My eyes narrow in that direction, and there he is—slumped forward, blood streaking down his temple, with his hand reaching towards the passenger seat. My lungs fill with air, and a strange calmness replaces the urgency. Replacing it with coolness that has me moving to him, assessing him before I can reach him. Ezra runs up beside me, shouting orders, none of which I can make out.
I’m too focused on Thiago.
Using as much force as I can muster, I pry open the driver's side door enough to squeeze myself through. I kneel beside him, releasing a sigh of relief when I feel his pulse hammer beneathmy fingers.Thump. A sigh of relief escapes me, watching the slow and steady rise of his chest.
“He’s breathing, help me get him out.”
Ezra doesn’t hesitate; he’s helping me within seconds. I’ve never seen him look this worried, the stench of fear oozing from all his pores. Yet, he moves with determination and ease. We work on him, trying to keep Safra’s neck steady and his back straight when we pull him out and place him in the back of Ezra’s car. I look over at Nico, who runs a hand through his damp hair, then to Fabiola, who’s currently dissociating, her eyes glued on Safra.
“I found him,” Ezra speaks into the phone, his brows relaxing as he takes in each steady rise of Thiago’s chest. “Yeah, I know he needs a hospital, but right now, he only has you.”
Nico steps back, his eyes darting between us. “I have something I have to do first, go with him.”
I shake my head, unwilling to leave him alone in the woods with all the bullshit happening around us, but Nico clasps his hand over my shoulder and squeezes. “Go, I’ll be fine.”
Reluctantly, I step away, feeling something slither its way to my heart. A warning impossible to ignore, an invisible pull that tugs, reminding me this is only the beginning, I turn away and slip into the passenger seat and, from the rear-view mirror, I watch as Nico disappears. When we pull into our dorm, Rowan is already waiting outside, shifting nervously from side to side.
“What the hell happened?” she demands, glaring towards Ezra.
“Accident,” Ezra says, hauling the door open. “He’s bleeding, but he’s breathing. Make sure it stays that way.”
The coldness which he delivers those words has anger flashing over Rowan's face. She clears her throat, assessing the situation, her gaze snapping towards Ezra once again.
“He needs a hospital.”
Surprisingly, it’s Fabiola who steps forward, voice cold and clipped. “This is the best he’s going to get. You’re going to shut up and do your job before I report you for sleeping with students.” Something twists inside me, maybe jealousy—who the fuck knows—but watching her already act like she’s his wife… his woman, has my lip down turning.
Rowan’s jaw tightens, her shoulders squaring. “Fabiola, he could have internal bleeding—”
“You're a nurse,” Fabiola bites out. “Start acting like one.”
I let them hash it out between them and focus on bringing Thiago inside without making a scene. Shockingly, we do; there’s no one around when we bring him in and set him up on his bed. Rowan stares at us like a mistake she wants to erase. Yet, she moves with purpose, snapping on gloves and grabbing her stethoscope before kneeling beside Thiago and cutting through the fabric of his clothes. There’s nothing significant that I can see besides the gnarly rash left from the seatbelt.
Ezra stands behind her, arms crossed and eyes locked on her movements. All command with no emotion, watching his soldiers work under his orders. Fabiola paces around the room, her figure casting shadows through the space.
Meanwhile, Rowan begins to take his vitals. “He’s cold. Let’s get him warmed up.”
I walk towards the thermostat and turn it up from a comfortable 60 to a toasty 75. That should warm him up, along with everyone else in the room. From where I stand, I watch as she puts on a stethoscope and listens to his lungs, a sigh of relief escaping past her lips as her fingers trace the bruises forming along his ribs.
“He’s lucky,” she mutters, removing the earpieces from her ears. “Doesn’t look like there’s any swelling yet, some bruises, but that’s from the crash. His vitals are good, and his lungs sound clear. Since he’s unconscious, the only thing I worry aboutis a possible concussion or maybe a brain bleed. He needs a CT and a hospital.” My lip turns up at her words, my heart flooding with warmth, knowing he’s okay for the most part. “I’ll give him some fluids and some medicine for the pain.”
Ezra moves instantly, pulling the IV kit from her bag, his hand steady even as his jaw flexes. While I gather more things that will keep him warm, blankets, shirts and anything that might help. The air smells of antiseptic and the thick metallic tang of blood. Rowan threads the IV, her fingers trembling. “I need somewhere to hang it.”
Since I’m the tallest in the room, I move towards Rowan and grab the IV bag without a word. I hold it up like it’s the most natural thing, whatever it takes to make sure he’s safe.
Rowan looks up at me. “He’s going to be okay…”
I nod.
Ezra exhales, the sound harsh within the silence. “Good…”
We all silently watch as the school nurse continues to work on Thiago, muttering curses under her breath, and pressing the alcohol drenched gauze to his temples, cleaning out his wounds one by one. All while I count them.
Ezra paces back and forth until he comes to an abrupt stop at the head of the bed. “No one outside this room talks about what happened today.”
Rowan looks up, eyes flashing with disbelief. “What?”
“Not a word,” Ezra repeats, his voice firm and final. “I’m keeping him safe.”
