“I didn’t ask you to. I’m telling you the order of operations.” I can hear the shift in his voice. The astonishment that I’d even think he’d ask me to.
“Then keep moving.” The order is useless. Just like the response I know is coming.
“Always.”
He hangs up. The line clicks. Storm pockets the phone, watches me for the twitch that means I’m going to rip the IV out of the wall and go bury a cop. It doesn’t come. Not yet. I need a plan.
“Sit,” he says.
I sit.
Time crawls. The night secretary dims the lobby lights. The cleaning crew wheels a mop bucket past and pretends we aren’t men who could buy this block and are instead men who might need a blanket. Someone in the back laughs quietly at something on their phone. A cat yowls once, offended by the universe.
At four-thirty, Zeus jerks in his sleep, a small rabbit kick that rattles the splint. I’m on my feet before I think, hand on his neck, murmuring low until the tension drains out of him. His earstuck. He’s embarrassed to have needed me. I know the feeling. Because right now I need him so much more than he needs me.
“It’s okay,” I tell him. “We’ve got this, buddy. You just rest up, because she’s gonna need you when we get her back.”
The sky grays at the edges of the blinds. Dr. Shaw reappears with a clipboard and a reassuring nod. “Pre-op soon. Dr. Novak, the specialist, is on his way.”
“Good.”
She studies me. “You should step outside for five minutes and get fresh air.”
“I’m fine.”
“You look like a man painting a wall with a toothbrush,” she says evenly. “Go breathe. He’ll be in the same place when you come back.”
I tip my head at Storm, who’s already moving to take my spot. Zeus lifts his eyes, sees the substitution, accepts it, and that makes it good enough for me.
Outside, the lot is empty except for three cars scattered like afterthoughts. I lean my shoulder to the brick and stare at nothing until my eyes stop trying to find her in every shadow.
I call her again because I can’t help it. Voicemail. I don’t talk this time. I can’t stand the sound of begging.
Instead, I call Maverick. He picks up on the second ring because he’s most likely buried under a pile of paperwork that he’s trying to use to save Phoenix.
“She’s out there,” I say.
“She is,” he answers. “So are we. I’ve got feelers everywhere. There’s nowhere they can hide her, Con.”
“I’m going to put a tracker in her when we get her back.”
A small hum of amusement. “I wouldn’t ask her permission for that, brother. She bites.”
“She can bite me for the rest of my life,” I say, and it’s the truest thing out of my mouth all night. “I just need her alive to do it.”
“We’ll keep her that way,” he says, and hangs up because he knows I don’t need comfort. I need movement.
When I go back in, they’re prepping Zeus—shaving a neat strip around the surgical site, smoothing the skin with antiseptic that stains orange, taping the cath line securely. Dr. Novak sweeps in with coffee breath and calm eyes, shakes my hand. He understands this is more than just a dog on the table in front of him.
“We’ll take good care of him,” he promises. “Go sit where you can’t see the clock, because otherwise this is going to be torture.”
I sit one chair farther away from the clock and watch it anyway.
The doors swing open. The gurney rolls by with Zeus like the king he is. I walk alongside him until the double doors to surgery make me stop. My hand stays on the frame a second too long because I have to feel the push and pull of my own bones just to hold myself together.
“Bring him back,” I tell them.
Bring her back.
