I almost laugh. “If you think I’m not going with her, you’re in for a rude awakening.”
The man gives me a tight-lipped smile. “It’s hospital policy. Only patients are allowed inside the room.”
“You will make a fucking exception.”
“I’m sorry, sir, I can’t do that.”
“She’s part of the Kent family,” I lie.
He holds my gaze for a moment before looking away. “Oh, I didn’t realize. I’m sorry, sir. I’ll let the staff know.”
June’s voice comes from behind. “Where’s Declan?”
I don’t bother looking at her. I can’t take my eyes from my little raptor. “He’s bringing the car around.”
“Is there a waiting room?” June asks.
“Yes,” the orderly says. “Take a left, and it’ll be the first room on your right. You can’t miss it.”
“Thank you.”
He nods, then he and the other orderly wheel Delilah away, with me right on their heels. She’s taken to a private room, a large one with several machines and a large bed. The Kent name goes a long way here.
“What’s the situation?”
I turn at the sound of a voice, finding a middle-aged man in a white lab coat. He’s tall and wiry, with dark, close-cropped hair and glasses.
“She passed out,” I say.
“How long has she been unconscious?”
“About fifteen minutes,” I answer him, while keeping my eyes on the nurses who bustle in and out of the room.
The doctor nods, scribbling something quickly on a clipboard before turning his full attention to Delilah. “We’re running an ECG and getting her blood drawn for cardiac enzymes. We need to rule out a myocardial infarction or any arrhythmias that might have contributed to her condition,” he explains, his tone professional yet not devoid of empathy.
I watch helplessly as they attach electrodes to Delilah’s chest. The steady beep of the cardiac monitor fills the room, each tone a lifeline to her current state. A nurse adjusts the IV line they’ve inserted, while another checks the monitors displaying her vital signs. Their efficiency is a small comfort, but the sight of Delilah so still, so vulnerable, fucking wrecks me.
“Will she be okay?” I ask, my voice breaking slightly under the strain of staying composed.
The doctor meets my gaze, his expression serious as well as reassuring. “We’re doing everything we can right now. Her vitals are stable, which is a good sign, but we’ll know more once we get the test results back. It’s good that you brought her in immediately.”
I nod and turn back to Delilah, taking her hand in mine, her skin cool and pale against my own. The room seems to pulse with the rhythm of the machines, a symphony of medical technology that I can only hope will assist in bringing her back to me.
Guilt gnaws relentlessly at my conscience. If I hadn’t told her about Ben, she would still be smiling, laughing, teasing me with that sparkle in her eyes. My choices constrict me, a heavy cloak of responsibility that I can’t shed. My disclosure shattered the fragile peace of her world, and now, I worry it might cost her much more than either of us could have imagined.
I’m roused from my spiraling thoughts by the sound of the door swinging open. The doctor enters, a stack of papers in his hand that likely holds more weight than the mere paper they’re printed on. His face is somber, and as he approaches, I steel myself for the news, every muscle tensed in dread.
“We’ve completed the initial tests.” He pauses, ensuring he has my full attention, though he’s had it since he crossed the threshold. “The ECG revealed significant underlying issues. Her cardiac enzymes are elevated, which indicates there was some damage to her heart muscle. It appears she suffered a severe cardiac event, likely exacerbated by acute emotional stress based on the limited information we have.”
The words hit me like a physical blow. My role in this—my failure—is clear. But before I can drown further in self-reproach, the doctor continues.
“Given the complexity of her condition and the results we’ve seen, I’ve called in a specialist. A cardiologist has just arrived and will be taking over her care and diagnosis management from here.” He gestures toward the door where a figure in a white coat is just entering, carrying a sense of urgency and purpose.
The cardiologist, a woman with a sharp, intelligent gaze, approaches and shakes my hand firmly. “I’m Dr. Laine. I’ve been briefed on Delilah’s condition, and I’ll be coordinating her care moving forward.
“We’re going to start with a comprehensive cardiac workup,” Dr. Laine explains, flipping open a tablet to review some notes. “This includes an advanced echocardiogram to assess the extent of the damage to her heart, and possibly a cardiac MRI if needed. We need a full picture of her heart health to tailor our approach effectively.”
I nod, absorbing every word while wanting to kill something. Or someone.
