“Yes,” he said, reaching for Roz’s forearm. “Take me to him.”
It wasn’t a request.
The air was cooler in the hallway and even colder in the elevator, but he was overheating with anticipation of feeling Scar’s intense presence.
“What time is it?” he asked.
“Three forty-two,” she answered.
When the doors opened, the world exploded in sound. Harsh, urgent voices snapping orders and barking questions.
“BP’s good. Sedative’s still holding.”
“How long has he been out?”
“Almost two hours.”
“His airway is clear but I want O2 levels and heart rhythm monitored for the next six hours.”
Jo’s voice rose above the rest, cutting through the chaos. “I want a full report, Meridian. Every step. Every choice. Now.”
Gage’s heart knocked hard.
Each word they spoke made his stomach twist.
“G, slow down,” Roz said.
He didn’t.
Gage let go of Roz’s arm and bolted toward the rush of noise, arms outstretched. Shapes brushed past him and air sifted through his hands. Someone called his name and told him to wait, but he ignored it.
His knees hit something solid that was about waist high. Pain flashed up his leg, as he braced himself, hands pressing down on thin mattress padding between metal railing.
A gurney.
He reached out and hit an ice cold boot, flinching in response.
He hated how his hands began to shake as he dragged them up a denim-clad shin, to the ridge of a knee cap. He kept going, squeezing a thigh that felt as if it’d been carved out of stone.
“Scar,” he breathed, fear surging. “Scar!”
Hands brushed against his arm, trying to guide him back.
“Sir—”
He jerked away, shoving wildly at the bodies crowding the stretcher.
“Don’t touch him,” he snapped.
“Gage.” Jo’s voice was close and edged with command. “He’s not hurt. He’s sedated.”
“Why?” he barked in her direction. “It couldn’t’ve been by choice.”
His fingers found Scar’s chest, broad and solid, rising in slow, even breaths. He slid them higher, searching until he reached his warm throat.
Scar’s pulse was strong and steady.
He exhaled shakily but didn’t let his anger go.
