“We’re coming with you.” Isolde says and Rhett scoffs, telling her no.
“We are. Colt needs proper medical attention, so you all deal with this little speed bump and I’ll get Colt to a doctor.”
Rhett sighs, running his hand through his hair before muttering something about needing a fucking vacation. “Fine. Stay the fuck away from the maternity ward.”
Isolde grins, “Deal.”
We work like a machine. Isolde grabs the med kit, shoves pills and bottles into her coat. I rip a fresh bandage, re-wrap Colton’s shoulder as best I can, knotting it tight so the blood has to fight its way out.
Bam hauls Colton upright, one massive arm under his ribs. Colton groans but stays conscious, teeth clamped so hard I hear the grind. Isolde wraps his other arm around her neck, and together they shuffle him to the door.
Outside, the wind is a banshee, snow blowing sideways in sheets. Rhett’s truck idles at the head of the path, steam billowing from the exhaust.
They wedge Colton into the back seat, Isolde crawling in after him, cradling his head in her lap. I scramble in next, pressing close to keep him from slumping over. Julian gets in the truck bed, the duffle slung over his shoulder. Bam slams the door, circles to the passenger side, and climbs in. Rhett guns the engine and we lurch onto the road, tires squealing.
For a minute, the only sound is the engine and Colton’s ragged breathing.
Rhett glances in the mirror. “You good back there?”
“Define good,” I sigh.
“Alive is enough.” Rhett checks the rearview again, then drops his voice. “Isolde, you okay?”
She doesn’t answer, but her hands don’t shake.
Bam rolls down the window an inch, checks the side mirror. “No tails.”
“For now,” Rhett mutters. “Who knows what their plans are. Fuck. FUCK.” His hand slams on the steering wheel.
Isolde strokes Colton’s hair, gentle as a lullaby. “That’s it, just relax. We’ll get you fixed properly,” she says.
He grins before closing his eyes.
I feel a flash of envy, for the friendship they share, and I look over at Bam. He’s scanning the road, every muscle coiled, the shotgun braced between his knees.
“Do you ever relax?” I ask.
He doesn’t look at me. “Never when you’re involved.”
I almost laugh.
Rhett jerks the wheel, cutting a corner so sharp we all lurch. “We make the hospital, we’re golden,” he says. “Cai says his cousin and his friends have them blocked in the North Wing, but it’s tense. They want Dahlia, but if they can’t get her, they’ll take the baby as payment for Westpoint fucking them over.”
Always with the power plays and a game of death chess.
The rest of the ride is a blur. Snow, wind, the drum of the wipers, Colton’s breathing getting shallower, Isolde’s voice constant and soothing in his ear.
Bam never stops watching. Every sign, every car, every shadow in the trees.
When the hospital finally stands visible from the storm, it’s a relief so intense I almost cry.
Rhett slams to a stop at the ER entrance. Bam is out first, hauling Colton like a sack of cement. Isolde is right behind, never letting go of his hand.
The nurse at the door starts to protest, but one look at Bam and she shuts up, leading them to a curtained-off bay.
Rhett hangs back, burner phone glued to his ear, scanning the lot for signs of trouble.
I watch, helpless, as they wheel him away to surgery.
