The receptionist checked Tyler’s name and directed me upstairs.
I found him in a private room.
He was awake.
The moment I saw him, my legs almost gave out.
His left arm was strapped against his body.
There was a bandage near his hairline, and dark bruising had already started forming along one side of his face.
But he was there.
Tyler looked at me and managed a crooked smile.
“Hey.”
I stopped beside the bed.
For several seconds, I couldn’t speak.
Then anger arrived right behind relief.
“You idiot.”
His smile faded.
“Fair.”
“You absolute idiot.”
“I know.”
I leaned down and kissed his forehead carefully.
Then I started crying.
Tyler reached for my hand with his good arm.
“I’m okay.”
“No, you’re not.”
“I will be.”
That was different.
I could accept that.
I sat beside him and held his hand.
He had a fractured shoulder, three cracked ribs, and a concussion.
The doctors wanted to keep him overnight for observation.
It could have been so much worse.
I knew that.
So did he.
