Page 125 of Promised to the Cowboy

This time, he does laugh. It sounds rusty. “Yours, most likely.”

The door opens, and everything else disappears as Evie steps into the room.

She’s changed into hospital scrubs. Her hair is pulled back in a knot that’s already coming loose, and exhaustion shadows her eyes. One hand rests over our daughter.

She sees me awake and stops. For one terrible second, she looks as though she might fall.

I reach for her. “Come here.”

She crosses the room so fast that Dad barely gets out of the chair in time. Their eyes meet, and something passes between them. Gratitude. Grief. A promise I was not awake to hear.

Dad moves toward the door. “I’ll give you some time.”

“Dad.” The word feels strange in my mouth. Not because I’ve never said it, but because this time he turns around immediately.

“I’m not ready to forgive everything.”

“I know.”

“But you can come back later.”

His shoulders drop a fraction. “I’d like that.”

He leaves.

Then she’s beside me. Her hands frame my face carefully. “You’re awake.”

“Looks that way.”

“You died.”

“I heard.”

Her mouth trembles. “You do not get to joke about this.”

“I’m not joking.”

“You died, Gabriel.” Her words break on my name.

I take her wrist and press my lips to the inside of it. Her pulse races beneath my mouth.

Then I feel it. The bandaging on her right hand.

“You’re hurt.”

Something crosses her face—not quite a wince, not quite a smile. “Bruised, not broken.”

“What happened?”

The smile wins. “I punched Alexander.”

I stare at her.

“In the face,” she adds, in case that wasn’t clear.

“You punched your father.”

“He had it coming.”