Tears are gushing down my face when I find Matt and their father. Mr. Brown is pacing back and forth. I rush up to Matt and hug him. When I pull away, Mr. Brown gives me a weak smile and hands me a Kleenex. Thanking him, I take it and wipe my nose.

Matt rubs his thumb over the medal hanging from my neck and smiles. “You finished.”

Who cares about me right now? “How is he?” I start to open the door but Matt grabs my arm.

“I wouldn’t go in there if I were you.”

Ignoring him, I shove the door. I have to know. I can’t lose him. I can’t. The door swings open.

“I told you, I’m not wearing the gown!” Jeremiah shouts at a nurse. He’s cradling his arm. “You don’t need to take my shorts off for this procedure.”

“Sir, this is hospital policy. You will wear a gown!”

All the air rushes out of me when I see he’s okay. I charge him. Hug his neck. Plaster my lips to his. With one arm, he yanks me up against his chest and deepens the kiss.

“That was nice,” he murmurs when we break apart. “What was that for?”

“I thought you were dying!” I desperately pat his chest and legs and face. All intact. When I grab his shoulders, he cringes and yelps in pain. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Annie. Why would you think I’m dying?”

“I heard you fell off a bridge.”

“A footbridge,” he says with a laugh. “Some ass**le cut me off during the race and I fell into a creek. I think I dislocated my shoulder.”

I press my forehead to his as tears continue to fall down my face. Happy tears. My body sags against his. My hands shake. I process what he said.

A footbridge? Considering all his crazy BASE jumping stunts and motocross and bungee jumping, it never occurred to me he could get hurt during a regular race. A race that I just ran myself. Anything can happen. Anything. Anytime, to anyone. We have to live now. Now, now, now.

“I love you,” I blurt, and a rush of white-hot heat fills me.

His blue eyes light up. “I love you too.”

And I love this moment. Love it. Laughing, we start kissing again. I get into it and accidentally jostle his shoulder, making him yelp for a second time.

“That’s it,” says the nurse. “It’s time for your X-rays. Now put that gown on.”

“I don’t need a gown! You’re X-raying my shoulder, not my butt.”

“Jeremiah Brown,” I say. “Put that gown on right now.”

“No.”

“Right. Now.”

“Fine,” he grumbles, untying the drawstring on his shorts one-handed.

“I like her,” says a voice from the hall.

“Daaaad,” Jeremiah whines. I can hear Matt laughing.

“I’ll be in the waiting room, okay?” I say, and Jeremiah grabs my half-marathon medal and pulls me close for another kiss.

“I love you.”

I laugh. “You already said that.”

“I’ve never said it before. I like it…I think I’ll keep saying it.”

We grin at each other, and relief flows through my body until the door slams open, startling me. I jump. Mrs. Brown appears, her short brown hair disheveled, her face streaked red with tears. Clearly she also got the message that Jeremiah fell off a bridge. Why did no one bother to clarify what kind of bridge it was?

She rushes forward and hugs her son hard. “Thank goodness you’re all right,” Mrs. Brown says, and the nurse tsk tsks. She’s probably never seen such commotion over a dislocated shoulder.

“I wish you’d stop racing,” she says with a trembling voice.

Over her shoulder, Jeremiah rolls his eyes at me. “It was a regular half marathon, Mom.”

“I can’t stand this,” she says, releasing him from the hug. “Every time I answer the phone, I worry someone is calling to tell me you’re hurt…or worse. I got six calls from the hospital last year. I don’t want to pick you up from the hospital anymore, son—”

“It could’ve happened to anybody,” I interrupt. His mom meets my gaze, and I want to dare her to say something else to me, a person who’s suffered a huge loss. “Jeremiah was doing the safest race ever. He just got the short end of the stick on this one.”

“But he has the worst luck when it comes to sports. Why can’t he just join a Bible Study?”

Jeremiah looks completely appalled by that idea, and that makes me laugh. I can’t deny he takes risks, but I’m not going to swaddle him in bubble wrap to keep him safe.