Sutton tugged on my arm once more, moving us into a room where a few small bunk beds sat, perfectly made.

“Is this a real-life on-call room?” I asked because I had very little knowledge of hospitals aside from things I’d seen on TV.

“What? Oh, yes, it is. Joseph, what’s wrong? Why are you here?” She looked worried ... for me.

I stepped forward, closing the distance between us before I reached for her shoulders and tucked an errant piece of red hair behind her ear. Her eyes closed with my movement, and it took everything in me not to bend down and start kissing her.

“I needed to see that you were okay. I heard about the press and the phone calls,” I tried to explain, but I wasn’t sure my words were coming out right.

She swallowed hard, her eyes avoiding mine. “It’s been a lot,” she said softly. “I wasn’t prepared.”

Shit. She’s going to walk away. She’s going to say this is too much for any sane woman to handle, and then I’ll be back to square one. And I really, really, really don’t want to start over. At least, not without her by my side. What the hell is wrong with me?

“How can I help? What can I do to fix this?” I asked, genuinely meaning it.

She shook her head and gave me a one-armed shrug. “It’s not really your fault. I can handle it.” She inhaled. “I just wasn’t expecting that level of things, was all. I’ll be better prepared next time.”

A small, confident smile appeared out of nowhere, and I reached out, my thumb brushing along her bottom lip. She sucked in a breath as she pulled away, and I apologized like I’d done something wrong or out of line.

“I’m not okay with you being uncomfortable or harassed in any way. Do you understand that?”

“Sure,” she said, but I could tell she wasn’t getting it. At all.

I was already possessive over her, and her safety was quickly becoming a top concern.

“Sutton,” I growled under my breath, “I wanted to rip their fucking heads off.”

“Whose heads?”

“The press. Every single one of them standing outside of your hospital right now. I sent you a text, and you didn’t answer, and I lost my fucking mind.”

She shifted on her feet. “My phone is in my locker. I turned it off.”

“I noticed.”

The realization finally hit her. “That’s why you’re here? Because I didn’t answer a text?” She sounded annoyed instead of happy.

“I was worried,” I bit out.

I was right; she wasn’t amused.

“Well, I’m fine. You can’t come storming in here whenever you want and demand to see me because I didn’t jump at your beck and call. Just so you know, I turn my phone off a lot when I’m at work.”

Stepping away from her, I dragged my fingers through my hair, frustrated. “Why are you so mad at me right now?”