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"I TOLD YOU IT WASN't bad." Nate's frustration must have been palpable, because the doctor, a heavyset Hal Holbrook doppelganger, sighed and looked up.
"You'll forgive us for taking stab wounds and head injuries seriously."
"I feel fine."
The doctor ignored the comment and continued stitching the minor flesh wound on his back. After four stitches, he finished and adjusted Nate's hospital gown. "There. Now maybe you won't bleed to death."
"I wasn't going to bleed to death. You guys are just being paranoid."
Brady chuckled, and Nate glared at the man standing in the corner. "And another thing. How come, whenever there's serious crime in this town, I end up in the ER, and you come out without a scratch?"
The man shrugged. "Years of training."
"In avoiding danger," Nate said.
Brady didn't rise to the bait. He addressed the doctor, who was pulling off his latex gloves as the nurse put away the supplies. "Good to see he's back to his jolly self."
"If this is jolly," the doctor said, "I'd hate to see him cranky."
"I can hear you, you know." Nate wanted to strangle them both.
The doctor straightened. "Because of the head wound, we're keeping you until morning."
"Not a chance."
Dr. Hal peered at him over his glasses. "Son, what's the rush?"
He thought of Marisa and Ana, alone in that cabin. Marisa was probably nervous, and even if she wasn't, it didn't matter. Nate wanted to be there with them, be there when they woke up, be there to eat breakfast. He needed to put his eyes on Ana again, make sure she was okay. He needed to hold Marisa, kiss her, tell her how much he loved her. Because he wanted to be there, with them, forever.
And he didn't want to wait another minute for forever to begin.
He saw Brady's narrowed eyes, knew his friend had been observing the emotions play across his face. Brady turned to the doctor. "See, there's this woman..."
"Ah." The doctor faced Nate. "You have a minor concussion. Rest is the most important thing you can do. If you want to go rest elsewhere, that's your prerogative. Tylenol for pain, and if it gets unmanageable, come back."
"Thank you, Doctor."
The man shook his hand, held it a moment longer. "Good luck with the girl."
* * *
"SHE'S PROBABLY ASLEEP."
"Obviously. It's nearly five in the morning." Nate hoped Marisa and Ana were both asleep. They sure needed it. He watched the trees speed by outside the car window. Only the white birches were distinguishable in the darkness.
"I called Marisa when we knew you were going to be okay. That was about an hour ago. I told her you were fine and would have to sleep in the hospital. That was before I knew how stubborn you could be."
"Thanks for calling her. And thanks for everything you did. I can't tell you how much I appreciate it."
"Man, you nearly died trying to protect my wife. You think there's anything I wouldn't do for you?"
"Nearly died, and still didn't manage to protect her."
"She's here, isn't she? And so is Ana, thanks to you."
"I'm not a hero."
Brady blew out a breath. "You know, Superman's not real. We're all just people, doing our best. Tonight, you were heroic. You called me. Despite a major concussion, you followed Marisa, told me where she was, fought the guy, and stopped him. Now the bad guy's in custody, and all the good guys—girls—are safe. I mean, what do you think a hero is?"
Nate wasn't sure how to answer that.
"A hero," Brady said, "is a guy who fights to do the right thing despite the dangers to himself. You were a hero tonight. You were a hero last fall. You need to accept that you're human and fallible and scared. But you did the right thing, anyway. That's heroic."
Nate allowed himself to hear Brady's words. To soak them in. Nate was no hero, he knew that. But maybe, tonight, he'd acted like one. Maybe that was all anybody could ever do.
* * *
OF COURSE THE CABIN was quiet when they pulled into the short drive and parked beside Sam's Isuzu Trooper. Nate hadn't thought to bring the keys.
Brady reached for the console between the seats, lifted something, and jingled. "I got 'em."
"Good thinking."
"Figured you'd want to get back in sooner rather than later." He jumped out of the car, ran to the house, and bounded up the three steps like they were nothing.
Nate cursed Brady's ability to move so fast. Despite what he'd told the doctor, his brain was battering the inside of his skull as if trying to get loose. His two stab wounds throbbed. In fact, his whole body ached as he pushed himself out of the sedan and stood.
Brady walked back down the steps. "Need help?"
"I'm fine." He wouldn't allow himself to hunch as he started toward the porch, one slow step at a time. Had the stairs always been that steep?
"You should have stayed at the hospital. They'll still be here tomorrow."
Nate stopped, faced his friend. "Will they? Because they live in Mexico. In a tiny little town I never knew the name of and wouldn't be able to find again on a bet."
"You think she's going to run away?"
Nate shrugged. He didn't, not really, but he wasn't willing to take the chance. He needed to be here. With Marisa and Ana. If they decided to go back to Mexico, then he'd go with them. No way was he returning to his life of solitude now that he'd been shown a better way.
Marisa.
Nate gripped the stair rail, and Brady grabbed his other arm. Together, they navigated the steps.
He made it into the cabin and saw Sam sound asleep on the love seat. She was short, but not that short.
"We talked," Brady whispered. "I told her you were too stubborn to stay in the hospital."
Nate looked at his closed bedroom door and the yellow crime scene tape secured across it.
No matter. He wanted to be out here when Marisa woke, anyway.
He collapsed on the sofa.
Brady pulled a blanket from the chair—Sam must've left it there for him, along with the pillow on the end of the couch—and draped it over him. "You need anything else?"
"No. Thanks."
"You got your phone?"
Nate closed his eyes. "Lost it on the street, I think."
"Okay. I'll check in later today."