He stopped halfway to the ICU and found a single stall bathroom to lock himself into, and spent ten minutes crying shamelessly in the dark. He hated crying. Everything about it was gross and pointless, but releasing his pent-up anxiety made his skin feel less tight, and he needed that before he had to face Eren again.
Quinn knew his eyes were still red when he went into the ICU because all the nurses stopped what they were doing to stare at him. He smiled so they knew he was okay and then hurried to Eren’s room, almost running into a doctor in his haste to get out of sight.
“I told you to take your time in the message,” Dr. Murdock said, bracing his hands on Quinn’s shoulders. “He’s only just opening his eyes, so it will take a while for him to orient himself enough to—”
High-pitched ringing ended the rest of the doctor’s explanation. Darkness began to appear at the edges of his vision, pulsing along with the rapid beating of his frantic heart. Quinn watched Dr. Murdock’s mouth move, not hearing what he was saying, even though it was probably important.
Was he fainting?
He had never lost consciousness before, so he didn’t know what it felt like.
Dr. Murdock stepped out of the way, and Quinn’s eyes locked onto the bed where his brother-in-law was hooked up to machines and purple with bruises. He didn’t look any different from the previous day, but then Erenopened his eyes, and Quinn’s knees buckled.
Dr. Murdoc’s hands shot out to catch him before he could hit the floor. “Oops, should have known that would happen. Maggie!”
His hearing came back, like someone had ripped a soundproof blanket off him. Quinn found himself in a chair with a cold cloth pressed to his face and no recollection of how he got there, his head swimming as soft voices called his name and coaxed him back into consciousness.
When he finally regained control of his body, Quinn winced at how sweaty and dizzy he was, but he was already fighting to get back on his feet so he could go to him. Go to Eren.
“He’s not moving any time soon,” said Dr. Murdock. “Give yourself a minute to breathe, Mr. Harlow.”
Quinn shook his head and pushed out of the chair. Two nurses hovered at his side as he crossed the room to the bed and gripped the safety rail. He was worried that the movement he’d seen had been some kind of mind trick, and that Eren hadn’t woken up, but when he touched his cold hand—there it was.
Blue. The same blue eyes that he saw when his nieces looked at him. The same blue eyes that Eren’s father had, who would be visiting later that day with Eren’s mother, after racing back from their trip overseas.
Callahan blue.
“Eren?”
Eren wasn’t opening his eyes fully, and his gaze seemed a bit unfocused as it slid over to Quinn.
“May…day…”
Quinn’s hands went numb from how hard he was squeezing the rail. Eren’s voice was slurred, but Quinn would recognize the name anywhere, even if he hadn’t heard it in months.
Mayday was the nickname Eren had given Esme when they first started dating. What started as a joke about her temper had turned into a word of affection shared between them that Quinn teased them about.
Hearing it now felt soul-crushing, and even though he was in a room surrounded by people he barely knew, tears began to blur his vision before running down his cheeks.
“We don’t know why he keeps asking for help,” said Dr. Murdoc. “We’re watching him for signs of discomfort and medicating him appropriately, but that’s the only word he’s said so far.”
Quinn tore one hand away from the rail and touched it to Eren’s cheek. The pressure was no more than a butterfly kiss, but Eren leaned into it and closed his eyes.
“He’s looking for my sister,” said Quinn. “He’s not asking for help. That was her nickname.”
The medical staff were professionals, so they shed no tears, but Quinn could tell that they were fighting back emotions as they looked at Eren.
“Has he lost his memories?” Quinn asked. “I can’t tell if he thinks I’m Esme, or if he’s asking for her.”
Dr. Murdock motioned for the nurse beside Quinn to let him take her place, and then he stood next to him and sighed.
“We don’t know anything right now. I’m sure you heard his speech is slurred, and he hasn’t moved the right side of his body yet. Mr. Callahan still needs days of scans and rest before we can determine how extensive the damage is. He might walk away with permanent damage from the stroke that limits his mobility, or he might have great motor function with episodes of memory loss. It’ll be hard to say for sure until he starts talking more, and he undergoes several neuro exams.”
The doctor was avoiding a definitive outcome, but the unspoken truth was obvious. Eren wasn’t going to play hockey again, not at a professional level.
Quinn didn’t care about that, but he had a feeling Eren would hate it. But Quinn would deal with the fallout once they got there because Eren wasalive.
“He’s not going to…die?” Quinn asked because he had to be sure. “He won’t suddenly drop dead?”
