“Your girlfriend put on quite a show last night,” Derek said as he sat by Kamal’s bedside. “She defended you, told the country it was safe, bolstered Egypt, and gave everyone the middle finger at the end.” He chuckled. “It was pretty impressive.”

“What…are…you…talking about…?” Kamal muttered, his voice sounding like it was filled with sand.

Derek leapt out of his seat. “Fuck! Holy shit! You’re awake!” He dove for the call button on the table next to the bed, punching it repeatedly.

Kamal’s eyes slid open, and he looked at his friend—his haggard, disheveled friend. “What…happened…to you?” he croaked out.

Derek kept gawking at him, grinning like a madman and looking like he might actually cry at the same time.

“Jesus, man, you’ve been unconscious for eight days.”

“How…?”

“You were shot. Do you remember?”

Kamal’s heart nearly beat out of his chest, because yes, he did remember, every moment.

“Jessica…” He struggled to sit up. He had to get to her, make sure she was okay.

“Hold it, Mr. Masri,” a doctor said as she entered the room and strode to his bedside, her eyes scanning the various screens that sat next to him. “You need to relax for a bit while I see how everything’s going.”

“Jessica…” he wheezed again, his gaze desperate as it landed on Derek.

“She’s fine. You protected her. She’s perfectly fine,” Derek assured him.

“Want to…”

“Don’t worry, I’m calling her right now.” Derek held up his phone to show the screen, then put the device to his ear. “Vanessa? It’s Derek Ambrose. Tell the president he’s awake.”

* * *

Jessica’s heels slapped against the tile floors of the hospital as she ran through the halls, Secret Service agents on both sides and behind her.

“Ma’am, you’re going to wipe out in those damn shoes,” Peter huffed next to her. “He’s not going anywhere.”

She ignored him, her heart feeling as though it were going to beat right out of her chest. She swung around the corner into the last hallway and felt one heel slide on the slick surface, but she corrected and kept going.

“Jesus Christ,” she heard Peter mutter.

When she finally got to the door, though, she stopped, breathing hard, every nerve ending racing.

“I’ll go in alone,” she told Peter and the other agents as they waited in a group around her.

“At least let me check out the room, ma’am; then I’ll leave.”

“No. Mr. Ambrose is inside, it’s fine.”

Peter looked unhappy but acquiesced. Jessica slowly turned the handle on the door, took a deep breath, and walked through.

Her eyes landed on him immediately. He was sitting up in the bed, the tray table in front of him, a cup of water and some Jell-O on it.

“Madam President,” Derek said, standing from the chair next to the bed—her chair, she thought.

She knew she ought to address him, but all she could say was “Thank you.”

“Of course,” he answered, and then she was aware of him slipping past her, out the door, but only just, because her entire being was so focused on Kamal—on his eyes, his mouth, his breath, his heartbeats lighting up the monitor screen.

“Come here, love,” he said, his voice low and rough.

She put her hands over her mouth and shook her head as she stared at him, all the tension and fear and pain of the last week rolling through her in horrible, relentless waves.

“Jessica,” he commanded quietly. “Come here.”

She walked to him, and when she reached the bedside, she realized that she was shaking, not just a small tremor, but full-on violent shudders, from head to toe. Kamal shoved the bedrail down and swung his legs off the bed, reaching for her at the same time.

He pulled her into his arms before slipping an arm beneath her legs and settling her on his lap. Then he slid them both back into the bed, making soothing noises the whole time as she shook like there was an earthquake inside her.

“It’s okay, love. It’s all going to be okay now. I promise.”

She still couldn’t speak, only cling to him and listen to his voice—the voice she’d thought she might never hear again.

“God, I’ve missed you,” he murmured, stroking her hair and squeezing her hip. He placed soft kisses on her temple and waited patiently while she recovered from the adrenaline that had overtaken her.

“How could you have missed me—you were unconscious,” she finally responded, sitting up so she could look him in the eye. “I was the one who was missing you. Eight days you made me wait. Eight days.” She smacked him on the chest, and he grinned at her.

“I was dreaming of you every second of those eight days. I dreamed of you and I couldn’t reach you, and it was sheer torture.”

She watched him, trying to discern if he was making things up or being genuine. “You did not.”

He pressed a palm to her face, his rough fingers sliding along her cheek before he swiped his thumb across her bottom lip, his eyes hot and liquid. “I did. And I wanted to touch you more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.”

“I tried to stay with you. I stayed for days, but you didn’t wake, and everyone was telling me I had to go back to the White House. But I didn’t want to leave you. I’m so sorry I wasn’t here when you woke. I never wanted to leave.”

“I know, and it’s okay. I would have told you to go back to work myself. You are too important to this country for you to sit at my bedside. You did the right thing. You did what you had to do.”

She lay silently for a moment, listening to the beat of his heart, remembering that she’d almost lost that lovely sound forever.

“I should be furious with you. You put yourself in front of that bullet.”

He held her and rubbed her back. “And I’d do it again, and again, and again. As long as I have breath, I will protect you.”

“But I don’t want to do this without you,” she whispered.

“You won’t have to. This will never happen again. You know that, right? It’s all over now. You’re safe. I’m safe. The country is safe.”

She nodded, and then they lay there, holding each other for a very long time, because they didn’t need words, they didn’t require proclamations. They simply needed one another, and if they had that, Jessica knew that she could conquer anything.