Page 114 of Held-

I step back, relief washing over me as they take Brayden between them. Even injured, Brayden is too proud to fully surrender, but he doesn't fight as they steady him.

“How'd you know we were here?” Brayden asks, his breathing labored.

“Jillian called,” Big explains, carefully adjusting his grip to avoid Brayden's injured ribs. “Said you'd gotten yourself beat to hell playing hero.”

“Wasn't playing,” Brayden mutters, wincing as they help him sit back on the edge of the exam table.

“Where are my clothes?”

“In evidence,” I offer. “Sheriff Miller’s orders.”

“Guess you’re riding home with your ass out,” Big jokes.

“Do you think they can loan him something to wear home?”

“Christ,” Wrecker says, running a hand over his face. “Your girl's right. We can't have you flashing your junk all over town.” He turns to me with a grin that doesn't quite hide his concern. “No offense, Cece, but I think that view should be exclusive.”

“I'll run to the gift shop,” Big announces, already heading for the door. “They might have some sweatpants or something.”

Left alone with Wrecker and Brayden, I let myself sink into the plastic chair in the corner. The adrenaline is finally wearing off. I wrap my arms around myself, trying to stop the trembling that's started deep in my bones.

“Hey,” Brayden says softly, his eyes finding mine across the room. “Come here.”

I hesitate, afraid of hurting him worse than he already is.

“Princess,” he murmurs, and the gentle command pulls me to my feet. I cross the room and carefully position myself between his knees again, my hands hovering uncertainly over his battered body.

“I don't want to hurt you,” I whisper.

“You won't.” His good hand reaches for mine, tugging me closer. “I'm tougher than I look.”

Wrecker snorts. “You look like hamburger meat right now, brother.”

“I can still kick your ass,” Brayden grumbles, though the grimace that follows kills any illusion of menace.

I want to laugh, but the reality of how close I came to losing him crashes over me again. My throat tightens as I take inhis battered face. The bruising has spread, deepening into ugly purples and blues along his jaw.

“I’d pay money to see you try,” Wrecker says, though a flicker of worry betrays him. “You can barely stand upright.”

The door swings open as Big returns, holding a gray sweatshirt and black sweatpants. “Best I could scavenge,” he says, tossing them onto the exam table. “Enjoy strolling around with ‘Pinewood General Hospital’ stamped across your ass.”

“Better than nothing,” Brayden mutters, giving the clothes a look that suggests they personally insulted him.

“Need help getting dressed?” I ask softly.

He shakes his head—then immediately winces. “I’ve got it.”

“Sure you do,” Big says, rolling his eyes. “Just the same way you ‘had’ Ethan Kincaid. And we all witnessed how that worked out.”

“He's in jail, isn't he?” Brayden growls. “I had to make sure that he fucked up enough so the charges would stick.”

“Yeah, fucked up is the right word to explain why you are in a hospital gown and he’s behind bars.” Wrecker points out. “Call it a draw.”

I bite my lip, torn between wanting to help and respecting Brayden's wishes.

“I can handle it,” Brayden insists, though the way his jaw tightens when he tries to sit up straighter tells a different story.

I exchange a glance with Big, who gives me an almost imperceptible nod. “Guys, can you give us a minute?” I ask.