Page 138 of Stupid Matchmaking Love

“She’s good,” Willie says. “She’s awake and asking for you.”

I thank her parents and head down the hall, past the nurses’ station, to her door. It’s slightly open and I knock lightly.

“Come in.”

She sounds amazing—a little hoarse, but like herself. Like good old Cristina, the woman I love so much I don’t want to be the reason she gets hurt.

There are so many tubes going into her my breath catches.

Breathe deep, Rhett. You’ve got this.

There’s a long pause, with me standing in the doorway, drinking in the scene, before I finally say, “Hey.”

She flinches slightly, not enough that someone who didn’t know her would see it. But I know her, so I see it.

There’s tenderness in her eyes when she replies, with sass, “Hey, yourself.”

“Mind if I sit? Or are you saving this chair for someone?”

“Only if that someone looks and sounds exactly like you.”

My heart wobbles at that. I sit and take her hand, squeezing it. “How’re you feeling?”

“Like I can breathe.”

“Good.”

Her gaze drops to our joined hands and lingers there. “I guess you got more than you bargained for today.”

That just about breaks my damn heart. “No, Cristina. I didn’t get too much. I’m glad you’re all right.”

“And Flame?”

“Mina’s watching her.”

“Oh no. The challenge!” She starts to sit up like she’s gonna pull out all the tubes and take off.

I pat the air. “It’s all right. Mina canceled it. It won’t happen until you’re out of the hospital.”

“They’re keeping me overnight.”

“For observation?”

“Will you stay?”

All it took was a moment for me to fall back into the past—a speck of time. Truth be told, I’m not over what went on inside me, and I don’t want to burden Cristina with it.

My throat closes as I reply, “I’ll stay if you want.”

Her eyes tighten like my response hurts, really cuts her deeply, and I feel like shit for not saying, Of course I’ll stay. But I’m afraid of myself, of who I became when she collapsed.

And the last thing I want to see are her blue lips again.

I shift and something rattles in my jacket. The Bitty Being. I start to pull the pieces from my pocket, but I can’t hand her a jumbled mess of broken clay—not until it’s set right.

She exhales a staggered breath. “You looked pretty upset when I had my attack.”

“I was so worried about you.” I kiss her hand. “Glen and his wife never should’ve been there, breathing the same air as you. They don’t deserve to.”