Page 77 of Rescuing Josiah
More relief flooded her system, and she cried even harder as she reached for the glass of water with the straw that was sitting on the small table beside his bed. Holding the straw to his lips, she let him take a few mouthfuls before setting it down.
Josiah’s dark gaze traveled her body. “You were hurt. Should be resting.”
“Had to be here with you,” she answered simply.
After studying her for a long moment, his forehead crinkled into the familiar Josiah frown. “You're in pain.”
“Some broken ribs,” she explained. “But I'm going to be okay. You saved my life.”
“Broken ribs suck. You're going to take longer to heal than I am,” Josiah said, tutting in dissatisfaction. Shifting slightly, moving the tubes and wires connected to his body out of the way enough that he could lift the sheet, he fixed her with one of his don’t bother arguing with me stares. “Hop in.”
“Don’t think I'm supposed to do that. You were shot, you need to rest, and I don’t want to hurt you.”
“The only way I'm resting is if I know you are.” When she still hesitated, he reached over and took her hand, wincing as he did so. “Get in the bed, Chelsea. Now.”
Because there really wasn't any other place she’d rather be anyway, she stood slowly, gasping at the excruciating pain that spiraled out from her chest. Josiah grumbled, and she almost smiled at his typical annoyed sound.
Sighing in relief when she settled onto the mattress beside him, she didn't even care if the bed wasn't really big enough for two adults. Josiah was alive, she was alive, Desiree Tilly was dead, the organ trafficking ring was dismantled, little Bridget was somewhere safe where she could receive the medical care she needed and be well looked after, pain aside, life was pretty good.
Exhaustion took hold, and she drifted off with a smile on her face.
Chapter
Twenty-One
May 19th
10:38 A.M.
“You shouldn’t have done that, Chelsea,” Josiah growled.
“Sorry,” she said for probably the hundredth time in the last few minutes. Since she looked so guilty and apologetic, he let out a sigh and toned down his anger.
After all, he wasn't really angry, he was afraid.
“Don’t be sorry,” he muttered, dragging his fingers through his short hair and enjoying the slight sting on his scalp because it was something to focus on that wasn't the nausea swirling in his stomach.
“I am, you're clearly stressed, and you should be resting, and I definitely should have learned my lesson after last time,” Chelsea rambled, watching him with worried eyes and a nervous expression that he didn't like one bit.
She was in pain, he knew that, likely a whole lot more pain than he was in. All he had was a small hole in his side that had already been stitched up and would heal quickly, while Chelseahad broken ribs that would cause her pain with every breath she took.
Instead of getting her all stressed out and anxious, he should be doing everything within his power to keep her calm and relaxed so she was in as little pain as possible.
He hadn't just come close to losing her, if he had let his old fears take precedence over his feelings for Chelsea, she would quite literally be dead right now.
When Desiree Tilly started firing at them, or more specifically at her own daughter, then the bullet that hit Chelsea’s chest, right over her heart, wouldn't have been stopped by the Kevlar because he would have been wearing it. His wound had never been life-threatening but Chelsea’s had been a death sentence.
“Come here.” Even though she was merely inches away from him, sitting beside him on the bed they’d shared all night, it wasn't close enough. He needed to be able to feel her, hold her, know she was close and safe in his arms. “Sorry.”
“I'm really the one who should be sorry,” she said, even as she let him tug her against his chest. “You freaked out when I answered your mom’s call when we were at the townhouse, and then you explained to me how you’d been keeping your distance from them. It was just when I saw how she’d blown up your phone with calls and messages, I could see how much she was worrying about you. You're her baby boy and she loves you no matter what. I just didn't want her to worry anymore. I didn't know she was going to hop on a plane and fly over here.”
“It’s okay.”
“It’s not.”
Letting out a breath, Josiah forced himself to let go of the fear. If he could take off the body armor and give it to Chelsea, an act that saved her life, then he could face his parents.
“No, it really is okay,” he assured her.
