45
Knight Tactical didn't dosubtle entrances.
Not that it took Cory by surprise, after all these years.
The ER room doors hadn't been closed thirty seconds before they exploded open again. But this time, instead of federal agents, Izzy’s team arrived in full chaotic glory.
"You couldn't wait for backup?" Ronan's voice carried across the room.
"Next time someone tries to kill you, call us first." Axel filled the doorway, arms crossed. "That's literally what we're for."
"We were in Denver," Kenji protested, already pulling out his phone to document everything. "Three hours away."
"Should've waited," Axel grumbled.
Maya had somehow acquired both their medical charts. "CO poisoning, various contusions, Cory has a glass laceration on his forehead that required six stitches?—"
"It's fine," Cory and Izzy said in unison.
"How are you?" Deke asked Cory.
"Good. How's Izzy?"
"I'm fine," Izzy called out. "How's Cory?"
"Seriously?" Axel stomped between their beds, studying the distance. "This is ridiculous. You two are giving me whiplash."
Without warning, he grabbed the rail of Cory's bed and shoved. “Grab the IVs,” he ordered Kenji, who snagged the rolling stand. The bed rolled across the linoleum with a protesting squeak, closing the six-foot gap until the rails clicked together.
"There." Axel stepped back, satisfied. "Now you can stop the tennis match routine."
"Axel." Izzy protested, but Cory noticed she didn't ask him to move the beds back.
Cory watched with a mixture of amusement and apprehension as Izzy's team surrounded them like a protective wall of tactical gear and terrible jokes.
"So," Kenji announced, pulling up a visitor's chair and straddling it backwards, "I heard you two had a romantic mountain getaway. Candlelight, champagne, almost dying together. Very Nicholas Sparks."
"There was literally a heater trying to kill us," Izzy protested through her oxygen mask.
"Details." Kenji waved dismissively. "Did Fraser cry? Please tell me Fraser cried. I have a bet with Deke."
"Nobody cried," Cory said firmly, though he remembered the moment he'd thought they wouldn't make it, the prayer that had risen unbidden to his lips.
"I bet Izzy cried," Axel speculated from his position by the door. "When she thought she'd miss the pageant."
"I did not." Izzy protested, but the slight crack in her voice gave her away.
"Tactical frustration tears don't count anyway," Kenji argued. "I'm talking about manly tears of—ow."
Maya had smacked him with her tablet while simultaneously photographing the bruise on Izzy's wrist. "Stop making her laugh. Her O2 levels are still recovering."
"Everything's funny when you're oxygen deprived," Izzy wheezed.
Cory watched her, the way laughter transformed her face even through the exhaustion and oxygen mask. When had her joy become something he craved?
Maya moved between them, documenting every visible injury. "Contusion on left wrist. Glass cuts on both palms—Cory, hold still, I need to photograph those stitches. Six sutures on forehead, good closure technique..."
"You sound like a coroner," Deke observed.
