She’d been brought in less than an hour ago. An hour! He’d never felt this powerless. He’d been disconnected from his team, and now, his worst nightmare had come to life.
Bent and Forest jogged beside him. Bash, Spike, and Noodles kept pace less than ten feet behind. Ash held Skye’s hand in his and pulled his wife along, bringing up the rear.
Ryker raced, arms swinging, and used his stride to chew up the distance.
Hold it together!
His jaw ached from clenching, but he didn’t care. His chest constricted, and a pang of agony sliced through him. What was he going to find when he saw her? He was only now realizing how deeply she’d crawled inside his heart, filling in all the cracks.
Would she be awake? Would she be in surgery? Was she in pain?
Warren’s message had been terse and devoid of details.
He both cursed and loved the men of Angel Fire. They were the reason he hadn’t been with Tia, yet upon hearing the news, they’d rallied around him, racing with him to her side. He hadn’t asked. It’d just happened, their support freely given, and to be honest, he was happy to have them.
Bent dropped back as breath tugged in and out of his lungs. The cast around Bent’s arm weighed him down, but Forest kept pace with Ryker, no sign of exertion showing despite the fast pace. A few minutes later, Ryker slowed at the hospital entrance.
How many times had he brought wounded here?Men torn to pieces, extremities ripped and shredded, or worse. Not once had he thought one of his team would be counted among the wounded. Never had he thought it would be Tia.
He ripped open the door and barreled inside, no thought given to those following behind him. Overly familiar with the layout, he headed straight to the operating rooms. There, he grabbed a technician and asked after Tia. A quick check revealed she’d been moved to one of the many wards. That gave him solace. Warren had said she was in surgery. For her to have already moved past the post-op anesthesia care unit, where post-operative patients recovered from anesthesia, to the wards meant her wound wasn’t life-threatening. His breath eased into his lungs, but he was off again.
He ran into Collins first, who placed a hand on his chest. His former commander looked him in the eye and then pulled him in for a hug.
“She’s okay,” Collins said. “Still groggy from anesthesia, but she’s going to be fine.”
Ryker’s heart hammered away in his chest, and his pulse pounded past his ears. “What happened?”
“Their reinforcements arrived before ours. Our position was compromised, and insurgents came at the team.” Darkness clouded Collins’s eyes, telling Ryker there was more to this story.
While he wanted nothing other than to rush to Tia’s side, he waited for Collins to continue.
Collins took in a deep breath. “We lost Miles.”
Ryker staggered with the news. Their team raced into danger to save lives. It was a part of the job, but they’d never lost anyone before.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
Collins shook his head. “It’s my fault.”
“Fuck that.”
But Collins would take responsibility for Miles’s death and Tia’s injury; he was a man of impeccable character.
“No way could you have prevented it.” Ryker placed a hand on Collins’s shoulder. “It wasn’t your fault. Shit happens.”
“Not to my team,” Collins said. “Not to my team.” He shifted, turning his body to allow Ryker into Tia’s room. “She’s been asking for you.”
With no need for further encouragement, Ryker slipped past Collins and navigated around the privacy curtains, only to pull up short. Her normally sun-kissed skin matched the pale white of the starched hospital linens. He approached the side of the bed and pulled her hand into his. It was cold and limp, and he couldn’t help but feel for a pulse. It took a moment, but he found the slow, steadybeat beneath her skin. Bending over the bed, he cupped her hand in his and kissed her knuckles.
“Tia,” he soothed, “don’t do this to me. Don’t die.”
If she didn’t make it, his world would come to a screeching halt.
IV bags hung beside her bed. Tubing tracked down to infusion pumps where tiny motors filled her veins at a measured pace. Blood, too. A bright crimson rope snaked from a bag of packed red blood cells into an IV in her other arm.
“I have no intention of dying,” she said softly.
He lifted his head and tried to hug her without causing her pain. Sheets covered up to her shoulders, but the outline of a bandage over her chest was clearly visible.
