Page 78 of Keeping Kasey
“And the diagnosis?”
“Kasey has a concussion, some bruises, and a gash on her forehead, but that’s it.” He takes a deep breath, and worry furrows his brow. “Ford’s in critical condition from an abdominal gunshot wound. The bullet hit his bowels, and the surgeons are working to remove it and repair the damage. I haven’t had an update in almost an hour.”
When we reach the right floor, I follow Matteo down the hall past a group of nurses who watch us with curious eyes but don’t intervene.
“Do we have any footage?”
“No,” Matteo says with a grimace. “The cameras were turned off.”
“What do you think happened?”
“I have no idea. The door was busted in from the outside, and Ford went down right in front of it, so I assume he left at some point and was shot when he came back,” he says. His next words echo my thoughts. “But that means Brandon was alone with Kasey for… I don’t know how long.”
We stop outside a door, and a painful lump forms in my throat, but I force myself to ask the question anyway.
“Was she assaulted?”
“I don’t think so,” Matteo answers, and though it’s not a confirmation, it lightens some of my panic. “The doctors didn’t mention any signs of assault in their assessment, but you should ask her yourself.”
I nod and step toward the door, but Matteo grabs my arm to stop me.
“Logan,” he says, and the look on his face brings back all the dread that’s plagued me since that call. “She’s the one who killed Brandon. I don’t know how, but she managed to get his gun and shoot him.”
I close my eyes as the heat of rage spreads over my chest, burning every inch of my skin.
I try to take in calming breaths, but I can’t catch a single one.
I can’t do anything but imagine Kasey fighting for her life and being forced to take another’s.
I push past Matteo, heart pounding as I open the door.
Kasey stares out the window with an expression that tears me to shreds.
Her usually sharp eyes are blank and unfocused. Her curls are matted and pulled back into a bun at the base of her neck, which gives me a clear view of the marks on her face. One cheek is bruised, and her forehead has a gash that’s held together by wound closure strips.
The moment our eyes meet, every lie I’ve told myself about only wanting her for her body flies out the window.
I wantallof her.
The second I reach the bed, I pull her into my arms.
I realize then, as her face nuzzles into the crook of my neck, that I’ve never held someone in an embrace before. I’ve never felt this overwhelming need to comfort someone, to be their haven.
Holding Kasey in my arms—being here to protect her—feels exactly like the moment my father officially named me his heir.
Like I’ve been given apurpose.
I gently hold either side of Kasey’s face and inspect the marks that bastard left on her. They aren’t serious, but I still regret that he died so quickly. I would’ve taken my sweet time ending his life for what he did to her.
Asking if Kasey’s okay or telling her I’m sorry seems useless.
So, instead, I tell her something I know with absolute certainty.
“You are so beautiful.”
Her breathless laugh shoots straight to my chest.
She opens her mouth, but no words come out, and she eventually shakes her head incredulously.
