Page 175 of Broken Saint

I glance between Luca and Kane. Happy that my man is going to be well looked after in my absence. I kiss his cheek, squeeze his hand, whisper that I love him and then follow Mom and West out of the room.

We find security at the end of the hallway, and they fall into step behind us.

It’s bizarre to think we need protection in a hospital, but after experiencing the craziness of the paparazzi and the fans outside, I understand.

The second we emerge from the elevator, eyes turn our way.

More than a few people rush toward us, but our security guards are nothing if not professional and they easily step between us, protecting us and stopping us from having to go through the rigmarole of being questioned.

The fans might have been contained outside of the building, but there are still plenty of patients and family members who are able to get closer.

Most of them only do it out of love and concern. I get it, I really do. But also, I barely have the energy to walk right now;I don’t have it in me to repeat Colt’s condition and accept their best wishes over and over.

I’m sure there are more than a few journalists out there who will try and spin it that I don’t care, but right now, they can have all the opinions they want.

They’re right. I don’t care. Not about what bullshit they write, anyway.

“I’ll catch up with you in a moment,” West says, his eyes focused on a couple of kids waiting around by reception. One of them is in a wheelchair while a woman—I assume their mother—frantically talks into her cell.

My steps falter as I watch him march over. The second the kids see him, their eyes light up as if Santa Claus has come to visit.

West speaks to the boy in the wheelchair first. He bounces excitedly as he stares up at West.

My heart damn near explodes.

“He’s a good man,” Mom muses, watching right along with me.

“They all are.”

Pulling a Sharpie from his back pocket, West kneels on the floor and quickly scrawls his autograph on the boy’s cast.

He signs something for all of them while their mom is still distracted.

After a few more words and a wave, West backs away.

It’s not until he’s almost back with us that their mom turns around.

She looks stressed as hell, but she quickly forgets whatever is happening when her kids start excitedly explaining what she missed before pointing over here.

She looks up, and the second she sees West, she bursts into tears.

“Whoops,” West says, cringing.“It seems I have a talent for making women cry recently.”

“That was a beautiful thing to do,” Mom says, squeezing West’s forearm as the woman mouths “thank you,” and presses her hand over her heart.

“Such a softie,” I tease, linking my arm with his as we close in on the cafe.

Honestly, the thought of eating turns my stomach, but with Mom watching me like a hawk, I know I’m not going to get away with refusing anything.

West orders more food than I’d be able to eat in an entire day before Mom orders us a huge slice of chocolate cake each.

She glances back at me after placing the order, daring me to argue with her.

I want to, but I don’t.

We sit in the back corner with our security guards standing off to the side, keeping watch.

“You’d better eat that before West sets his sights on it,” Mom teases, pointing at my slice of cake with her fork.