33. Winnie
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
winnie
The hallway explodes.
Boots. Voices. The door slams open so hard it hits the wall.
“Winnie—”
It’s him. I don’t see him yet, just feel the room change when he comes in. Big and fast like a storm pushing through.
Then everything happens at once.
Hands on my face. A light in my eyes.
“Can you tell me your name?”
“Do you know where you are?”
“Can you squeeze my fingers?”
I feel like the room is spinning.
“I don’t know. I just need a moment,” I whisper, but I don’t know if anyone hears me.
“Her pupils are reactive.”
“Back up,” Danger growls.
Someone says, “Sir?—”
“I said back up!” He does that tone that changes the room.
The doctor steps closer anyway. “But we need to evaluate?—”
“She just woke up,” Danger snaps. “It’s been two weeks. Give her a damn minute.”
Two weeks.
Two weeks?
My stomach turns.
“Daddy,” Fisher says somewhere near the bed. “She heard me.”
“Fish,” he says without looking away from me. “Go get Nana and her parents. They’re in the cafeteria. Tell them she’s awake.”
“But—”
“Go.”
Fisher runs.
The doctor hesitates. “We need to finish our checks.”
Danger doesn’t break eye contact with me. “Just give us a minute.”
It isn’t loud. It isn’t angry. It’s final.
There’s a pause. Then the room empties. And suddenly it’s just us. The sharp lights. The confusion.
He drags a chair closer and sits, slow, like if he moves too fast I might disappear.
He doesn’t touch me right away. That’s the first thing I notice. His hands are wrapped tight around each other like he’s holding himself back.
“Hey,” he says. It’s rough. Low. Used up.
My throat hurts when I try to talk. “Two weeks, huh?”
He nods once. “You had us scared to death.”
Us.
I close my eyes and try to grab the last thing I remember.
Morning light. The feed buckets. Walking to…
Then—gravel.
My chest tightens.
“I was driving,” I whisper.
His jaw flexes. “Don’t,” he says gently. “You don’t gotta figure it all out right now.”
I look at him. He looks… wrecked.
There’s cuts on his knuckles. His eyes are red like he hasn’t blinked in days.
“Did you break something?” I ask.
He almost smiles. “Just a few chairs,” he shrugs. “Maybe a vending machine.”
That’s when I know. He’s been unraveling.
I try to speak. It comes out a whisper. “Wait, I remember…”
His head snaps up. “What do you remember?” he asks quietly. Carefully. Like the wrong answer might shatter something.
“I was…” I close my eyes, reaching for it. “I was upset.”
His grip tightens. A muscle jumps in his jaw.
“I shouldn’t have let you leave,” he says immediately. The words rush out like they’ve been burning him alive. “I shouldn’t have—I should’ve stopped you. This is all my fault.”
His fault?
The memory hits like glass.
The driveway. My shaking hands on the steering wheel. The blur of tears. The way I couldn’t see the road. The sickening flash of headlights. I suck in a breath that hurts.
“I remember the steering wheel,” I whisper.
His eyes close. Just for a second. Like that was the worst thing he could’ve heard.
“I remember…” My voice breaks. “Rylee.”
Her.
The silence shifts.
There it is. The reason.
I look at him fully now. “My car…” I swallow. “It’s?—”
“Forget the damn car,” he cuts in, but it’s not sharp. It’s desperate. “Winnie, I thought—” He stops. His voice fractures. He looks away like he’s angry at himself for letting that slip.
“I didn’t know if I would ever get you back.”
The room feels smaller. His hands are shaking.
Danger doesn’t shake.
I study him like I’m seeing him for the first time. The scrape on his cheek. The way his shoulders are hunched forward like he’s been bracing for impact for hours.
I swallow. “Danger…”
“Don’t.” He shakes his head immediately. “Not now.”
Not now.
Not apologies.
Not explanations.
Not the fight.
His eyes finally meet mine fully, and there’s nothing guarded in them. Just terror.
“I don’t care about any of that right now,” he says. “You hear me? We’ll deal with the rest later. Be mad. Hate me. I deserve it. But you don’t get to leave us. Not like that. All that matters is you being okay.”
I stare at him.
This man who was terrified of being trapped, being in a relationship.
This man who keeps one foot out the door.
This man who thought I might not come back.
He reaches for my hand. And hesitates. Like he’s not sure he’s allowed.
I look at his hand—scraped, swollen, hovering in the space between us. And I curl my fingers into his anyway.
His breath leaves him in a rush. Not dramatic. Not loud.
Just the sound of a man who’s been underwater and finally breaks the surface.
His forehead dips toward our joined hands. He doesn’t kiss me. Doesn’t pull me close. He just holds on.
And then the door bursts open before anyone waits for permission.
“Winnie!”
My mom rushes in first, dad behind her. Someone is crying. Someone is laughing in relief. The room fills with warmth and noise and hands touching my hair and my face.
Danger stands immediately. He lets go. Not abruptly. Not cold. Just… carefully.
He steps back like he understands this isn’t his moment.
My mom is kissing my forehead. My dad is brushing tears away like he doesn’t want me to see.
Over my mom’s shoulder, I watch him. He moves to the door. Opens it wider so everyone can crowd in.
Then he steps into the hallway. The door swings halfway closed behind him.
Through the narrow gap, I see him lean back against the wall. His head tips up. His eyes close. And his chest rises—deep, shaking, like he can finally breathe.
Like he’s been holding it for days. Like he thought I was gone.