“They didn’t stay?”

“They stayed for a while, but they weren’t allowed to stay in the room, so they went home after the doctor assured them you were okay and Jax took off.”


“You should call her and tell her I’m okay.”

“Your mom sent out a mass text when we were in the hall earlier. I’m sure the state of Tennessee will be over to see you tomorrow,” he says as he carefully picks me up.

“I can walk.”

“You may be able to, but I would rather carry you. Open the door for me.”

I lean over and turn the nob, and he pushes us out with his shoulder.

As soon as we step out of the bathroom, my mom comes toward us, holding a few papers in her hand and giving them to me. “Dr. Woods dropped those off. She said you need to come back in a few days to have your stitches checked, along with the wound, to make sure it’s healing properly and is not infected.”

“Okay,” I agree, and her face softens as I yawn.

“How is your headache now?”

“Not as bad as it was.” I rest my head against Dillon’s shoulder, feeling exhausted. “I’m just tired.”

“Let Dillon take you home,” Dad mutters, taking my mom’s hand in his. “We’ll come over tomorrow to check on you.”

“Sure, but we’re staying at Dillon’s house, so you’ll have to come over there,” I inform them, and their eyes widen. “Oh, come on,” I sigh. “Was I really that vocal about his house?” I question as Dillon chuckles.

“A little.” Mom smiles as Dad shakes his head, grinning.

“It’s growing on me,” I admit, and Dillon’s arms tighten slightly. It’s not a lie; it really is growing on me. I love the kitchen and the library, but I really love his bedroom and his closet. I also love that he has a giant tub with jets in it. And really, wherever he is, that’s where I want to be.

“And the fountain?” Dad asks with a raised brow. Apparently, I was vocal about that too.

“I still hate it, but I was thinking about buying some gold fish to put in it.” I shrug.

“You really are crazy.” Dillon laughs along with my parents.

“Come on. We will walk you out,” Dad says, and Dillon and I follow behind my parents, out of the hospital. After giving them each a hug and a promise to call if anything changes, they wait with us until Dillon has me buckled in the car before they head for my dad’s truck across the lot.

Once Dillon’s behind the wheel, I turn my head to look over at him and smile. “I should have gotten hit by a car a week ago,” I joke, then wish I didn’t when his eyes darken and narrow.

“Do not say shit like that.”

“It was a joke,” I defend quietly, and he runs his hands roughly down his face.

“It’s not funny. I would rather have your parents hate me for the rest of my life than to see you in the hospital ever again.”

“Okay.” I rest my hand against his cheek. “Please calm down. I’m okay, remember?”

“I know.” He turns his head, kissing my palm, then starts up the car. I can tell he’s still tense as he drives, but I have no idea what to say to put him at ease. As soon as we get to the house, he parks in the garage without a word and carries me inside and up the stairs to the bedroom, where he helps me brush my teeth and get undressed. Crawling into bed a few minutes later, I roll to my side and watch him strip down to his boxers.

“Are you coming to bed?” I ask when I see he’s putting on a pair of sleep pants, and not stripping down like he normally does every night.

“In a few. I just need to make a quick call,” he explains, coming over to where I’m lying, then bends to kiss me. “Try to sleep. I’ll be right back.”

“Sure,” I agree, watching him pick up his cell phone off the bed, where he tossed it. I don’t know how long I lie there looking at the ceiling, but eventually exhaustion takes over and I fall asleep before he comes back.

“Wake up, baby.”

“I swear if you wake me up one more time, I’ll divorce you,” I growl into my pillow, praying I fall back asleep more quickly this time. All I want is to sleep, but every time I do he’s waking me up, which wouldn’t be so bad, but it takes longer and longer for unconsciousness to find me again each time.

“We’re never getting a divorce.” He kisses my shoulder, and I sigh, turning to face him and forcing him to his back. “How’s your head?”

“Not too bad. My headache’s gone.”

“Good,” he murmurs, kissing the side of my head. “Sleep, baby,” he commands, lightly running his fingers down my bare arm.

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