (Nashville Star 2)

Extending her good arm, she runs her hand through Griff’s dirty-blond hair. As she takes him in, her heart halts. In sleep, he looks like a very vulnerable, very exhausted little boy. Alabama closes her eyes as she smooths a palm down the cheek of his scruffy beard, the very feel of him like a beacon of comfort.

Even after everything that happened, he’s still here. He hasn’t left her. Not even during the ambulance ride. Alabama has a vague recollection of him being there, of his voice, gravel-tough yet wet, talking to her over the scream of the siren, demanding she be okay, telling her he was sorry, so damn sorry.

Alabama shifts in bed, groaning at the painful ache in her arm. Her father had described being shot as pouring hot sauce on a wound, and now she knows what he meant. Gingerly, curiously, she fingers the strap of her sling, the bandage wrapped tight around her shoulder and bicep.

“Careful. You don’t want to pull a stitch.”

The voice has her turning her head to see Griff sitting up and watching her with a sharp-eyed gaze. He looks tired, like an exhausted husk of a man.

She swallows, clears her scratchy throat and says, “Griff.”

“How you feelin’?” he asks, settling himself back in the chair but still remaining close to her side. He takes her hand in his again, stroking a gentle thumb across her knuckles.

“Okay, I guess. Kind of numb. Dreamy.” Alabama smiles faintly and makes eyes at her IV. “You’re missin’ out on whatever they got me hooked up to.”

He chuckles. Then his face turns serious, his eyes falling on her arm. “The doctor says you’re gonna be okay. You got some stitches, and you’ll be hurtin’ for a while, but now all you need is rest.”

“Hmm.” She leans her head back against the pillow. “Lucky me.”

At this, his eyes flash in anger. “You’re goddamn right, you’re lucky.”

Suddenly, Griff stands and starts pacing like a caged animal. His anger, his frustration, his worry, radiates and all Alabama can do is watch in stunned silence.

“Griff, what—”

He whirls around, ripping a hand through his hair. “You could have been killed. You damn near were.”

Her mouth goes dry.

She drops her eyes as heat floods her cheeks. She knows. Knows she’s stupid, knows she could’ve died. And yet, the minute she saw the gun, she knew what she was doing. Protecting Griff. The thought of a life without him ...

She couldn’t lose him. She knows this with every bone in her aching body.

Alabama grits her teeth and tries to sit up. “I was scared. I was scared for you, Griff.”

His mouth tightens. “You were scared?” He thrashes his head, looking like he wants to shake her awake. “Damn it, Alabama. If that bullet had been two inches to the right—I could have lost you. What were you thinkin’? What in the almighty fuck were you thinkin’?”

Too pissed off to hold it back any longer, she holds Griff’s burning stare and fires back, “I was thinkin’ I love you, you damn idiot.”

Griff’s eyes widen.

He stands so still she can’t be sure he’s breathing.

But the words are out. So she whispers again, “I love you.”

Alabama looks away, her heart in her throat. She’s angry at herself for giving in, for not keeping it casual when she said she would keep it casual, for still not having her answer about Clover. But when she saw the gun, she knew. She knew what she felt for Griff, and now, she can’t deny it any longer.

Her chest tightens as Griff seats himself on the edge of the bed, right beside her hip.

“Al,” he begins, gathering himself.

She cuts him off, squeezing her eyes shut against the tears that threaten to fall. “You don’t have to do this, Griff. You don’t have to say it back just because I’m in a hospital bed.”

As soon as the words are out of her mouth, she regrets it.

The harsh hitch of his breath tells him she’s hurt him.

“Look at me,” he demands. “Now.”

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