“It’s okay, babe, we’re nearly there,” I whisper into his ear as I stroke his hair. His response is a moan.
At least his shakes have dissipated. They haven’t completely stopped, but they’re better than they were.
Johnny enters with a wheelchair, and I finally let Colt out of my grasp. As soon as I untangle myself from him and sit up on the bed, he reaches out for me. I take his hand in mine and squeeze, letting him know I’m still here.
Johnny leans down, picks up Colt, and places him in the wheelchair. Colt slumps over, and my heart breaks when I see how weak he is. My strong, overly confident, dominant man is a shell of who he normally is, and that thought kills me.
“How are you doing?” Johnny asks as we head to the jet exit.
“I’m fine. Keeping it together for him.”
“You’re amazing. Most girls would have run a mile by now. Instead, you ran a mile back to him.” He runs a hand through his hair. “A Hummer is waiting for us. It will take us to the clinic so we can say goodbye to the boys and let them know they have our continued support. Rob thinks the fans will love it or some shit,” Anna says, and I nod.
We get Colt into the car and head toward the Priory. I keep glancing at Hux, who is quiet, his fingers twitching in his lap, his knee bouncing like he’s barely holding it together.
Nerves.
I feel them too.
Colt starts to stir, his body heavy as he leans into me, his weight pressing firmly against my side, like he is too weak to hold himself up.
I swallow hard.
Even I’m nervous.
I don’t know if I’ll be able to see him, talk to him. Hell, I don’t even know if he will be okay once he’s inside.
All I know is that I have to be here…
When he goes in.
And when he comes out.
We pull up to the clinic, and before the car even fully stops, a nurse is already waiting with a wheelchair. Johnny helps Colt into it, steadying him when his legs threaten to give out.
Colt’s eyes are open now—barely.
Glazed.
Distant.
He doesn’t say much, his body limp, his head lolling slightly as if he’s floating between worlds.
We step inside, the air cold, sterile, suffocatingly quiet. A woman with a warm smile and a man with a clipboard and a no-nonsense demeanor greet us, launching straight into policies and procedures.
It’s overwhelming.
Too much, too fast.
The words blur together, muffled beneath the pounding in my head, the anxiety clawing at my ribs. So I just sit there, my grip tightening around Colt’s hand, clinging to him like an anchor in a storm.
Every now and then, he stirs. His heavy-lidded, exhausted eyes search for me like he’s making sure I’m still here.
I force a smile.
A small, reassuring lie.
Because truthfully?
