“He didn’t get shot?”
“Just you,” I confirmed.
Foster reached for me, his hand landing on the back of my head like it weighed a thousand pounds. I reached behind, patting his hand with mine and letting our fingers settle together while we sat like that in silence.
“I’m glad it was me,” he croaked.
“Me too.”
He chuckled, and I laughed with him, not stopping or moving away when Sage stormed into the room like he was ready to kill anyone on sight who had so much as looked at Foster the wrong way.
“What happened?” he barked.
I rolled my head to the side. “Can you shut up? This is a hospital.”
“I’m fine,” Foster said, patting my head again and untangling our fingers. I straightened and stood, offering the chair to Sage, who took it without question.
“I need the two of you to take care of this. And when I say take care of it. I meantake care of it. Whatever that saying means to you for work is what it means right now. Are we clear?”
Foster nodded, taking Sage’s hand where mine had been.
“Yes, Ronan,” he said, the pronunciation clear and concise. “We’ll take care of it.”
“I’m supposed to be working.” I stepped away. “If you need anything, call for me. Kevin is down the hall.”
“What happened to him?” Sage asked.
I ignored him and walked out of the room, heading back toward Kevin before another nurse intercepted me.
“Dr. Thompson, can I borrow you real quick? Just need you to sign off on something for the patient in room 101.” He shoved a file at me and I flipped through it, stifling a yawn.
“I was headed that way anyway, let’s go.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Kevin
“I’m fine.” I swatted Ronan away from me and fluffed the pillows behind my head. “I don’t even have a concussion.”
“You passed out in the hallway at the hospital.”
Ronan hovered. I sighed.
“I didn’t know if Foster was alive,” I said, looking down at my hands folded together in my lap. Ronan had tried to clean me up in the hospital, but there was still blood stuck in the deepest parts of my cuticles. I picked at them, only serving to make myself bleed from digging so deep.
“He is.”
“You’re being hard on him.” I scooched to the center of the bed and patted the mattress. Begrudgingly, Ronan came to sit beside me, waving his hand at mine so I stopped picking. He twisted our fingers together and rested them on top of his thigh.
“He could have got you killed,” Ronan said, as if I needed a reminder.
“He could have gotten you killed,” I countered. “I didn’t hate him for it.”
“You should have.”
“We’re all grown men.” I pulled our hands toward my mouth and kissed Ronan’s fingertips. “We make our own decisions. I don’t want to talk about Foster right now.”
“What do you want to talk about?”
