“Harlem Hospital Center,” Chiara manages to choke out between sobs.
That’s a twenty-minute ride, and I need to be therenow.My heart is in my throat, and I want to shout for Xander to hurry the fuck up when he rolls up abruptly in the Ford. We scramble toward the truck, the urgency palpable in all of us.
The truck has a spacious front bench seat, and Clay helps Chiara get in while Sophia and I pile into the back. Clay gets in after Chiara, and since she still hasn’t managed to stop crying, he puts an arm around her, pulling her close to soothe hertrembling. Meanwhile, Xander raises an eyebrow at him, waiting for directions.
“Harlem,” Clay states.
Xander floors the accelerator, exceeding the speed limit. I shoot him a warning glance and hiss, “Xan!” I want to get there as fast as possible, too, but I also want us to arrive there in one piece.
“Either look away or forget you’re a cop for a sec, Josh,” he snaps back.
I lean forward, my hand on the back of the bench seat, my heart pounding with worry, desperately trying to keep myself in check. “What happened? Please, Chiara, talk to me.”
“She… she fell down the stairs, hit her head,” she murmurs.
I glance at Clay, who’s already staring back at me over her head, disbelief in his eyes. “Shefell?” he asks slowly and carefully.
Chiara doesn’t reply, and a horrible feeling sinks in my gut.
What the fuck happened?
When we arriveat the hospital, Chiara leads us to Carolina’s room. But just as she’s about to push open the door, a doctor steps out. She’s probably in her fifties and looks worn out, but her eyes light up when they land on Chiara.
“There you are. You okay, dear?” she asks, her voice laced with genuine concern.
Chiara just nods. She has finally stopped crying, but her eyes well up again with unshed tears, and her gaze drops to her shoes.
I try to move past the doctor, mumbling a quick “Hello,” but she stops me with a firm hand on my chest. “Visiting hours are over. Only family now,” she states, glancing at each of us.
“We’re the cops on her case,” Clay chimes in immediately, getting out his badge to show her, and I shoot him a surprised look.
What is he thinking?
“Didn’t realize cops investigated accidents these days,” the doctor’s tone is skeptical while she sizes up Clay.
“Please?” Chiara whispers.
She hesitates a second, but then her face softens. “All right.” She sighs, leading the way as she pushes open the door.
As I enter, my eyes fall upon Carolina, laying in a hospital bed. She lies motionless, her face showing signs of distress, her eyes closed, surrounded only by the hum of medical equipment. Her face is beaten up, but it is unmistakablymygirl.
The surge of emotion catches in my throat, and I have to take a deep breath to steady myself before I can walk over to her bed.
Taking her hand in my trembling ones, I can’t help but notice how her sun-kissed skin looks paler than usual. She seems fragile in the sterile white hospital room. The sight of her battered face fills me with a painful mix of emotions—fear, anguish, and a desperate need to protect her.
My voice quivers as I whisper, “I’m here, my Carolina.”
Gently, I press a kiss to her forehead, my lips lingering for a moment as if my love for her can somehow mend what’s wrong. I brush her disheveled hair back from her face. Turning to the doctor, I ask, “How is she?”
She eyes me critically. “Do you have more than a professional interest here, Officer?”
Internally, I’m seething. I want to shout at her to just tell me what the fuck is wrong with Carolina. But I bite my tongue, knowing that losing my composure won’t help Carolina in the slightest.
“She has a traumatic brain injury which led to cerebral edema. Her brain swelled after the impact, causing a subduralhematoma. She lost consciousness, but we’ve also given her sedatives to keep her calm, helping the brain heal and reducing the swelling.”
Cerebral edema?
Hematoma?
