Page 96 of Ugly Duckling
They’d also given me hourly updates on how she was doing and kept me apprised of every test that they’d run since she’d arrived at the hospital.
“Let us know if you need anything before we’re back this weekend,” Mathilda urged. “Take care of my little girl.”
I pulled her into a hug while whispering, “Always.”
Twenty-Four
I might be laid back, but I can lean forward real quick.
—Sutton’s secret thoughts
SUTTON
Gunner was treating me like I was spun glass.
He’d carried me into the house.
He’d carried me into the bedroom.
He’d then carried me into the shower.
Washed my hair.
When he’d reached for my razor, I slapped his hand away. “I got it, Gunner.”
He blew out a breath. “When I got that call, I thought that it was happening again.”
I frowned up at him. “Thought what was happening again?”
The way his eyes looked made my chest hurt.
“That I was losing someone else that I loved.”
I wilted. “Oh, Gunner.”
“I’m scared,” he breathed. “Every second of every day. The more people that enter my life that I love, the worse it gets. Sometimes, when I let my mind focus on the what-ifs too long, I want to run away. I want to escape and hide in the woods with no cell phone service so that I’ll never know if something happens to y’all.”
I buried my face in his neck. “I’m okay. I won’t leave you like that, Gunner. And no one else will, either.”
He shook his head. “You can’t know that.”
“No,” I agreed. “I can’t. But I can promise you that you’ll only live half a life if you let this consume you.”
He looked away, causing the water that’d been pounding his back to spray me directly in the face.
I sputtered, and he looked back with a sheepish grin. “Sorry.”
I reached for the bar of soap. “Make sure that I don’t fall over while I do this.”
He made sure that I was steady as could be, and I spent the next five minutes shaving and telling him about what had happened.
“Even worse, they took out my new car. I haven’t even made the first payment on it,” I grumbled.
“Do you remember anything about the car? Did you see a face?” he asked.
“Nope. Nothing.” I groaned. “Her boots!”
He squeezed my hip and said, “I’m sure they were picked up. Don’t worry about the boots.”
