The room was dim, the monitor beside the bed beeping steadily. Sayer was propped up slightly, an IV in his arm, bandages peeking out from under his hospital gown. His face was pale, jaw bruised, but his eyes were open—tired, groggy, and focused on the ceiling.
Then they shifted. Met hers.
“Hey,” he rasped, voice rough.
Relief slammed into her so hard it nearly buckled her knees.
“Hey yourself,” she muttered, stepping inside and shutting the door behind her.
She crossed the room without hesitation and stopped beside the bed, eyes scanning every inch of him like she was counting damage.
“You look like shit,” she said, voice tight.
Sayer gave a weak smirk. “You should see the other guy.”
That did her in.
Everything hit her at once.
The tender moments. The stupid inside jokes. The heat of their last fight. The way his blood had soaked into her hands as she tried to patch him up. It all crashed over her in one tidal wave—undeniable, unrelenting.
Tears welled in her eyes, then spilled over, hot and fast. She swiped at them with the heel of her hand, angry at herself for breaking now, when heneededher steady.
And then his voice cut through the thick haze in her chest.
“Come here,” Sayer said softly. “Please. Because I can’t come to you.”
Her heart cracked.
She closed the gap between them in three steps, reaching for his hand without hesitation. The moment her fingers curled around his, something in her steadied.
His palm was warm. Alive.
That single touch grounded her more than anything else could.
Sayer’s thumb brushed gently over the back of her hand. “You stayed.”
She nodded, unable to speak. The lump in her throat was too big, too raw.
“Good,” he whispered, sinking back against the pillow with a faint smile. “Cause I’m not ready to let go of you yet.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
They’d barely settledinto a private room when the door burst open—nurses in scrubs clashing with leather-clad men, voices overlapping in a heated argument about how many people were allowed inside.
The nurses didn’t stand a chance.
One by one, they were gently but firmly ushered out. The door clicked shut behind them, sealing the room in a charged silence thick with expectation. All eyes turned to Diamond and Sayer.
She felt the heat of it—the scrutiny, the weight of judgment pressing in on her chest. She didn’t know if it was her insecurity with the situation or was it as she felt. Surely Teller and the other guys didn’t blame her for what happened to Sayer.
“If I knew you boys would throw me a party, I’d have gotten clocked in the head a long time ago,” Sayer said with a crooked grin, trying to defuse the tension.
“You’ve been hit over the head more times than we can count,” Blackjack said from his perch against the wall.
Diamond took a step back, instinctively, hoping to disappear into the background. She didn’t belong in their world, not really. But the moment she moved, Teller and Vicious locked onto her, eyes sharp and unyielding.
“How did this happen, Diamond?” Teller asked his voice firm, accusatory in its tone.
