Crosby held tightly to my hand as we sat in a sterile waiting room. I hadn’t seen this room before, but I was all too familiar with the hospital itself. The dime-a-dozen nature pictures on the walls and the smell of antiseptic. It’s going to be okay. He’s going to be fine. This would not have the same ending as my last trip through these hallways.

“Should I call Hunter? The Hardys?”

“No.” I flinched at the sharpness in my voice. “Maybe call Hunter, but don’t call Kara and Frank. I don’t want them to worry.” If this news gave Frank another stroke, I’d never forgive myself.

“Okay.” Crosby gave my hand a squeeze and then released it.

The muffled sounds of Crosby’s call with Hunter only made me zone out more. My vision blurred on the empty chairs across from me as time faded in and out. I wasn’t going to lose him. I said it over and over to myself.

A voice cleared, and a tall man with salt-and-pepper hair appeared in my line of sight. “I’m Dr. Park, and I’ve been treating Mr. Hardy.”

I pushed to my feet, wobbling a little. “How is he?”

“He’s going to be just fine.”

My shoulders sagged in relief at the doctor’s words, and Crosby gave my shoulder a squeeze. “Told you, Bell. His head is tougher than you think.”

Dr. Park glanced down at Ford’s chart. “He has a dislocated shoulder, bruised ribs, a wound that required eight stitches, and a concussion.”

I reached out blindly to grab onto Crosby’s arm. That was just fine? Crosby scowled at the doctor, who seemed impervious to his stare.

“He’s regained consciousness, and we’ll be releasing him tonight—”

I cut the doctor off. “Is that wise? Doesn’t he need someone to monitor him?”

Dr. Park looked up from the chart. “He’ll need someone to stay with him, yes. To wake him up every few hours and ask him simple questions. But, honestly, we’ve found that patients recover better in their own homes.”

“I’ll stay with him.” The words were out before I could consider how wise the offer was. I didn’t care anymore. None of it mattered. I’d almost lost Ford, and the last words I’d said to him had been ones of hurt and anger. “Was he able to tell you what happened?”

“We were able to put most of the pieces together from his injuries. Mr. Hardy filled in the rest. We found bark in his head wound, so we assume he was struck with some sort of stick or branch. The abrasions on his back led us to believe he was dragged towards the water where the assailant then attempted to drown him. This is when Mr. Hardy came to and began to fight back.”