Page 78 of Faron (The Golden Team #8)

Blue

T he kid on the table couldn’t have been older than twelve.

Gunshot wound, through-and-through, upper arm. Probably gang-related, judging by the way he refused to name names and kept flinching every time I touched him.

I didn’t flinch back.

“You’re lucky it missed the artery,” I said, snipping the thread and tying the last suture. “Next time, maybe don’t hang out with people who use bullets to solve arguments.”

His eyes narrowed. “Ain’t got a next time.”

I paused. Met his gaze. “Yeah, you do. If I didn’t believe that, I wouldn’t be here.”

He didn’t answer. Just looked away.

I handed him a Gatorade and watched him limp out with his cousin, both of them giving Faron a wide berth in the waiting room.

Smart kids.

My husband to be looked like a wall of don’t-mess-with-her in tactical boots. Arms crossed. Eyes on me like I was the miracle instead of the medicine.

I peeled off my gloves and washed my hands at the sink. When I turned, he was leaning in the doorway, that half-smile playing at his mouth.

“You’re not gonna say I told you so?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Thought about it. But I like having access to your bed.”

I rolled my eyes. “You said the clinic expansion would be dangerous.”

“I said it’d attract attention. You’re the one who said ‘Let it.’”

I wiped my hands on a towel and walked over. “Still think I should’ve picked somewhere safer?”

He reached up and brushed a blood smear off my cheek with a clean towel he took off the shelf. “No,” he murmured. “I think you picked the place that needed you most.”

I felt that.

Felt it in the way his hand stayed on my jaw, his thumb tracing the curve of my cheekbone. In the way he looked at me like I wasn’t just his wife to be—I was his compass.

“I treated five people this morning,” I said softly. “One gunshot, one overdose, one domestic. None of them could pay.”

“And you helped them anyway.”

“It’s what I do.”

He leaned in and kissed my forehead. “It’s who you are.”

I leaned against him, tucking my face into his chest. “Aponi texted. She thinks someone’s following her.”

“I know. She called me too.”

My stomach tensed. “Is she okay?”

“She’s digging into something big. Whatever happened in that warehouse five years ago… it’s darker than she thought. Tag’s helping her.”

I pulled back enough to meet his eyes. “Do you think she’s in danger?”

“I think she already was . Now she’s just finally fighting back.”

I nodded. “Good. She deserves answers.”

“So do you,” he said.

I frowned. “Me?”

“For everything you gave up to be here. For the nights you held it together for everyone else.”

“I don’t need answers,” I whispered. “I just need this. You. The work. A life that feels like something we’re building instead of something we survived.”

He wrapped his arms around me, pulling me close again. “Then let’s keep building.”