Obsessed

Chapter 42

The doctor was thorough, double and triple-checking Mark’s vitals, his wound, and every scan before finally nodding his approval.

“You’re clear to go,” the doctor said. “You’ll be sore for a while. Take the meds I prescribed, avoid lifting anything heavy, and take it easy. If it weren’t for that metal plate in your shoulder, I’d be talking to your next of kin.”

Mark let out a breath. “Lucky me.”

Ronnie’s lips twitched in a strained attempt at a smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. The moment the doctor stepped out, she sat on the edge of the bed, her hands nervously wringing in her lap. Her walls crumbled, and her eyes welled with tears.

Mark reached for her hand. “Ronnie…”

“You could’ve died,” she whispered, barely able to meet his gaze. “You almost died because of me.”

He frowned, tugging her closer until she was sitting beside him. “Stop that.”

She blinked at him, stunned. “Stop—?”

“I’m a grown-ass man, Ronnie,” Mark said gently but firmly. “I make my own damn decisions. I chose to be involved. I chose to protect you. I will keep choosing it.”

“But—”

“No buts I already told you.” He brushed her hair behind her ear, cupping her cheek. “I love you.”

Her breath caught in her throat.

“I’d give my life for you without hesitation. You, Theodore, your safety—it means everything to me. So don’t you dare blame yourself for what happened. I’d do it again. A thousand times.”

Ronnie let out a shaky exhale and leaned into his touch, her forehead resting against his. “I love you too.”

They sat like that for a few quiet minutes before Mark exhaled and tried to sit up. “Now come on. Let’s get out of here before they decide to keep me for observation forever.”

Ronnie drove Mark’s truck carefully, hands steady on the wheel, glancing at him every few minutes. He sat in the passenger seat, bandaged, sore, but alive. The pain medication made him drowsy, but he refused to let it knock him out entirely.

“I should stop by the Precinct,” he murmured. “Check on the case… talk to Jackson—”

Ronnie gave him a side-eye glare so sharp it could cut glass. “Absolutely not. You just got shot, Mark.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re barely walking upright.”

He opened his mouth, but she beat him to it.

“You need to rest. And I’m going to make sure you do. You’re going back to your apartment. You’re going to lie down, take your meds, and let me take care of you for once.”

Mark blinked. “You? Take care of me?”

Ronnie raised a brow. “What? You think I can’t?”

He smirked, wincing slightly. “I’m not complaining.”

She pulled into the parking lot of his apartment building, parked, and turned off the engine. For a moment, neither of them moved. Mark looked over at her.

“Thanks, Ronnie. For everything.”

She reached over, squeezing his hand. “Always.”

They stepped out of the truck and walked toward the building. Ronnie kept close to his side, not hovering, but steady. Mark’s pace was slower than usual, and he grit his teeth every time a muscle pulled the wrong way, but he didn’t complain. Just having her there made the pain bearable.

Ronnie helped him out of his jacket and got him settled on the couch.

“Let me make you something,” she offered. “Soup? Sandwich?”

“Whiskey,” he muttered.

She shot him a look. “Not with you’re medication.”

Mark grinned. “Worth a try.”

Ronnie shook her head and went into the kitchen. Mark leaned back against the couch, watching her move around with ease, like she belonged there. Like this wasn’t just his place—it was theirs.

And for the first time in a long time, even with pain pulsing through his shoulder, he felt at peace.

Ronnie hummed softly as she stirred the contents of a small pot on the stove, her back to the living room where Mark sat stretched out on the couch, his arm cradled carefully against his chest. The smell of garlic, basil, and simmering tomatoes filled the air. Mark watched her from his spot, a tired but genuine smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

His body ached, the stitches in his shoulder pulling if he moved too fast, but right now he didn’t care. She was here. She was alive. He was alive. And watching her dance barefoot across his apartment like she belonged here made the pain worth it.

“I’m making pasta,” Ronnie called over her shoulder.

“Sounds like a five-star meal to me,” Mark chuckled.

She glanced back at him with a soft smile, then turned back to the sauce, biting her lip. The fact that he could still joke—even after nearly dying—was both comforting and infuriating. She blinked away the knot forming in her throat.

