My voice was shaking, but I rattled off all the information as if it was second nature because it was. I knew Mackenzie. I knew her so well.
“Any past medical conditions or surgeries?”
“Concussion from soccer last year. Her appendix was removed three years ago.” The sobs were taking over my entire body.
“Okay, Mr. McKinnon,” the nurse said briskly, already moving me back towards Mackenzie. I stood frozen, my chest caving in with every clipped order. She wasn’t responding. Her hand didn’t squeeze mine back. Her pulse—God, I could feel how weak it was.
“Mackenzie… please,” I whispered. My throat burned. “Don’t leave me.”
They lifted her to a transport gurney, voices around us sharp.
“Sir, you can’t follow into CT,” the nurse cut me off firmly at the door. “You’ll wait in her room. We’ll bring her back as soon as imaging is done.”
I nodded weakly, watching the doors slam shut behind them. I clutched the railing tightly, my hands trembling uncontrollably, a sinking dread pooling in my chest as I fought to breathe. Just as darkness threatened to overwhelm me, cold, unyielding hands settled heavily on my shoulders.
"Are you Max?” A calm, almost too-perfect voice pierced the chaos.
His tailored charcoal suit was crisp, his white shirt casually undone at the collar, a heavy, gleaming watch strapped to his wrist. His polished black shoes echoed sharply on the silent tile floor.
He carried himself with an unsettling confidence, like someone who owned the place, or believed he could destroy it if he didn’t get what he wanted. Broad-shouldered, clean-shaven, hair slicked back with precision. His eyes held a coldness that stared right through me, as if I were nothing more than an obstacle.
For a second, I thought mafia. He looked like the kind of guy you’d see slipping into the back room of a dimly lit club, making men twice his size sweat bullets with a cold, blank stare. He stepped back a few feet as I sized him up, and the corner of his mouth tilted in a slow, sinister grin.
“Yeah? Whose asking?” I said in my deepest, hoarse growl.
I didn’t care that tears blurred my eyes, pooling and spilling over.
Then he cracked a smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. “You must be… the… boyfriend.”
There was a faint hesitation, like he was calling us out on our bluff, or testing how much we could take.
“Who are you?” I shot back, my voice sharper, standing straighter without realizing I had.
He didn’t flinch, just looked at me with an unsettling calm.
“I come in peace,” he said, raising his hands slowly, fingers twitching. “Names West. Tony West.”
“You watching us?” I asked, voice trembling slightly, a chilling sense of dread creeping in.
He smiled again, but his expression was sad. “Does it matter?”
“I’m not interested in whatever fucked-up game this is.”
He let out a breath and looked towards the trauma bay. A look of concern flickered across his face, then vanished.
“She’s going to be okay,” West said quietly, more to himself than to me. “But you need to calm down, or you’ll make this worse.”
I snarled, shaking my head. “I don’t fuckin’ know you.”
West’s jaw tightened. He leaned in until his voice was almost a whisper. “When someone you care about gets hurt on your watch, it cuts deeper than you can imagine. You become fiercely protective. But you also get practical. Step aside for those who know how to fix this without risking everything. If you want to help her, stop making it about you.”
My fists clenched. “Nah. Fuck off.”
West didn’t answer. He simply shoved his hands deeper into his pockets and tilted his head, studying me with a half-smirk, half-grimace. His gaze was heavy, measuring, weighing his words with calculated precision. I hated the way it made me feel, like a fragile specimen on display.
"I think you’re capable of a lot when it comes to her,” he finally said, his voice flat and cold, almost clinical. “But she’s also your weakness. When she breaks, you break. And when you break, you get dangerous."
Those words clawed at me because they weren’t wrong. But what the hell gave this guy the right to question who I was?
