“Is he going to make it?” The question scraped past my lips before I could stop it.
The paramedic glanced at me. Her expression gave nothing away. “He’s stable for now. The doctors will know more once we get him to hospital.”
Stable. Not dead. Not dying this second. It didn’t mean safe. It didn’t mean saved.
The ambulance swayed as it took a corner. Sirens wailed above us, and every bump in the road made me flinch. Each jolt might undo the fragile work keeping him alive.
I pressed my hand to the gurney rail as if my touch could anchor him.
“Don’t leave us.” Ophelia brought his hand to her lips and pressed a kiss to his knuckles.
Our gazes locked over Kiernan’s still form. The same terror, grief, and fierce love that had no outlet except this vigil.
“He knew.” My voice was low. “When James raised the gun. He saw where it was aimed, and he just reacted.”
“That’s who he is.” Ophelia’s voice was thick. “He’ll always put himself between us and danger.”
“Then, we have to be the ones who protect him from himself.”
She nodded, a tear slipping down her cheek. She didn’t wipe it away.
I reached out and laid my hand over Ophelia’s. Kiernan’s felt cold beneath ours, but his pulse was there—faint and stubborn and still fighting.
The ambulance slowed. Beyond the small window, the emergency entrance came into view. Lights blazed, and figures in scrubs rushed toward us.
“We’re here.” The paramedic positioned herself to help with the transfer. “They’ll take good care of him.”
The doors swung open. Cold air rushed in, and Kiernan was lifted out of the ambulance, away from us, to where his life would be fought for by strangers.
Ophelia climbed out first. I followed.
We walked beside the gurney, Ophelia’s hand in mine, watching the paramedics call out vitals to the team that met us at the doors.
He was still breathing. Still here. The worst was over.
One of the nurses glanced at the monitor. “Pressure’s dropping.”
The team worked faster. The steady beep of the monitor stuttered. Skipped.
Kiernan’s face had gone gray.
“He’s crashing!”
The gurney disappeared through double doors. I tried to follow, but a hand grabbed my arm, holding me on the wrong side.
22
OPHELIA
The doors swung shut in our faces.
Oliver stood frozen beside me.
“Sir. Ma’am.” A nurse appeared at my elbow. She glanced at our hands, our clothes. “There’s a washroom just there. I’ll bring you some scrub tops.”
I pulled Oliver into the small room. He stood at the sink like he’d forgotten how it worked, so I turned on the tap and guided his hands under the water. Red swirled down the drain. Then pink. Then clear. I washed my own hands next, scrubbing until my skin felt raw, then changed into the clean shirt the nurse had given me. It smelled like hospital laundry. It didn’t help.
“The waiting area is just through there. Someone will update you as soon as we know more,” another nurse who was waiting in the corridor said when we came out.
