She slowly shook her head. “No. I know you have too much integrity. But I have to acknowledge that this is way over what you probably hoped you would ever have to deal with.”
He stood and leaned over her bed, placing his face close to hers. “Baby, I’m in awe of you every day, and allowing me to share in your life is the greatest honor you could bestow.”
She felt the sting of tears just before his lips softly landed on hers.
He leaned back, one hand cupping her face. “We’ll manage it,” Bert said firmly. “Together. You tell me what you need, and I’ll make sure you get it. Pressure reliefs every thirty minutes, skin checks every four hours, helping you reposition at night—whatever it takes.”
Mary felt tears prick her eyes. “You’re signing up for a lot of work, Bert. Round-the-clock care for someone who can’t even feel half the injuries she sustained.”
“I’m signing up to take care of the woman I love,” Bert corrected gently. “And yes, your spinal cord injury complicates things. But it doesn’t change how I feel about you or my commitment to making sure you heal properly.”
Mary squeezed his hand, grateful beyond words. The attack had been terrifying. The injuries were serious. But having Bert beside her, ready to learn and adapt and help navigate the complex medical reality of her paralysis? Suddenly, everything felt manageable.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “For not being scared off by all the complications.”
“Takes more than medical complications to scare me off,” Bert said with a small smile. “I’m a former SEAL. I’ve faced worse than pressure sore prevention protocols.”
Mary laughed, which hurt her ribs but felt good anyway. “I love you.”
“I love you back,” Bert said, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. “Now get some rest. Doctor’s orders. I’ll be right here.”
Through it all, Bert couldn’t stop thinking about how close he’d come to losing her. If Frank had been a little stronger, a little more successful in his attack. If Mary hadn’t fought back so fiercely. If the lighthouse necklace hadn’t allowed Bert to track her level location on the boat. It ran through his mind that he wanted to develop that level of tracker to replace the ones in the Keepers’ lighthouse tattoos.
Mary was resting when his phone rang, and glancing at the number, he knew he needed to keep Logan informed of what was happening. He had messaged to tell them she was going to the hospital, but he hadn’t called to offer an update. He stepped outside her room and answered.
“How is she?” Logan asked.
“She has two cracked ribs?—”
“Fuck!”
Bert realized Logan was at the compound and several Keepers were there, now cursing in the background. Continuing, he added, “Bruises, especially around the neck where he tried to strangle her.”
More “fucks” could be heard in the background. For Bert, the image of Mary slumped in that closet, the bruises on her throat, and the pain in her eyes would haunt him for a long time. The knowledge of how close he’d come to losing the woman he loved. “There’s a shit ton more problems that go along with her paralysis. But the doctor feels confident as long as we do everything we can to monitor her.”
Without him saying a word, Logan instinctively knew what he was feeling. “You found her in time. She’s alive… hurt, but alive. Frank is in custody, and the RCMP have been talking to Diane and George Weston. I told them to leave you two alone until Mary is better.”
“Thanks, boss. That’ll be good. She can barely speak now anyway.”
He peeked back into her room and watched her sleep. After disconnecting, he walked back and sat in the chair next to her. He reached over and held her hand, watching her breathe. Each rise and fall of her chest was a miracle, a gift, a promise that she was still here.
36
Mary woke in the hospital to sunlight streaming through the window and the steady, comforting presence of Bert’s hand wrapped around hers. Her throat felt like she’d swallowed broken glass, her ribs screamed with every breath, and her entire body ached. But she was alive. Frank was in custody. Diane was safe.
“Hey.” Bert’s voice was soft, and Mary turned her head carefully to find him watching her with eyes that held relief and love in equal measure. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I fought… a murderer and… barely won,” Mary rasped, then winced at how painful speaking was.
Bert grimaced as he reached for the water cup with its straw. “I’m sorry. The doctor said you need to rest your voice. The swelling in your throat will take time to go down.”
Mary took a careful sip, the cool water soothing even as swallowing hurt. She was about to respond when a commotion in the hallway drew both their attention.
“I don’t care what your protocols are,” a familiar voice said with steel beneath the cultured tone. “I am going to see Mary Smithwick, and you’re going to let me through.”
Mary’s heart lifted despite the pain in her chest.
The door opened to reveal Diane Sutherland in her wheelchair, looking exhausted but determined, her spine straight and her chin lifted with the kind of dignity that came from surviving something terrible and refusing to be broken by it. George was close behind her, his expression protective.