“You hang in there,” I say. “I’m doing ninety.” He doesn’t answer. “If at any point I think you’re unconscious, you will be dropped at a hospital.” No answer. Don’t leave me alone. “Or I’ll just drive you back to the prison myself. Straight to the clinic and check you in.” I reach down and touch his dark hair, damp against his clammy forehead, inches from my thigh. “Got it? So stay with me.” “Yes, Ms. Winslow.” The words are faint, but they’ve never sounded sweeter. My chest expands with relief. At his core he’s a fighter. A warrior. And he fought for me. Nobody ever came for me or fought for
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