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“Sam. Baby, look at me. How bad?”

“I’m okay.” My voice shook. “Head hurts. He hit me, moved me here. Then you arrived…”

“Shh.” He checked my pupils, ran careful fingers over the bump on my temple. “We’re gonna get you checked out. You’re safe now. I’ve got you.”

His hands trembled as he helped me sit up properly. I grabbed his shirt, needing the anchor, and he pulled me against his chest. We paused, hugging each other, both shaking. His face buried in my hair while I breathed in sawdust and safety.

Sirens grew closer, multiple vehicles by the sound of it. Tyson pulled back enough to look at me again, thumb gentle on my split lip.

“Patrick’s coming. Half the force, probably. Called them as soon as I heard…” His voice cracked. “I heard everything. I could hear him fucking hurting you.”

“I’m okay.”

“You’re not.” Fresh anger flashed across his face. “But you will be.”

Patrick arrived with three other officers, took one look at the scene, and started barking orders. Garrett was cuffed while still semiconscious, read his rights while blood dripped from his nose. Assault. Kidnapping. Violation of a restraining order. Federal charges since he’d crossed state lines to commit them.

“He’s done,” Patrick told me while EMTs checked my head. “Bail will be astronomical if they grant it at all.”

I nodded, wincing as they prodded the goose egg on my temple. Tyson hadn’t let go of my hand, his thumb running constant circles on my palm. Both of my phones were evidence now, shattered but retrievable. I’d need a new one.

“Ma’am?” The EMT caught my attention. “We need to transport you for proper evaluation. Possible concussion, that lip needs stitches.”

“I’ll drive her,” Tyson said immediately.

“Sir, you should be evaluated too. Your hands…”

I looked down. His knuckles were split, bleeding. He’d hit Garrett hard enough to damage himself and hadn’t mentioned it.

“I’m driving her,” he repeated.

Patrick nodded to the EMT, who sighed but didn’t argue. Small towns had their own rules. We walked to Tyson’s truck, him steady beside me while I fought dizziness. Before climbing in, I spotted my destroyed phone on the ground.

“Wait.” I picked up the pieces, saw the screen was somehow partially intact. One notification visible. A text from Sophie.

“Mom collapsed. Doctor says it’s close. Are you happy with what you’ve done?”

I stared at the broken screen, my body numb.

“It’s not your fault,” Tyson said quietly. He’d seen the text. “Whatever’s happening with your mom, this isn’t on you.”

“I know.” But my hands shook as I pocketed the phone pieces.

“We’ll get you checked out,” he continued. “Then I’ll drive. Charlotte’s what, seven hours?”

“Tyson, no. Noa needs you here…”

“Mom will take her. Already texted her.” He helped me into the truck, careful with my injuries. “You need to see your mother. I’m taking you.” He climbed in the driver’s side, started the engine. “I’m not letting you face that alone. Never.”

I wanted to argue but exhaustion was setting in. The adrenaline crash made everything hurt worse. “I need to pack.”

“After the hospital. I’ll help.” He reached over, took my hand again. “I’m here, love.”

***

The hospital was efficient. Concussion protocol, stitches for my lip, photographs of every bruise for evidence. Tyson stayed, held my hand through the stitches, helped me answer the endless questions. Patrick came by with updates. Garrett was processed, in custody, ranting about entrapment and setup and how I’d ruined his life.

“He kept saying he’d get her back,” Patrick said carefully. “Not you now. Your sister.”