“You’re okay,” he assures me, keeping me close. He sets me on my feet and wraps one arm around my shoulders, keeping my body pressed to his. “We’re okay,” he grunts again, shouldering past the overbearing media and shielding me from view as best he can. “I won’t be taking questions until the presser,” he informs the crowd. “And I won’t be calling on anyone out here harassing me or trying to capture a private moment,” he adds.
