Page 57 of Betrayal In Calusa Cove
That’s the message she’d received from Dawson, along with a brief description as to why Fletcher needed to be seen by a medical professional.
She shoved the door open without knocking.
Inside, Fletcher sat on the edge of the hospital bed, shirt off, his left arm wrapped in blood-soaked gauze. The doctor, Emily Sprouce, in navy scrubs and a focused scowl, leaned over him with a curved needle and suture. Her gloved hands moved with quick, practiced efficiency.
Baily’s breath caught at the sight of him. His skin was pale beneath the overhead light, and a smear of dried blood ran along his jawline like a cruel reminder of how close she’d come to losing him.
“You got shot?” Her voice cracked like a whip in the air-conditioning. “And you didn’t think to tell me when you called. Or that the sniper was still sitting in some tree, waiting for you to poke your head out so he could kill you.”
Fletcher turned, startled. “Bailey—hey, I?—”
“You got shot, and I find out from Dawson in a flipping text message?” She stepped farther into the room, arms crossed, eyes blazing. “You called me from the woods, and you didn’t say a damn thing?”
Fletcher flinched. Not from pain because Emily had just pulled the final stitch. He opened his mouth, but Emily held up a hand, glancing between them.
“I’ll give you two a minute,” she said quietly. “The sutures are done. No major damage. Just don’t rip them open, getting yelled at.” With a knowing smile, she peeled off her gloves and slipped from the room, closing the door behind her.
Baily didn’t move until the click of the latch settled. Then she dropped her arms and stepped closer, her anger giving way to something far heavier. “What if you hadn’t been lucky? What if you hadn’t made that call, and I hadn’t gotten to say those words? What if that bullet had hit something other than your biceps? You could’ve died, Fletcher, and you made light of it.”
Fletcher met her gaze, a tinge of guilt flickering across his face. “I didn’t want to scare you. Not when I knew Dawson and Hayes were coming. But I did need to know you were safe and I wanted to hear your voice. Selfish of me, I know.”
“You don’t get to protect me by shutting me out,” she said, her voice softer but laced with a fierceness she hadn’t expected from herself. “We’re in this together. That means I get to be scared. I get to be mad. I get to know when the man I love is bleeding out in the woods.”
“Bleeding out is a bit dramatic.” He reached for her hand. She took it.
“Don’t try to diffuse this with humor,” she whispered. “You’re not Dawson. He’s the funny one.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “It wasn’t about shutting you out. It was instinct. Habit. I didn’t even think—I just… I wanted to hear your voice. Make sure you were okay. And if you by chance heard what was going on out there, you’d know in that one instance, I was okay, too.”
“But it’s bigger than that, isn’t it?” She brushed her fingers over the bruised skin around the gauze, her touch feather-light. “You called me, so I’d be the last thing you heard. In case you didn’t make it out. In case Dawson and Hayes didn’t get there, and that sniper got a second shot off. Because you never got those kinds of chances in the military.”
His silence said everything.
Tears burned at the corners of her eyes, but she blinked them back. Instead, she leaned in and pressed her forehead to his. “I’m glad you called. I’m glad I got to say those words. But don’t you ever keep information from me again. It’s not fair, and you wouldn’t appreciate it if I did it to you.”
“I won’t,” he whispered. “I swear.”
Their lips met—brief, tender, aching. A kiss that said more than words ever could. When she pulled back, he smiled faintly. “I missed this. Missed you. I do love you.”
“I know,” she murmured. “You’re not getting rid of me again. Even if you try.”
“I wouldn’t mind hearing those words again. Seeing your face while your voice tickles my ears.”
“Oh, my God. Now, you’re trying to be romantic. Not you’re thing either. That’s split between Keaton and Hayes.” She eased onto the gurney, lacing her fingers between his, feeling his warm skin. He was everything, and she’d spent the last few years pushing him away because she’d been too afraid to risk her heart.
Only, her heart already belonged to him, and life and love was one big risk.
“Oh, come on. I’m not that pathetic, am I?” He looped his good arm around her waist.
“You’re a sweet, kind man, but you’re not Mr. Romance. More like Mr. Practical, and I adore that about you.” She rested her head on his shoulder. “I love that you think a romantic dinner is grilled fish that you caught, I cleaned, and a cheap bottle of wine down on the dock while we wave to Silas as he trolls by.”
“Nothing better than watching the sunset over the Glades with the prettiest girl in Calusa Cove.”
“Now you’re being a cornball.”
“Yeah, I’ve never had good lines.” He kissed her neck. “I’ve never had game, but I had something, because I had you.”
“You’ve still got me.” She pressed her palm against his cheek. “I love you, Fletcher Dane.”
