Page 69 of Less

She laughs softly.

Then immediately winces.

My soul leaves my body.

“I’m so fucking sorry, Sweetheart.”

“Less, I’m fine. Stop hovering.”

“Impossible.”

“You're ridiculous.”

“Correct.”

The EMT laughs.

Amanda smiles.

And thank God.

Because smiling means she's still Amanda.

Still my Rusty.

Still here.

Finally, after what feels like a thousand years, the paramedics finish checking her.

Minor bruising.

Minor scrapes.

Nothing broken.

No concussion.

No hospital required.

Thank fuck.

I get her settled into her private dressing room with Brielle hovering over her with tea and a whole slew of funny cat videos.

Then I drag a chair outside the open door.

Because if she so much as breathes funny, I need to know.

And that is exactly where Noel finds me.

“You look like shit,” he says.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.”

Then his expression softens.

“How is she?”