I'm exhausted.

Disheveled and exhausted.

As soon as I touched down in Idaho Falls, I called Bobby Cline. He told me that the doctors had done scans and x-rays on Mitch and that Mitch was groggily conscious. By the time I had reached Lewiston-Nez Perce, he messaged me with the latest update that Mitch was suffering with a diagnosed concussion, two confirmed broken ribs and some cuts and bruises. He has indeed, been a very lucky man. The relief in Bobby's message has certainly lifted my jaded and exhausted spirits.

They are so tired.

So strained.

Weary.

A little faded.

But Bobby's latest update has temporarily picked them back up, given them refreshing new hope. Now, I just want to see Mitch. God, I just want to see him.

**

"Rebecca, it really is lovely to meet you." Drawing me into an over familiar hug, Bobby looks so pleased to see me. "I only wish we could have first met under far less stressful circumstances, right?" That's his sweet and jovial attempt at making light of our current situation.

"That would have been nice." I agree, while Bobby eventually stops hugging me. I've only been in the smart presence of this dark-haired thirty-something American for the shortest of time, but I already like him. He emanates a kind professionalism. A genuineness that I am able to pick up on almost right away. Bobby might be Mitch's agent, but he's an agent who truly seems to care about his client. The anxiety and stress in his previous calls and messages, have carried with them just how much he thought of Mitch. And the relief when he first saw me, well that naturally just came out in the unrestrained hug he's only just given to me. "How's he doing?" My question is asked with worry, because worry has been pumping itself around my entire body for hours and hours now.

Bobby extends a small smile to me. "He's stable. He's not looking too pretty, but he's stable." Again, he attempts to adds some joviality to his response.

"Can I see him?" I hopefully and keenly ask.

"Of course you can." Gesturing with his hand, he's showing me the direction of where Mitch is. "He's in a side room, I'm trying to stop the accident from going viral until I have something prepped to give to the press." Bobby's voice becomes quieter, just in case the ears have walls or something. "The last thing he needs are people trying to get a picture of him laid up in hospital." Smiling, Bobby is definitely on high alert in his role as Mitch's agent. "Okay, here we are." Now, we are standing outside of a door, but Bobby is needing to say something else. "Like I said earlier, he's really not looking too pretty, so I just want you to prepare yourself, okay?"

Nodding, I can't say anything, for icy fear is wrapping itself all around me. Inside and out, a coldness is chillingly now holding me tight. As Bobby opens the door, that coldness seems to have immobilised my legs. They won't move. They refuse to move. Too cold to cooperate.

"It's okay, you can come on in, he's just had his head dressings changed and now he's wanting a drink." The male nurse brightly tells us both, while another female nurse is busily writing something down on Mitch's medical chart.

The room is dimly lit and strangely so quiet. I seem to be looking at everything in the room, except the reason why I am in this room. Noticing that I'm struggling, Bobby takes my arm and gently starts taking me to where Mitch is. I feel so stupidly afraid. So stupidly afraid of what my reaction might be when I see the man that I care about all battered and bruised on that bed. "It's okay, Rebecca...it really is." Bobby whispers before kindly coaxing me closer, closer to look at Mitch.

I have no words to say.

No actions to give.

I feel paralysed.

Paralysed by what I'm just about to see.

With dread coiling itself all around me, I fearfully drag my eyes to look at Mitch. When they do, my stomach rolls at the horrific sight of him. He's swollen. Bruised and cut. His eyes are closed with bandages all around the top of his head. If I wasn't being told that it was Mitch on that bed, I honestly wouldn't know that it was him on that bed. Inhaling hard, I am stemming the tears that want to come, stemming the emotional gasps that want to run from my throat. God, he looks awful. So vulnerable and just so awful.

As Mitch is taking a weak sip of his water from a beaker that's being dutifully held by the male nurse, his red and swollen eyelids try to draw themselves up. Anxiously stepping closer, I want him to now see me. I want him to know that I'm here. "Mitch?" Quietly passes my trembling, nervous lips.

