Page 19 of Save Me (The Midnight Cove #2)

GUNNER

I 'm annoyed the next morning when I'm getting poked and prodded. The only thing I want is to see Amy and Rosa, and I want to go home. In that order.

"Gunner, how are you?" the doctor from yesterday asks.

"I'm great, ready to go home."

"I'm sure you are," he laughs. "But barring anything when I give you this examination, I'll send you home this afternoon. Someone will need to come and pick you up though."

"We're already here."

That voice comes from Amy, and Rosa is standing beside her, holding a piece of paper. "I made you a get-well card," Rosa says.

"Thank you so much; bring it here and let me see it."

Rosa bounces over to my bedside, her small face beaming with pride as she hands me the construction paper creation.

It's covered in crayon drawings of fire trucks and what I assume are supposed to be flames, though they look more like orange and red squiggles.

In the center, she's written "GET WELL GUNNER" in uneven letters that make my chest tight with emotion.

"This is the most beautiful get-well card I've ever seen," I tell her, and I mean every word. "I'm going to keep this forever."

Amy approaches slowly, her eyes searching my face like she's looking for signs I'm not as okay as I claim to be. The worry lines around her eyes tell me she probably didn't sleep much last night.

"How are you really feeling?" she asks, her voice soft.

"Better now that you're both here." I reach for her hand, threading our fingers together. "I was going crazy in here without you."

The doctor clears his throat, reminding us he's still in the room. "Well, let's get this examination done so we can get you discharged."

The next hour passes in a blur of tests and paperwork. True to his word, the doctor signs my discharge papers with instructions for rest and follow-up appointments. Amy handles everything like the mother she is.

"Ready to get out of here?" Amy asks, wheeling a hospital wheelchair to my bedside.

"More than ready."

The ride to my house is quiet, Rosa chattering about everything and nothing from the backseat while Amy focuses on driving. I catch her glancing at me every few minutes, like she's afraid I might disappear.

"I'm not going anywhere," I tell her quietly.

She gives me a small smile. "Good. Because we're not letting you."

When we pull into my driveway, I'm surprised to see another car already there. Amy parks and helps me out, Rosa immediately attaching herself to my good side like a tiny bodyguard.

"Whose car is that?" Amy asks.

Before I can answer, my front door opens and my mother steps out, her silver hair perfectly styled. She's carrying what looks like enough casserole dishes to feed half the fire department.

"There's my boy," she says, her voice thick with emotion as she hurries down the front steps. "I came as soon as I heard."

"Mom, you didn't have to?—"

"Of course I did." She reaches up to cup my face, her eyes scanning for injuries. "My baby was hurt."

I hear Amy's soft intake of breath behind me and remember that she's never met my mother. Hell, I've never introduced a woman to my mother.

"Mom," I say, turning carefully with Rosa still attached to my side. "I want you to meet Amy and her daughter Rosa. Amy, Rosa, this is my mom, Margaret."

The two women size each other up for a moment, and I hold my breath. My mother has strong opinions about everything.

Then my mother's face breaks into a warm smile. "Amy, it's wonderful to meet you. And Rosa, aren't you just precious?"

Rosa peeks out from behind my leg. "Hi, I made Gunner a get-well card."

"I'd love to see it," my mother says, crouching down to Rosa's level. "I bet it's beautiful."

The tension in Amy's shoulders visibly relaxes. "It's nice to meet you too, Margaret."

Mom smiles. "Now let's get this stubborn son of mine inside before he falls over."

Between the three of them, I'm ushered into my house and settled onto the couch with more care than I probably need. Mom disappears into the kitchen to heat up what appears to be enough food for a small army, while Amy helps me get comfortable with pillows and blankets.

"Your mom seems really nice," Amy says quietly.

"She likes you," I tell her. "I can tell."

"How can you tell?"

"She didn't interrogate you about your intentions with her son. Trust me, that's a good sign."

Rosa climbs up on the couch beside me, carefully avoiding my injured side. "Can we watch cartoons?"

"Whatever you want, sweetheart."

Amy settles on my other side, and for the first time since the accident, I feel like I can truly breathe. My mother bustles around the kitchen, the smell of her famous chicken and dumplings filling the house. Rosa giggles at something on the TV screen, and Amy's hand finds mine again.

After lunch, Mom starts gathering her things. "I'll come check on you tomorrow," she announces, kissing my forehead like I'm still twelve years old.

"You don't have to, Mom."

"I want to." She turns to Amy. "You make sure he doesn't try to do too much too soon. He's stubborn as a mule, just like his father."

"I'll watch him," Amy promises.

"Good. And Amy?" Mom pauses at the door. "You and Rosa are welcome here anytime. I hope you know that."

After she leaves, the house settles into a comfortable quiet. Rosa has curled up against my good side, fighting to keep her eyes open as the afternoon cartoons play. Amy strokes my hand with her thumb, a small gesture that sends warmth through my entire body.

"This is perfect," I murmur.

"What is?"

"This. You, Rosa, being here with me." I turn my head to look at her. "This is exactly how I want the rest of my life to be."

Amy's eyes fill with tears, but she's smiling. "Even with a seven-year-old who insists on watching the same cartoon three times in a row?"

"Especially with a seven-year-old who insists on watching the same cartoon three times in a row."

She leans over and kisses me softly, careful not to jostle Rosa. "I love you, Gunner."

"I love you too, Amy. Both of you."

As the afternoon sun streams through my living room windows, Rosa's breathing evens out in sleep, and Amy settles more comfortably against my shoulder.

For the first time in my life, I understand what home really means.

It's not this house, as much as I love it.

It's not even this town, though it's been good to me.

Home is the woman beside me and the little girl sleeping against my chest. Home is the promise of tomorrow and all the tomorrows after that, filled with ordinary moments that feel extraordinary because we're together.

I close my eyes and let myself sink into the contentment of this moment, knowing that whatever challenges lie ahead, we'll face them together. And that makes all the difference.