Page 94 of Dozer

He looks terrible. He’s pale and there’s gauze visible beneath the hospital gown. Bruising already darkening along his side. His eyes find mine immediately. Everything else disappears.

"You look terrible," I say, taking the chair beside his bed.

"Feel worse."

"You took a bullet like an absolute maniac."

"Told you I had it handled."

I stare at him. "You did not have it handled. You had it barely survived. There's a meaningful difference."

His mouth moves into almost a smile.

I reach for his hand being careful of the IV. His fingers close around mine immediately. That simple contact nearly undoes me. I hide it with sarcasm. Obviously.

"Also, the surgeon says you're genuinely lucky."

"Good."

"I told him I object to the terminology."

"Of course you did."

"Luck is finding fries at the bottom of the bag. This was anatomical probability behaving unusually in our favor."

He looks at me for a long second. "I missed you."

Everything inside me stops. There are six million possible smart-ass answers. Not one of them comes to the surface.

"You were unconscious for most of it."

"Still."

His thumb brushes weakly across my knuckles. I lean closer. "I missed you too."

There. Real. No joke. We're both growing. It's disgusting.

"I took the job," I tell him. His eyes sharpen slightly. "Spartan Elite. Director of Digital Forensics and Intelligence."

Something crosses his face. Pride. Definitely pride. And underneath it, relief he probably thinks he's hiding. He's not.

"Good."

I laugh softly. "That's it?"

"You'll be good at it."

"I know."

That earns me the look. I smile, real and unguarded. "I didn't take it for you, by the way. I want that on the record."

"Wouldn't have wanted you to."

Of course.

"I took it because it's mine. The work. The team. All of it."

"I know that too." His fingers tighten around mine. "Doesn't mean I'm not glad you'll be down the hall."