My breath stuttered, air dragging from my lungs. My fingers curled into fists against my sides.
Hospital. Fragmented. Dangerous. Sepsis. Hit bone.
The words repeated in my head until they were all I knew. All I could hear.
It didn’t matter that this might mean the cops got involved. It didn’t matter that we could be in trouble. I’d take the blame if I had to. PD came first. Always.
Somehow, I managed to make my tongue move.
“Let’s take him. Now.”
20
ROOK
Hospital. I hated hospitals. The smell of antiseptic burned my nose and the whiteness of the walls seared my eyes. Being in this prison threw me back to the fuzzy days when I lived here, in so much pain I barely knew my name. They fed me morphine and woke me up every few hours to make sure I was still okay. It was a nightmare I didn’t want to relive.
But my brain didn’t understand that concept. The scent was a trigger, and the beeps of machines a reminder. A throb echoed through my body, but I wasn’t sure if it was real or a familiar ghost haunting me.
King and Dallas had turned up an hour after us, their faces solemn. They didn’t tell me what happened with Loubeck and I didn’t ask. Not yet. PD was the priority.
Reaper and Grant had come with me, and Grant promised the people he knew were the best doctors for the job. I believed him. He’d never led us astray. But I was pacing in the waiting room as they operated on PD, trying to find the shattered pieces of a bullet.
“How long will it take?” I growled out, staring at the door PD had disappeared through as if I could make him walk through just by looking at it.
Grant let out a small, shuddery breath. “However long it takes to get the metal out of his leg and stabilize his femur.” He wasn’t mean, but he was firm. He wouldn’t lie, but he wouldn’t try to make me feel better, either. Nothing but the sight of a healthy PD would do that.
Grant had been honest with his coworkers and told them he’d extracted the first bullet. He lied a little, telling them he felt it was necessary and using some medical jargon I didn’t understand. They all knew he was the brother of the Kings of Men president, so they didn’t question him too hard.
I’d told them I’d accidentally shot PD during target practice.
Whether they believed me or not, I didn’t care. Grant said they’d call the cops anyway. It was a requirement. But we’d come up with a plausible story, one they couldn’t refute easily. Grant had promised the bullet fragments they dug out of PD would go missing.
Without any evidence, it would be almost impossible to make liars out of us.
King leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Sit down, Rook. Let the docs do their job. We’ll have River follow up on this bullshit. If they charge you with something, we’ll fight it.”
Dallas grunted. “Since PD isn’t dead, the worst they can do is a Class A misdemeanor, but they probably won’t bother. Keep the story simple. The incident occurred on private property during an event you were both participating in. Charges would be a hard sell to the DA. They don’t like to waste their time. Plus, PD won’t cooperate. When it’s all said and done, they won’t have anything to work with. Make sure you stay calm.”
I scrubbed my palms over my face, panic and anger lodging deep in my chest until I thought my lungs would explode. “I can’t. I need to move.”
King fell back against his chair and kept his arguments to himself. He’d been here when I’d had my bike accident. Maybe he knew when not to fight. Had PD paced the way I was now? Had he been this distraught and felt like his world was going to implode?
I couldn’t imagine the hell he’d gone through before, but now I could. I hated the feeling. My heart was ready to rip itself from my chest.
The doors opened, and I stiffened when two police officers stepped through. They stood tall, eyes wary, and as they closed the distance between us, their fingers twitched. Their thumbs were hooked in their belts, close to their weapons in case this conversation went south.
“Are you William Gardner?” one asked. He had a brown crew cut and a scar across his chin. His tone was careful. “I’m Officer Irons. This is Officer Lewis. We’re here to take a statement on the gun-related injury to Mr. Paris Deiters.”
Officer Lewis was a blond with sharp blue eyes and a square jaw. He was taller than Irons and had broad shoulders that pulled at his navy blue uniform and tested the strength of his shirt buttons.
Grant sighed and stood. He held out his hand and shook with each of the officers, the expression on his face diplomatic. “Please be gentle with Will. His partner’s in surgery and he’s traumatized right now.”
“Of course.” Irons offered him a small smile as he pulled out an iPad. “Can I ask your name?”
“Grant Arthur. I’m a physician assistant here at the hospital and a good friend of Will and PD.”
Reaper hovered behind Grant, offering support, but his gaze was narrowed in warning at the police. If they started something, Reaper would end it, no matter who these men were. Grant came first to him and I understood that now. Lived it. PD was my partner, my forever, and my future.
