Page 112 of Danger

I bring her hand to my lips.

“Because I love you backwards, Winnie Hawthorne.”

My granddaddy said that I’d know exactly what it meant to love someone backwards one day, and now I understand. I know because Ican’tlose her.

I rest my head against her hands, holding on. I stay like that until I hear something in the doorway. It’s Trouble. He steps in slowly, like he’s taking in the heaviness of the room.

“Heard a tornado ripped through the lobby. That your work?”

I nod, but I don't let go of Winnie's hand.

He tosses a stack of clothes in the empty chair next to me. “Go get changed.”

I look down at Winnie one last time before carefully slipping my hand from hers. "Sit with her."

"She's tough," he says, glancing from her to me. "She'll wake up."

I head to the bathroom, strip down to my skin, and wipe blood and dust off my arms. Toss my clothes in the garbage and grab the clean ones. After I’m dressed, I look at myself in the mirror: less monster, but still not the man I want to be.

When I come out, Trouble doesn’t say anything until I sit.

“Sheriff Dawson said her parents are closing the bakery and coming out. Should be here in a few minutes."

I nod. “I’ll stay.”

He watches me. “If you need to shower or, like, breathe, I’ll sit with her.”

“No,” I say. “I’m good.”

He’s quiet for a minute, then says, “She came to see me, you know. After I got shot.”

I turn to him. “What?”

“Yeah. Brought flowers. She should have hated me because of Sawyer, but she didn’t.” He grins, small and sad. “Just the kind of person she is. Never stops caring, even when you don’t deserve it.”

I glance at Winnie’s face, at the beautiful freckles on her cheeks. “You got that right,” I say.

He lets out a shaky breath. “Charming and Rogue are in the waiting room. Sawyer and Honey are on the way. We’re all here for you. Both of you.”

I nod. He gives my shoulder a squeeze before heading out. His footsteps echo, then fade.

It’s quiet again, except for the machines.

I talk to her. I tell her everything I didn’t say when she was awake. I tell her about the time I almost burned down the barn when I was a kid and lied to Mama, and about how Fisher’s starting to like baseball. I tell her about the first time I saw her chasing after my brother in pigtails. Back then, I thought she was just another kid. Looking back now, I think that's the day I started looking out for her.

Somewhere in there, I must doze off. I wake to the sound of footsteps—urgent, not hospital-casual. Then the door flies open and her parents rush in, wild-eyed and winded. Her mom goes straight to her, takes her hand, and starts whispering prayers and crying.

I stand and back up to the window. The doctor comes in and talks to her parents. The words are always the same: wait and see, hope for the best, critical, no promises. I hear the sound of a mother breaking, and it almost knocks me to my knees.

I can’t watch it.

I turn toward the window.

Outside, a single balloon has slipped loose from someone’s hand. It drifts upward, slow and stubborn, tugged by the wind but refusing to fall. I track it as it climbs past the parking lot,past the trees, past the gray stretch of sky where rain hangs undecided.

It doesn’t pop.

It doesn’t drop.