On the way back, Jaxon never said a word.
All his madness seemed to melt with the snow in December. She clasped his hand and was going to walk back from the hospital corridor. Madison needed to live for a few more days. He ran around before his feet were well maintained, and injured him again.
Madison made gestures to the bodyguard, with a hoarse voice: “Well, find a wheelchair and push him over.”
The hand that clasped her slammed tight, then released it again.
Madison held the man’s palm: “What’s the matter?”
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