Total pages in book: 33
Estimated words: 29744 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 149(@200wpm)___ 119(@250wpm)___ 99(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29744 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 149(@200wpm)___ 119(@250wpm)___ 99(@300wpm)
"What if…" She peeks up at me through her lashes. "What if I'm not ready for this to end when I no longer need a bodyguard, Ronan?"
"Then it doesn't end," I growl, palming her ass. "But I hate to break it to you, songbird. You need a bodyguard permanently. There are too many fucked up people in the world willing to do shady shit to get close to you. You need someone with you to guard your privacy and your personal space." I have a feeling she isn't good at doing that herself. Her heart is too big.
She hasn't learned how to guard it or how to tell people no yet. She feels like she owes her fans too much. I'm guessing she lets them stop her on the street or in the grocery store or in the bathroom for photos and autographs and a minute of her time. It's why everyone around her is so protective of her. They know how much of herself she gives to her fans and everyone else.
"I'll think about it," she says.
"Good. Let's go to the fucking hospital before I change my mind."
"Now?" She blinks at me. "You want to go right now?"
"Yep," I say. "We're not giving anyone a warning that we're going, songbird. I don't want it to leak to the press or anyone else until we're already there and visiting. This should be a private moment between you and your fans." Hopefully, one where she's safe and whoever the fuck is trying to kill her has no idea she's tiptoed out of hiding until she's already on her way back here, satisfied that she's done her duty to her fans.
We're not at the hospital long before word begins to spread that she's there. Within half an hour, a small throng appears, trying to get photos and her autograph as she moves from room to room, checking on the fans still hospitalized.
They stretch across the hallway, completely blocking it. The noise is overwhelming.
Winter shrinks in on herself when she sees them, her anxiety soaring.
"Go on ahead, songbird," I murmur to her, nudging her toward a young fan's room. "I'll deal with this."
"Be nice," she scolds me, worried about her fans even though she's anxious about the crowd.
"I'll be sweet as pie."
She doesn't buy my bullshit for a minute, but she reluctantly heads into the hospital room, leaving me to deal with the throng at the end of the hall. I stride that way, stopping beside the two security guards holding them at bay.
"Y'all here to see Winter?" I ask the crowd.
A woman at the front of the crowd nods vigorously.
"Tell you what," I say. "If you'll leave your names and addresses with security, I'll personally make sure she sends you a signed photo. But we can't have everyone crowding up the halls. It's not safe for her or anyone else."
"Who are you?" someone demands.
"Her…" I almost say man and quickly stop myself. Shit. Is that what I am? We haven't put a label on it. It's fragile and new, but fuck. I am hers. I have been since word one. I will be until she orders me away. Even then, my heart will still belong to her. How can it not when she's the thing bringing it back to life? "Personal security."
"We just want to make sure she's all right," a young girl says from the back of the crowd.
"She appreciates that. But she's a little anxious about crowds right now. This"—I point at everyone—"isn't helping."
An uncomfortable murmur goes through the crowd.
"Is she ever going to perform again?" the same little girl asks.
"She is," I say. "But not until it's safe for her and for all of you for her to do that. The most important thing to her is making sure everyone is safe." I sweep my gaze over the group, my expression firm. "Crowding up a hospital corridor so the nurses can't even get through isn't safe. Let's give her a little space to visit with those who were hurt at the festival, all right? They need her right now."
"Okay, Mr. Bodyguard," the little girl says. "Can you please tell her that I'm glad she's okay? She doesn't have to send me a picture if she doesn't want. But I hope she keeps singing."
"Yeah, I'll tell her, sweetheart," I promise. "Leave your address with security for me. I'll make sure she sends you something, okay?"
"Okay! Bye!" she says, and then waves before skipping away.
One by one, everyone else in the crowd reluctantly follows after her, going back about their business. When a gap opens, I see Cash and Riley standing near the elevators with another couple I recognize, Cami and Bentley Reynolds. They played a show overseas a few years ago. Bentley wouldn't let anyone near his wife.
Riley's watching me with a big smile on her face.