Page 76 of Bulletproof

And when I rolled my head to look at him, I smiled. “Thanks, Shane.”

Fallon put his hand on his boyfriend’s shoulder, and when I looked up at him, his smile was enormous. Apparently, by choosing Shane to barrel into, I was collecting all kinds of brownie points.

It was like I told people; a lot of times, my brain actually did work, and I made conscious choices. It was just that no one ever believed me.

ELEVEN

“You’re lucky I speak Jory!” Sam fumed at me. “Fuck!”

When I had said earlier, in front of Eddie Liron, that I was going to go see my friend Joe, that had been code for Sam to meet me at St. Joseph’s Hospital. And he had understood it, so I had no idea why he was mad. It turned out that even though Eddie had volunteered to take Sam, Agent Calhoun had insisted on bringing him alone.

“But how did you guys ditch Eddie?”

“Everyone was chasing you,” Agent Calhoun told me. “By that time, no one was paying any attention to us.”

“So, I was a diversion.” I smiled happily. “Good.”

“Not good!” Sam yelled. “Come here so I can look at you!”

When I was close to the bed, he grabbed me and put his hands on my face.

“What the fuck did you think you were doing?”

“Stop yelling,” I soothed him, looking down at him, at the bruises on his face, at the eye that would be black and blue. “I’m fine. Tell me what the doctor said.”

“Did anybody hurt you?”

“Sam”—I hardened my voice—“talk to me.”

From the way he was looking at me, tilting my chin up, smoothing a hand down my throat, I knew he wasn’t going to spill.

But I didn’t have to wait for Sam to give me splotchy details, and that was excellent since he was terrible with them on a good day. The doctor showed up, and once I showed him my ring and explained who I was—domestic partnership, the one who decided on his health care, and that I was the emergency contact on file with the Chicago Police Department—I got the rundown on Sam’s condition.

It wasn’t as bad as I’d thought. The ribs were bruised. His kidneys, even though they had taken a few punches, were not, so he would not be peeing blood. That had happened in the past, and it scared the hell out of me. His concussion was mild, but he would still be staying overnight in the hospital since there was no one at home to look after him.

“Why aren’t you coming home?” I asked, hearing my voice rise, hating it but unable to stop it.

“I’m still undercover,” he told me.

“How?”

“My cover’s not blown. You were amazing.”

And only then did I realize that maybe I should have just come clean.

“You did the right thing,” he praised me. “And I appreciate it.”

But it didn’t feel right. I wanted to be at home, watching him sleep, checking to make sure he was fine. Just for a second, the feeling washed through me of how much I wanted my life back, and I felt faint.

“Gimme your hand,” Sam ordered.

My fingers laced in Sam’s, held against his heart, comforted me.

“Soon. It will all be back to normal very soon.”

But soon was taking forever.

“I’m gonna be fine,” he reiterated, same as what the doctor had said.