His bruised and ballooned eyelids widen to the sound of my voice, while his weakened gaze moves to try and find me. "Rebecca?" Is all he can hoarsely mumble after swallowing down that sip of water.

"Yes, I'm here." I'm as close to his bed as I possibly can be, holding in all of my fragile, swirling emotions.

Mitch tries to smile, tries to hold those inflated and painful eyelids of his open just long enough for him to see me. "Thanks for coming." Tiredly, his gratefulness for my being here slips out between his grazed and engorged lips. "It means a lot." His fingers on his right hand lift from off the bed slightly, weakly wanting me to take hold of them.

So I do.

I hold those weak and grazed fingers of his. I cocoon my warm hand around the hand that I thought I may never get to hold ever again. "Where else would I be, huh?" My emotions begin to thickly line my throat, while tears precariously sit on each one of my lower lashes, just waiting for their chance to fall from my overwhelmed eyes.

That's when I feel Bobby, his own hand softly being held against the middle of my shoulders. "I'll just be outside, okay?" With a smile, he then gestures with a polite nod to both the nurses that myself and Mitch should now be left alone.

"Thank you." I say, watching them all begin to leave the room. Once I hear the door softly close, I hold Mitch's hand just a little tighter; tighter with a thankfulness that he will never truly understand.

Mitch responds by trying to look at me again. "I'm sorry."

Leaning over and bringing his clutched hand gently against my stomach, I smile down at him. "What are you saying sorry for?"

His powder blue eyes look so pitifully apologetic up at me. "For putting you through all of this." He exhales harshly, with exhaustion and pain from trying to speak.

Yes, Mitch Heston has had me worried more than I ever have been in my entire life. Because of him, my nerves have been shattered to complete smithereens. But I'll not have him apologise for it. "That's enough. I'm here because I want to be. I'm here, because I need to be. I'm right where I should be...okay?"

Inhaling softly, he closes his tired eyes but then feebly smiles. "Okay."

That feeble smile.

That feeble, accepting smile, has my stomach come alive with thousands of tiny little butterflies. Every flutter is felt because of that glorious smile of his. It's a smile that I know I'm beginning to fall in love with. I realise that now. I have realised so much in a short amount of time. It wasn't fear that made me come here today. It wasn't panic that made me come here today. It wasn't even worry that made me want to be here today...it was love...love is why I am here.

The thing about love, is you have got to be ready for it, and it has got to be ready for you.

Well, I think I'm now ready.

I think love itself is also now ready.

Yeah, I think we're both ready.

With those butterflies flying free inside of my stomach and while my heart beats on with this new and hopeful love thudding itself around the four life-giving chambers of my happiness-filled muscle, I lovingly kiss the fingers of the man who is the reason why I am feeling like I do. "I'm just glad you're okay, so so glad." I whisper, more to myself that to Mitch. I could have lost him during that stunt. I may never have known that he is the man that my heart now wants to beat day and night for. He could have died, and I never would have known this feeling.

Curling his weary fingers around mine, Mitch seems to appreciate my hushed gladness. "Me too...fighting with a huge rock...I don't recommend it." He cautiously jokes, afraid to laugh as it will hurt like hell if he does. But those blue eyes of his, those blue and playful eyes of his, they are now affectionately locked onto mine. "If I had known that a concussion and some broken ribs would have got you here, I would have had that fight with a rock a couple of weeks ago." His frail and dry humour, carefully comes from out of his bruised and sore lips, daring an exhausted smile in my direction.

I don't know whether I should laugh or cry?

I don't know whether I should kiss or maybe hit him?

That silly humour of his, is only there to make me feel better.

That glorious smile of his, is only there because I have made him feel better. And those affectionate eyes of his, they have just made everything feel better.

So I don't laugh or cry. I don't kiss or hit him...I just keep holding his hand...gratefully just holding his hand.

I am so tired.

I've been so worried.

Yet none of that actually matters now.

All that matters now is that I am ready for love, that love is ready for me, and that Mitch is ready for us both.