Page 116 of Held-

“I will,” I say, tucking the folder into my purse.

Big and Wrecker are waiting in the hallway, arms folded across their chests, standing guard in that unspoken way the club has mastered. They fall in step beside us as the nurse wheels Brayden toward the exit. Outside, Wrecker’s truck idles at the curb with Domino behind the wheel. Big swings the passenger door open without a word.

“Heard you needed a ride.”

“Thank God,” I say, relief washing through me at the sight of the truck. Getting Brayden home just got a whole lot easier. “I was wondering how we were going to manage with my little car.”

The nurse helps Big and Wrecker transfer Brayden from the wheelchair to the passenger seat, each movement drawing a sharp intake of breath from him despite his attempts to hide his pain. My heart clenches watching them settle him into the truck.

“I'll ride in back with him,” I say, climbing in behind the passenger seat. I want to be close enough to touch him, to reassure myself with each mile that he's still here, still breathing.

Domino gives me a nod in the rearview mirror. “Jillian's waiting at the guesthouse. Said she's got everything ready.”

“Thanks for coming,” I tell them, my voice catching. “All of you.”

“Family,” Big says simply, climbing into the backseat beside me. It's a tight fit with his massive frame, but I'm grateful for his solid presence. “That's what we do.”

As Domino pulls away from the hospital entrance, I lean forward, my hand finding Brayden's shoulder. His fingers immediately reach up to cover mine, squeezing gently despite his battered knuckles. The simple touch steadies me more than he could know.

“Pharmacy first,” I remind Domino. “We need to fill his prescriptions.”

“We'll wait in the car,” Domino says, pulling into a spot near the pharmacy entrance. “You get what he needs.”

I slip out of the truck, hurrying inside to hand over the prescriptions. The pharmacist barely glances at the paperwork, weariness softening her gaze as recognition flickers when I give Brayden’s name.

Twenty minutes and nearly two hundred dollars later, I’m back in the truck with a white paper bag full of pill bottles. Brayden’s eyes are closed, his breathing shallow, but his hand reaches for mine when I slide into the seat beside him.

“Got everything?” he murmurs, without opening them.

“Everything the doctor ordered,” I confirm, squeezing his fingers gently. “We'll get you home and doped up in no time.”

The ride to the guesthouse is mercifully short. Brayden grits his teeth with each bump in the road, his face growing paler by the minute. By the time we pull into the driveway, he's sweating despite the cold, his jaw clenched so tight I can see a muscle ticking in his cheek.

Jillian is waiting on the porch, her face tight with worry as Domino and Big help ease Brayden from the truck. To my surprise, my father stands beside her.

Jillian rushes forward as they bring Brayden up the steps, her hands fluttering anxiously around him without actuallytouching. “Oh my God, look at you,” she gasps. “Those Kincaids have gone too far this time.”

My father steps aside to let them pass. The guesthouse has been transformed in our absence. The living room couch is piled with extra pillows and blankets. A tray of water and glasses sits on the coffee table, and I can smell chicken soup simmering from the kitchen. Jillian has been busy.

“Bedroom,” I direct, pointing down the hallway. “He needs to lie down.”

Big and Domino carefully maneuver Brayden through the narrow hallway, each step drawing a hiss of pain from him despite his efforts to remain stoic. My heart aches watching him struggle, his face ashen beneath the bruises.

“Easy does it,” Big murmurs as they lower Brayden onto the bed.

I set the pharmacy bag on the side table. I fumble through the bag, searching for the pain medication while Jillian fusses with the pillows, trying to make Brayden as comfortable as possible. His face is tight with pain, jaw clenched as he settles against the mattress.

“Water,” I say, and my father—to my surprise—is already there with a glass from the nightstand. Our fingers brush as he hands it to me, a fleeting moment of connection that catches me off guard.

“Thanks, Dad.”

I help Brayden take the pills, supporting his head as he swallows. He grimaces, whether from the pain or the bitterness of the medication, I can't tell.

“Better?” I ask softly.

“Ask me in twenty minutes when these kick in,” he mutters. His gaze shifts past me to my father, standing awkwardly at the foot of the bed. “Didn't expect to see you here, Reverend.”

My father shifts uncomfortably. “I wanted to...that is, I needed to see that you were alright.”