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“Um, right, Randi. Let’s start with what hurts the most, and then we’ll do a full-body scan and workup when we get to the hospital.”

“Um, okay, so let’s see here. It hurts to breathe. Seriously, every breath feels like someone is stabbing an ice pick into my lungs. Not fun. Oh, and my ears are ringing from Rambo behind me shooting his gun too close to my ear.”

“Saving our lives, I’d like to add.”

“Noted. What else? Oh, I think a few teeth are loose, my head feels like there’s a high school marching band tryout bashing and clashing in my skull, and there’s something going on with my pinkie toe.”

Everyone in the ambulance glances at my feet. I wiggle the sore toe.

“Yep, that one. Other than a few cuts, bruises, and maybe a busted kidney or two, I’m good.”

Her long dark lashes slowly lower in an exaggerated blink.

Awesome. This should be fun. And quick.

* * *

After what feels like fourteen and a half hours later, my ribs are wrapped and not broken—yay, me—most of the blood is cleaned off my arms, legs, and face, and all the cuts have been cleaned and bandaged. My pinkie toe is broken. Sadly there’s nothing they can do about that; it just has to heal on its own.

Sitting on the bumper of the ambulance, I stare at the tiny swollen appendage, feeling sorry for the little guy. During the exam and treatment, Trey loosened his death hold and slipped out of the ambulance. Well, after he put approximately forty heavily armed men around the mobile hospital and a few snipers sprinkled about for good measure.

Men.

Overprotective men.

But let’s be honest: I fucking love it. His firm yet gentle hold keeping me safe while they worked on my bruised and broken body had me hot and ready for him to take me on the stretcher even with people watching.

A few happy tears might have slipped out as I watched him and T hug. It was beautiful. Not that I’d ever tell them that. At least not today. No, I’ll use that later when they’re not expecting it or still riding the emotional high the last day has brought.

Even now, with the last of dusk slipping into the night, those two talk, Smith awkwardly the third wheel but adding in a few jabs and comments when he can.

Maybe it’s because of today, everything I went through and stayed strong. Or seeing these three talking and laughing despite it all. But right here, with the warm metal digging into the backs of my thighs and my body covered in bandages, I know two things.

Trey is it for me.

And I want to run for another term.

It’ll take its toll on us. He’ll have to step down from the Secret Service and become a full-fledged First Husband—the first one ever. But today proved to me that we can handle it. That with the help of our friends, and the US military, FBI, and Homeland Security, we can make it through anything.

“I don’t want to quit just yet.”

Trey turns, his hand gripping T’s shoulder. “Was wondering when you’d figure that out.” A loudsmackbounces through the trees as Trey slaps T’s back. “Okay, I’m good. She’s… taken care of for now. What’s this present or surprise or whatever you said you had for me?” Trey rubs his hands together, brows raised and excitement radiating off him.

“Should they look you over first?” I toss out, knowing full well what the response will be.

“Nah, I’m fine. Just a few bruises. Nothing that won’t heal on their own.”

I roll my eyes to the pink and blue sky.

“We have Whit,” T states as calmly as discussing the weather.

That gets my attention and overrules any annoyance at Trey’s macho behavior.

“What?” he and I say at the same time.

That name. Just hearing it has my heart racing. My hands tighten on the ambulance bumper, the metal digging into my palms and fingers. I shoot Trey a panic-filled glance. Seeing my distress, he strides over to where I sit and drapes a protective arm over my shoulder.

“You’re okay, baby,” he murmurs into my hair. “He won’t hurt you again.” Standing tall, he faces T and Smith, who are grinning ear to ear. Yes, even Smith is wearing a smile. There’s something off about both though, almost evil or vindictive in a way.