Page 73 of Welded Defender
“Alright,” Ravi says, voice thick with a grin. “We’ll… uh… go admire the gift shop magnets.”
“Yup.” Becket follows him out, the door soft-clicking shut behind them.
It’s quiet. Hospital quiet, which is never truly silent: a far-off cart wheel squeaking, a cough down the hall, the hum of the vent. Close up, it’s just her breathing and the stubborn stutter of my heart.
“You scared me,” she says into my shoulder. “I thought—” She stops, breathes, lifts her head. “I thought you were going to die.”
“I’m too stubborn,” I say. “Ask anyone.”
She lets out a small, disbelieving laugh. “I did. They all agreed.”
Her hand slides down my arm, fingers finding mine, lacing together like we do this every day. Maybe we will. The thought lands with a weight that feels like home.
“How much do you remember?” she asks.
“Enough.” I squeeze her hand. “Becket said you held your own. Maybe you don’t need me as much as I thought.”
She leans her forehead against mine. “I’ll always need you, Landon Hale. I love you.”
I grin, and it hurts in a way I don’t mind. “I love you, too.”
We sit in that for a moment. The words settle into the room like a second blanket.
Her fingers squeeze mine. She leans back a fraction, her gaze dropping to the bandage beneath my gown. “Does it hurt?”
“Only when I breathe.”
Her head snaps up. “I’ll get the nurse?—”
I hold her tighter. “Don’t you dare leave. Every second with you is worth the pain.”
She smiles and kisses my forehead. But then she gets up anyway and heads to the door. Moments later, she returns with a nurse sporting purple streaks in her bun and forearms like a powerlifter.
“Mr. Hale, look who decided to rejoin the living.” She glances at the monitor, then at me. “How’s the pain?”
“Making its presence known.”
“We can help with that.” She checks my lines, scans a barcode, and pushes something into the IV with the ease of someone who’s done it a thousand times. “The docs will want to see you do some deep breathing and coughing to keep your lungs happy. I’m the mean one who makes you do it. In an hour, when that kicks in, I’ll be back to torture you.” She winks at Marcy. “He screams, you hold his hand.”
“I was already planning to,” Marcy says with a smile.
“Good.” The nurse’s eyes soften as she takes in the hoodie and the makeshift chair nest. “You doing okay, honey?”
Marcy nods. “I am now.”
The nurse squeezes her shoulder and slips out, the door closing with its gentle hydraulic sigh.
I feel the medicine begin to smooth the edges. The fire dulls to an ember. The room takes one step back.
“You should sleep,” Marcy says, like she can see the change. “I’ll be here.”
“You should sleep too,” I counter. “You look like you fought a raccoon for that chair and lost.”
“I did,” she says. “The raccoon’s name is Becket. He snores.”
I smile as my eyes grow heavy. “Figures.”
The meds turn everything to molasses. My eyelids keep dropping without warning, no memo from headquarters. I fight the pull long enough to study her face one more time. “You gonna be here when I wake up?”
