Before I can explode again, the back hatch opens and we’re quickly escorted onto the plane. There are even more medical staff on board, and the entire space looks like it's been converted into a small, tubular hospital room. My father and Jett carry Riley onboard, while Asher and I carry Collins. Both have been sedated, but their unnatural stillness makes me uneasy.
We’re instructed to sit down, but that’s the last thing I want to do. Fuck these assholes with their constant attempts to separate me from these two. I’m practically strong-armed, forced down into a seat and made to buckle up while the med team works to set Collins and Riley up with everything they need, from hanging antibiotics to wound assessment where I hear talk of multiple injuries being disinfected and cleaned up.
I can’t see their bodies with the amount of staff attending to them; it makes me fucking twitchy. I feel like a ticking time bomb, and Asher is no better where he sits beside me. Jett and my father watch us warily from across the aisle until we finally get wheels up into the air. The moment we’re at cruising altitude, Ash and I are practically climbing over one another to get out of our seats to get to our family. He beats me to Collins, and as much as I want to rip him away and take his place, he needs eyeson his baby sister. I need to be near Riley, too, so I'll give him this moment.
For now.
I settle in, listening to who I assume to be either a nurse or doctor give updates to the rest of the team on board. I hear her say something about giving Riley meds to increase his blood pressure and an antibiotic to help fight off the suspected infection in his blood.
“Sir?” the older woman says with a faint Scottish lilt, her voice soft as it calls from behind me. I turn my head to see her standing at the entrance of the curtained-off area, a bleak look on her face. I don’t like it. She must see the displeasure that takes over mine because she clears her throat, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot. “I’m Dr. Gallagher, lead for medical transport for the McTavish family. I wanted to inform you that Mr. Graves is stable…for now. We were lucky that we had an antibiotic on board to start treatment for his infection, but I’ll have to keep a close eye on him for the duration of the flight.”
“You said he has an infection in his blood?” I ask, sweeping my thumb over Riley’s knuckles in soft circles.
She nods, replying, "Although we cannot confirm without testing, I am sure of it. So, it was better to be safe and treat him, than to be sorry. The infection is called septicemia. It's caused by bacteria entering the blood stream. Mr. Graves had several soiled wounds that went untreated for too long, and infection had already likely set in before they even had time to scab over. The oldest of the injuries looks to be a gunshot wound–which will require surgery to remove, as there is no exit point. It is likely the cause for the majority of the infection, but judging by the sheer number of lacerations to his skin, it could be a combination of the wounds that contribute to how severe it has become.
“I recommend that we keep them sedated or under general anesthesia for the time being to allow their bodies to heal without interruption. We will continue to monitor the pair of them to ensure that they remain in stable condition until we can get them to the McTavish private medical center for a more thorough examination and medical treatment.”
I nod, and she turns to leave, grabbing the privacy curtain on her way out, but before she pulls it closed, she pauses. “And please stop punching my medical staff, Mr. St. James.”
I look past her to the medic who sits like a pouty child, his nose bandaged with gauze and tape. I don’t feel bad for what I did and won't apologize either. “Yeah? Don’t hire assholes for medics who deserve to have their teeth knocked out and you’ve got a deal, doc.”
Asher sighs behind me, muttering something about needing a drink before kissing his sister’s temple and pushing to his feet. “You good, brother?” he asks, his eyes dropping to where my fingers are laced through Riley’s.
“No.” I shake my head, looking between the two people who have each claimed my soul for their own. I don't know what the journey of healing and recovery is going to look like for the two of them. No doubt it will be long and difficult at times, but the fact that they’re both here, with their hearts beating? It gives me hope. So I look up at my lifelong best friend and give him the first positive truth I’ve felt in a long time. “But I think I will be. We all will.”
Chapter 9
Collins
“WHAT CAN YOU FEEL?”
Fuck. Everything hurts.
Flames lick their way up my arms and legs, the unbearable heat searing my body as I’m consumed within its pain. I try to open my eyes, but odd flashes in an ever-changing room cause my lids to slam shut once more.
The fuck?
The fiery sensation in my limbs begins to pulse before shifting, the feeling transforming from one torturous sensation to another. The feeling of a thousand needle pricks starts to take over each of my extremities.
I try to lift my hands to shake out the feeling, but I’m met with resistance. I pull again. Same result. I do it again.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Nothing.
It takes me a moment to realize that the awful stinging, tingling sensation is from a return of proper blood flow to my hands.
Hands that are no longer stretched beyond normalcy, shackled far above my head. Still restrained, yet now they’re stuck by my sides.
What could Guy possibly have planned for me now?
Panic takes precedence as awareness slowly seeps back into my bones, chilling me to my marrow.
Taking a slow, deep breath, I try to calm myself, but it’s futile. There is no calm here. How much longer will I last before my body has nothing left to give?
