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“I’m fine,” he says roughly.

“No, you’re not,” I reply, tugging his hand. “But you will be.”

He finally lowers himself into the chair beside the bed, leaning forward to rest his forehead against my arm. “I thought I lost you.”

“I never stopped believing you’d come,” I whisper.

He doesn’t speak, but I feel it—all of it—in the way he holds my hand like it’s the only thing anchoring him.

The door opens again, and this time it’s Sam. Her hair’s in a messy bun. There are dark circles under her eyes, and she looks like she hasn’t slept in days.

But she’s smiling.

I sit up straighter instantly. “Joey?”

Her smile widens, watery and full of love. “He’s good. Still groggy, but Dr. Scott says his levels look better than they’ve ever seen. He’s already asking for cartoons and marshmallows.”

A sob of relief catches in my throat.

Sam comes straight to me, leans over the bed, and hugs me gently. “You’re okay,” she whispers.

“I’m okay,” I whisper back.

And it’s true. Despite everything. Because I’m not alone. Because every person in this room is here for me.

I look around—Cherry holding Lexi’s hand, Jake standing guard by the door, Hunter on the phone in the corner, probably orchestrating a corporate takedown for fun. Sam still hugging me. Eddie holding on like he’ll never let go again.

And in that moment—despite the pain, the bruises, the fog still settling from the worst night of my life—I feel something I didn’t think I could feel again.

Peace.

Because I’m safe.

I’m loved.

And I’m not broken.

Eventually, the whirlwind thins out.

Cherry finally lets Lexi steer her out with promises of snacks and a seat. Jake and Hunter follow, both still on high alert but willing to give us space. Sam lingers a little longer, holding my hand one last time, before promising to update me on Joey later. Her eyes are red, but there’s hope in her smile.

Then the door clicks softly shut.

And it’s just me and Eddie.

Silence settles over the room—not heavy, not strained.

Just quiet.

I shift a little on the bed, the scratchy hospital blanket tucked around me. My body aches everywhere, a deep, thudding soreness that radiates with every movement. But it’s manageable.

I glance over. Eddie sits in the chair next to me, elbows on his knees, his head in his hands.

His broad shoulders are hunched like the weight of the entire day is pressing down on him all at once.

“Hey,” I say softly.

He looks up. His eyes are red. Tired. Devastated. But so full of love.