Good man. Keep her safe.
Brooks replied.
Always
He meant it.
NINETEEN
vivienne
Morning light hurt.
Vivienne opened her eyes to sunlight streaming through hospital blinds. Her head throbbed. Her ribs ached with each breath. The IV pulled when she tried to move.
Brooks sat in the chair beside her bed, asleep with his head tilted at an angle that would leave his neck stiff. Someone must have brought him clothes—he’d changed his shirt—but he hadn’t shaved, and exhaustion lined his face.
He’d stayed all night. She could feel the echo of his presence from the hours she’d been unconscious, that new connection between them humming in the background of her awareness.
A nurse entered. “You’re awake. How’s the pain?”
“Manageable.” Vivienne’s voice came out rough. “What time is it?”
“Just past eight. You’ve been out for about five hours.” The nurse checked the IV, made notes on a tablet. “The doctor wants to keep you until this afternoon for observation. Concussion protocol. But everything looks good.”
Brooks stirred, his eyes opening. He straightened when he saw Vivienne awake.
“Hey.”
“Hey yourself.” She tried to smile, but her split lip protested. “You look terrible.”
“Right back at you.” His expression softened. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I went ten rounds with a lighthouse.”
The nurse finished her checks and left, promising the doctor would be by soon. Silence settled over the room.
“Dawn was here,” Brooks said. “She stayed for a few hours, then went to open The Mystic Cup for you. Said she’d handle things until you’re back on your feet.”
“She talked to you.”
“She did.” Brooks’s mouth quirked. “Gave me a fairly comprehensive lecture about not making things worse for you. She’s protective.”
“We are all we have. We are important to each other.” Vivienne shifted, trying to find a position that didn’t make her ribs scream.
“I’ll be careful,” Brooks said. “Can we talk about last night?”
Vivienne nodded.
“I’m not trying to define what happened. I just know things are different now.”
“They are.” Vivienne was quiet for a moment. “Thank you. For coming for me.”
“Always.” His voice was steady.
A knock interrupted them. Agent Porter entered, dressed in a fresh suit despite the early hour. Behind her came Chief Sullivan, carrying coffee.
“Ms. Hawthorne. Good to see you awake.” Porter pulled up a second chair. “I know you’re recovering, but I need to ask you some questions about last night. Specifically about the shooting in the lamp room.”
