“Where’s the ambulance?”
“The hospital only has one ambulance; it’s on its way. Torres is going to stay with Kelsey and let the professionals take care of her. She has significant blood loss and claims to be disoriented. I’m taking Celeste to the nearest ER.”
“Jesus Christ.” Orion’s voice cracks. “We just landed, do you want to meet at the nearest hospital to you?”
“Yeah. Meet us there.”
“Wait—who the fuck is Kelsey?” Orion snaps.
Celeste shifts against me and leans toward where I’m holding the phone. “You mean you don’t remember Lucian’s physical therapist? She’s the one who took me, she said you were the one who said they have a ‘rhythm.’”
Silence hums on the line, heavy and dangerous, like the space before something breaks.
“And you said she’s alive?” Orion asks finally.
“Yeah,” I say. “For now.”
“Good.” His voice drops to a terrifying quiet. Then the line goes dead.
Linkin sees us and stops pacing next to the SUV. He moves without ceremony, takes Celeste from me in a single, efficient motion. I hand her over without argument, grateful for the weight gone from my arms.
My prosthetic leg feels like it’s on fire; every step I take is a hot, grinding reminder that I’m not as steady as I want to be. My limp is louder than it should be, an uneven metronome that wants to slow me down.
“Let me drive,” he pleads. “You stay in the back with our ‘Leste.”
I can’t argue with that. He stands her up next to the SUV, and she slides in. I get in after her, and after we’re both buckled, I gather her up to me, careful of her arm. The SUV shudders astires bite gravel, and then we’re gone, the dark trees sliding past until the world lightens into the pale wash of morning.
When we pull under the ER awning, Orion is already there waiting for us, his eyes hunting for Celeste the moment we slow. Nurses stand at the entrance with him, the hospital’s fluorescent light making their scrubs look clinical and urgent.
Two of them push a gurney toward the SUV the moment Linkin throws it into park. One nurse opens the door, Celeste straightens, jaw set, and tries to argue—“I can walk,” she says, with that stubborn edge I know too well.
Orion’s head snaps toward her. His voice is low and hard enough to cut through the antiseptic air. “You’re not walking into triage with a probable fracture and a head wound. Don’t be an idiot.”
She glares at him, annoyance flaring, but the gurney is already there, the mattress a small island of clinical white. She huffs, more annoyed than anything, as she slides out of the SUV. Celeste sits on the gurney with a grudging, precise motion, as if conceding a tactical retreat. The wheels squeal as they pull her toward the sliding doors.
“Lucian—hold up,” Linkin calls out. “I’m going to update Rowan. Tell him we found the person behind the attack, and let him know Celeste’s going to be in the hospital for a bit. Maybe Rowan and Korbyn can come by in case we’re stuck here for a while. I’ve never broken a bone, so I’m not sure what healing looks like.”
“Thanks,” I say as I fall into step behind the gurney with Shiloh at my side. The hospital lights throw everything into sharp relief: the pale sheen on Celeste’s hair where blood has dried, the wrong angle of her arm, the stubborn set of her mouth. Nurses call out vitals and questions; Orion moves like ashadow at the head of the stretcher, giving terse instructions that the staff answer without missing a beat.
* * *
I ease the SUV down Theo’s street, and the tension in my shoulders loosens when I notice the porch light is on, and figures wait for us in the doorway. Celeste sits beside me, her new cast snug in a sling, a neat line of stitches at her hairline like a dark seam.
The hospital wanted to keep her for forty-eight hours because of the concussion. She argued until the doctor’s patience thinned, and we were able to chip it down to twenty-four hours. The discharge papers are folded in my pocket; I’ll wait to read them later. I’m just focused on getting her home and out of that hospital. It makes me sick thinking about how she’s in this situation because of me.
We pull up, and I see the smile cross Celeste’s face as she notices Selene standing framed in the doorway, a dark shape against the light; Theo is a step behind her. They just got back from Japan—Orion called after they landed and filled them in on the last two days.
Selene crosses the yard in a rush and reaches for Celeste as the passenger door opens. Celeste steps out with a small, stubborn flare; Theo moves to the other side and takes her uninjured weight.
“It’s a broken arm, not a broken leg,” she snaps before Selene can fuss. “All because I wore matchingfuckingsocks.”
Relief softens Selene’s expression into a smile that’s half exasperation. Celeste huffs and lets them guide her inside.
The living room is loud when we come in. Orion and Morgan are on the couch, their elbows nearly touching, trading mockery and strategy like a single conversation. Linkin and Shiloh sit in folding chairs opposite them, hurling insults back and forth; their voices rise and fall like a tide. Nobody notices us at the door.
Selene clears her throat, and the room snaps to attention. Orion is up before anyone finishes blinking, crossing the room with arms open, voice rough. “Hey, Silly,” he says, careful around the sling as he folds her into a hug. The rest of them follow with their own greetings, a scatter of relief and noise.
Linkin wraps his arm around Celeste’s shoulder, his fuckboy grin already in place. “So when’s that cast coming off? Gotta know when to start rehearsing for the world tour we had to cancel.”