When dinner was ready, Ronnie set two plates on the coffee table and joined him on the couch. Mark tried to shift and help, but she gently pushed him back.

“Sit. Eat. Heal,” she said, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said with a mock salute, earning a light eye roll from her.

They ate quietly, the occasional sound of silverware clinking against plates and the soft hum of music playing from her phone filling the space. Ronnie stole glances at him in between bites. The bruises were darker now, the swelling around the bandage still evident. But even battered and shirtless, he looked beautiful to her—resilient, solid, and hers.

When they finished, Ronnie cleared the plates and came back with a small first aid kit.

“Time to check your bandage,” she said, kneeling beside the couch.

Mark winced as she carefully unwrapped the gauze from his shoulder. Her fingers were gentle, her touch so cautious it made his heart swell. She examined the wound and looked up at him.

“No bleeding. Looks good,” she murmured, then began applying a fresh layer of ointment before wrapping it again with precision.

“Thank you,” he said softly, watching her.

She looked up, blinking. “For what?”

“For this. For being here.”

Her throat tightened. She reached up and brushed his cheek with the back of her hand. “You scared the hell out of me, Mark.”

He captured her hand, kissed the inside of her wrist, then slowly stood with her help.

“Let’s get you to bed,” she whispered.

Once they were in the bedroom area, Ronnie turned down the comforter while Mark eased himself onto the edge of the mattress. He watched her as she slipped into the bathroom to change into one of his oversized t-shirts, then padded back into the room barefoot, her blonde hair loose and falling around her shoulders.

He lay back carefully, shirtless, in just a pair of sweatpants. Ronnie crawled into bed next to him and rested her head gently on his uninjured side, placing her palm over his chest.

“You need to rest,” she said softly, tracing light circles over his skin.

“I will,” he whispered, brushing her hair out of her face. “But right now... I just want to feel close to you.”

She looked up at him, her gaze warm, vulnerable.

“Mark, your shoulder—”

“I’m not asking for anything rough. I just want to be with you... slowly.”

She hesitated only a second longer before nodding. “Okay. But I’m on top.”

He grinned, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Deal.”

Ronnie straddled him gently, bracing her knees on either side of his hips, her hands resting flat on his chest as she leaned down to kiss him. The kiss was soft—lingering, slow, filled with unspoken love and gratitude. Mark's hands roamed her waist, careful not to strain his shoulder, guiding her closer as their mouths moved in sync.

Their bodies moved in a rhythm of tenderness and affection. Mark held onto her hips, his touch gentle, grounding. Ronnie moved slowly over him, her breath catching softly in her throat as she adjusted to him. Every movement was careful, reverent, a worship of skin and connection.

Mark’s jaw clenched slightly at the sensation of her warmth around him, his hand brushing up her back, curling into her hair. She leaned down, their chests pressing together, skin to skin, heart to heart.

“You feel... incredible,” he whispered against her ear, his voice hoarse with emotion.

“So do you,” she breathed.

The pace remained slow, every motion deliberate, every kiss a silent confession. Ronnie’s hands cupped his face, brushing her thumbs over his cheekbones as she moved with him. His lips trailed along her collarbone, across her throat, up to her lips again.

They didn’t rush. There was no urgency, just the quiet intimacy of being in each other’s arms—alive, safe, together.

When Ronnie finally came undone above him, her breath hitching in his mouth, Mark followed soon after, burying his face against her neck with a low groan, his entire body trembling beneath hers.

They lay tangled together in the sheets, breathing in sync, their limbs wrapped around each other. Mark gently stroked her back, careful of the places she might be sensitive. Ronnie buried her face into the crook of his neck, her hand resting over his heart.

“You really should be resting,” she mumbled sleepily, a soft smile tugging at her lips.

He kissed the top of her head. “This was rest. The best kind.”

Ronnie giggled quietly, her fingers drawing idle shapes on his chest. “You’re incorrigible.”

“But you love it.”

“I do,” she whispered, and it was the truth.

Silence settled over them again, warm and peaceful. For the first time in what felt like forever, they both felt safe.

And deeply, irreversibly loved.