Obsessed

Chapter 41

The soft hum of the hospital machines was the only thing breaking the silence between them. Night had fallen outside the window, casting the room in a dim navy hue broken only by the beeping of the heart monitor and the gentle whoosh of air from the vents. Mark lay propped slightly against the elevated headrest of the hospital bed, his skin pale, his right shoulder wrapped in thick white gauze. He was exhausted, but not enough to sleep—not with Ronnie curled beside him in that chair, not after what had happened.

The doctor had left only minutes ago, but his words still echoed in the air like a gunshot.

“If it weren’t for the metal plate in your shoulder, the bullet would’ve torn straight through your lung.”

Mark had nodded at the time, calm and quiet. But Ronnie… she hadn’t said a word since. Not until now.

A sharp sniff pulled his gaze toward her.

She was sitting in the chair next to the bed, arms folded tightly around her waist like she was trying to hold herself together. Her bottom lip trembled slightly as she stared down at the floor. Tears welled in her eyes, and despite her effort to blink them back, one slipped down her cheek.

“I almost lost you,” she whispered.

Mark’s chest tightened—not from pain, but from the look on her face. Raw. Shaken. Like she’d been holding back an avalanche for hours.

He slowly shifted toward her with a wince and reached his left hand over, palm facing up. She hesitated, then placed her smaller hand in his, her fingers cold, trembling.

“Ronnie…”

“This is my fault,” she said quietly, her voice cracking. “If I hadn’t gone to your place. If we hadn’t… if you hadn’t been with me—he wouldn’t have come after you. You wouldn’t be in this hospital bed right now with a goddamn bullet hole in your shoulder. And Reynolds—he’s furious. You’re in trouble because of me—”

“Stop,” Mark said, firm but gentle. “Right now. Stop.”

She blinked at him, startled.

“I’m a grown-ass man,” he said, squeezing her hand. “I don’t do anything I don’t want to do. You didn’t drag me into this, Ronnie. I walked in with my eyes open, knowing the consequences.”

She tried to speak again, but he cut her off.

“And I’d do it again,” he added, softer this time. “Every time. I’d take that bullet a hundred times over if it means keeping you safe.”

Her breath hitched. Her eyes were glassy, locked on his.

“You almost died,” she whispered. “You could have…”

“But I didn’t.”

“That’s not the point—”

“It is to me.”

He exhaled, his voice dropping as he shifted painfully to face her more fully.

“I love you, Ronnie.”

Her breath caught completely.

“I didn’t know it at first,” he went on. “Hell, I fought it. I told myself it was just the case. Just protecting you. But it’s more than that. It’s the way you talk. The way you think. The way you see people when no one else does. The way you look at me like I’m not just some broken bastard with a badge and a past.”

Tears slid down her cheeks as she listened, wide-eyed and silent.

“I love you,” he said again, with more conviction. “And if I have to take a bullet—or go through Reynolds, or face down your psycho of a stepfather—to keep you breathing, then yeah. I’ll do it. Gladly.”

Ronnie blinked, shaking her head slowly, overwhelmed. “Mark…”

He reached up and touched her cheek gently with his bandaged hand, brushing away the tears.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he said. “I just need you to know. I need you to stop blaming yourself for s**t that’s not yours to carry.”

Her lips trembled, and she leaned in, pressing her forehead to his. He could feel her tears against his skin, warm and wet and real.

“I don’t deserve you,” she whispered.

He smiled faintly. “Funny. I was thinking the same thing.”

She let out a choked laugh through her tears.

They stayed like that for a long moment, forehead to forehead, wrapped in the quiet hum of machines and the fragile peace that followed the storm.

And for once, Mark didn’t feel haunted.

He felt alive.

Later that night, the hospital room dimmed to near darkness, broken only by the soft moonlight bleeding through the blinds. The machines hummed in steady rhythm beside Mark’s bed, a low, calming symphony of beeps and breaths that somehow no longer felt sterile or cold.

Ronnie hadn’t left his side—not once.

She now lay beside him, curled on her side above the covers, her cheek resting gently on the space near his uninjured shoulder. The bed was too small for two, but she didn’t seem to care, and neither did he. Her presence calmed him, grounded him in a way he hadn’t known he needed until this moment.

Her hand rested lightly on his chest, just above the thick bandage. Her touch was featherlight, as if she was afraid she’d hurt him. But it was comforting. Reassuring. The only anchor that kept him steady in the wake of the chaos.

“You know,” Mark murmured, his voice husky in the quiet, “you’re probably violating about a hundred hospital policies right now.”

Ronnie’s lips curved into the faintest smile against his skin. “Then maybe you should arrest me.”

Mark chuckled, then winced slightly, his muscles tightening around the wound.

Ronnie sat up quickly, concern in her eyes. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he said, nodding slowly. “Just not allowed to laugh yet, apparently.”

Her smile faded. Her fingers gently traced along the edge of the gauze on his chest, careful and slow. She didn’t speak for a moment, her blue eyes fixed on the spot where the bullet had gone in.

“I keep seeing it,” she whispered. “You standing there, smiling… and then the sound… the glass breaking… and you—falling.”

He reached for her hand, threading his fingers through hers.

“I’m here,” he said softly. “I’m right here.”

Ronnie leaned up and pressed her lips to his forehead, lingering there for a moment before resting her head against the pillow beside his again.

“Don’t do that again,” she murmured. “Don’t you dare almost die on me, Markus Marshalls.”

He turned his head to look at her, their faces inches apart.

“I’ll do everything I can not to,” he said. “But I’ll never stop putting myself between you and danger. Ever.”

She searched his eyes, and for a moment, her fingers gently skimmed along the lines of his face—his cheekbone, his jaw, the stubble that had grown since he’d been admitted. Then she brushed a kiss against his mouth. Soft. Deep. Full of unsaid words and promises stronger than any vow.

Mark felt something inside him break and rebuild at the same time.

He loved her.

Every part of her.

The broken pieces. The fire. The strange, quirky, beautiful mind that challenged him every day. The fierce love she carried for her brother. The way she felt things so deeply, even when she tried to hide it. And the way she looked at him—like he wasn’t broken, but something worth protecting.

“I mean it, you know,” he said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’d die for you.”

She closed her eyes at that, breathing deeply.

“I’d rather you live for me,” she whispered. “Just a little longer.”

His smile returned, slow and real.

“Deal.”

They lay like that for what felt like hours, letting the world fall away. No case. No precinct. No serial killer. Just them. Skin to skin, heartbeat to heartbeat. The quiet between them wasn’t empty—it was full of everything they didn’t have to say aloud anymore.

Eventually, Ronnie’s breathing slowed. Her body relaxed against his, her hand still wrapped in his. She’d fallen asleep with her head beside his shoulder, the curve of her body curled protectively around his.

Mark didn’t sleep right away. He just watched her.

The weight of the day, the pain, the bullet—they all seemed to fade when he looked at her.

And in that quiet moment, surrounded by machines and the sterile scent of antiseptic, he realized something that rooted itself deep in his soul:

She wasn’t just someone he loved.

She was home.