Twenty-Three

Mick sat on the chairs in the hospital lobby, holding his throbbing head as he waited for someone to tell him what was happening with Nicole. Because he wasn’t family, they wouldn’t tell him anything.

They’d bandaged his arms from the cuts he’d sustained when crawling across the broken glass, but thankfully, he didn’t need any stitches.

It had been an hour and forty-five minutes since they arrived at the hospital. Too long, in his opinion. Why hadn’t anyone come out to let him know about her progress?

Panicked voices from down the hall grew closer. He looked toward the corridor just as a man and woman rushed around the corner. Immediately, he recognized the cowboy who had stomped on Nicole’s foot that night in the lounge. Mick was betting the woman was Mary.

When the woman with black, spiky hair looked at him, her eyes widened and her face paled. No doubt about it now. This was Mary.

He stood and raked his fingers through his hair. “Mary?”

She rushed to him and grasped his arm.