ONE WEEK LATER
“Do you want a fresh batch of magazines or any other snacks?” I asked as I straightened Boden’s hospital blankets.
“Stop stalling.”
I made a face at him. “I’m not stalling. I want to make sure you have everything you need before I leave.”
Boden grabbed my hand and tugged me so I bent over him. He brushed his lips across mine. “I’m fine. My mom and dad will be back with lunch any minute.”
“But I should wait until they get here in case you need something.”
He lifted a remote attached to his bed. “I have this handy-dandy call button. A nurse can help me with whatever I need.”
“I’m sure they can,” I muttered. More than a few nurses had been extrahelpfulthese past few days.
Boden chuckled, and this time there was no wince in his features. “Don’t be jealous.”
I scowled at him. “Don’t be smug.”
“I won’t be smug if you stop stalling.”
I swallowed the growl that wanted to surface. “Fine. I’m going. Want me to bring you anything back?”
“Wouldn’t say no to a milkshake.”
“Strawberry or chocolate?”
He’d been alternating between the two, and I was happy to be his sugar dealer.
“Strawberry.”
I bent to kiss him one more time. “Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
As I walked out the door and down the hall, my heart tugged. It hadn’t gotten easier to walk away from Boden. There had been so many touch-and-go moments in the forty-eight hours he’d been unconscious. I knew letting him out of my sight anytime soon would be a challenge. Yet I forced myself to keep walking.
I opted for the stairs instead of the elevator, trying to burn off some of my nervous energy. As I headed for the exit, I pulled on my sunglasses. I braced as the doors slid open.
Voices screamed my name, asking invasive questions as flashes went off. A security guard hurried over. “I’ll escort you to your car, Ms. Montgomery.”
“Thank you.”
We hurried through the throng of people and towards the parking lot. The press had descended less than twenty-four hours after Boden had been shot, and they showed no signs of leaving even though both his and his father’s publicists had released a joint statement that Boden would make a full recovery. They were vultures. Some of the headlines I’d seen had turned my stomach. And I’d found one photographer trying to sneak onto the ICU floor. James Cavanaugh had called in private security then and there.
Boden had tried to give me my own guard, but I didn’t want it. I couldn’t take having someone with me all the time when I was barely holding it together. I needed those quiet moments in my SUV to let the tears flow. I’d come so close to losing Boden, and it would take some time for me to reassure myself that everything was okay.
I gave the security guard a smile as I beeped my locks. “Thank you. Again.”
“Anytime. Just call the number if you want an escort back inside.”
“I will.”
I climbed behind the wheel and started the engine. No one followed me as I pulled out of the parking lot. A few had tried the first couple of days after Boden had woken up, but they’d finally given up when all I ever did was go to restaurants or back to the cabin on Ramsey’s property.
I couldn’t bring myself to return to the gallery. Not yet. But I’d be facing the worst of it today. I guided my SUV out of town, taking the roads I knew by heart. Houses gave way to ranches and farmlands, and before long, I was pulling up to the Grangers’ house.
I stared up at the façade that I could’ve drawn by memory. The place that had always felt like home. Only this time, I shuddered. I knew there had to be a way to reclaim the space, but I wasn’t sure that I was strong enough to do it.