Page 107 of The Last Morgan

“Vitals are strong,” the doctor said. “That’s a good sign. He’ll need rest, but the worst is over.”

Byron cleared his throat. “Water,” he rasped.

Lucy offered a glass, her hand shaking. He drank deeply, then again. When he finally leaned back, his gaze found hers.

“You're not getting rid of me that easy,” he whispered with a crooked smirk.

Tears streamed down her cheeks before she realized it.

“You scared me,” she whispered.

“I told you... I’d protect you. Just maybe not by getting shot.”

“I’m sorry,” she choked. “I should’ve known... should’ve told you the plan—”

“Lucy,” he said gently, his hand brushing her cheek. “It wasn’t your fault. Just... next time, give me a heads up before you dive in.”

She nodded, swallowing her sobs.

“I love you,” she whispered.

Byron closed his eyes for a moment, as if letting the words sink in.

“I love you too,” he said. “But if I’m going to be stuck in a bed, you better be my nurse.”

She let out a wet laugh. “We’ll see.”

He opened one eye. “I’m serious. No one else touches me, only you.”

They sat in silence, hands entwined.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Lucy let herself breathe.

Two days in the hospital had been more than enough for Byron. He wasn’t one for rest or routine, and being confined to a sterile room full of beeping machines had made him more irritable than usual. When the doctor came in to check his vitals that morning, Byron had already dressed himself — a slow, grumpy process involving a lot of swearing and one too many pulled stitches.

“Discharge me,” he growled at the nurse. The nurse did not hesitate.

Lucy, exhausted and worried beyond measure, had made the call. A private nurse had been arranged, for him on the estate, and after a very long drive and a slow shuffle from the car to the front steps, Byron was home.

Barnaby was the first to greet them at the door. He lunged at them as they came in.

“Hey Byron! My man, how you doing?”

Byron gave him a sideways glare. “I Got shot, mate.”

Barnaby blinked, then grinned. “Right. Obvious. Got it. Well, moody guts, let’s get you settled in the downstairs suite.” He winked at Lucy. “We’ve converted it into the Byron recovery unit. Great lighting. Big windows. Views of the garden.”

“Sounds like a fucking spa,” Byron muttered, letting Lucy and Barnaby help him inside.

Lucy’s tone was light but laced with exhaustion. “I’ll come join you later,” she said mockingly, patting Byron’s shoulder as he was led away.

Once he was safely settled and the nurse took over, Lucy turned to Corey.

“Finally,” Corey sighed. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

Lucy gave him a look. “He was shot, Corey.”

“I know. But the box…”