I sink into a chair, suddenly exhausted as if the nurse’s cautiously positive update has drained what little adrenaline was keeping me upright.The sandwich sits forgotten in my hand until Tiana gently takes it, replacing it with a fresh cup of coffee.
“You should rest,” she suggests, sitting beside me.“We’ll wake you if there’s any news.”
I shake my head, though my eyelids feel weighed down.“I need to be awake.If something happens…”
“Nothing’s going to happen that won’t wait for us to shake you awake,” she argues gently.“And Zach will kick all our asses if he wakes up to find you’ve made yourself sick with worry.”
The image, Zach awake, Zach angry on my behalf, Zach alive, is so vivid that it steals my breath.I want it so badly I can almost taste it, can almost feel his hands on me, hear his voice rough with concern.
“Just a few minutes,” I concede, letting my head rest against the wall behind me.“Wake me if there’s any change.Any change at all.”
Tiana nods, her hand patting my knee in silent promise.I close my eyes, not expecting sleep to come, just giving my burning eyes a moment’s rest.
But exhaustion has its own agenda.Between one breath and the next, I slip into a fitful doze, my dreams filled with blood-slick hands and Zach’s voice calling my name from somewhere I can’t reach.
I jolt awake to the sound of the surgical doors swinging open again.Disoriented, I check my watch.Almost three hours have passed, though it feels like seconds.Dr.Patel stands in the doorway, still in scrubs, a cap covering her hair.Her face shows the strain of hours of intense concentration, but when our eyes meet, I see something that makes my heart stutter in my chest.
Hope.
I’m on my feet before I’m fully conscious of moving, the waiting room coming alive around me as everyone registers her presence.Butcher and Shaylin appear at my side, Shaylin’s hand finding mine in a grip that would be painful if I could feel anything beyond the roaring in my ears.
Dr.Patel approaches, pulling her cap off to reveal hair damp with sweat.She looks exhausted but satisfied, the expression of a surgeon who has fought a difficult battle and won.
“He made it through surgery,” she says, addressing all of us but keeping her eyes on me.“It was touch and go for a while, his liver was more damaged than we initially thought, and we had to remove about twenty percent of it.But the repair was successful, and the bleeding is controlled.”
The clinical details wash over me, my doctor’s brain cataloging them even as relief makes my knees weak.Shaylin’s grip on my hand tightens, and I hear Butcher’s deep exhale beside me.
“He’s being moved to ICU now,” Dr.Patel continues.“He’s still critical, and the next twenty-four hours will be crucial.But…” She allows herself a small smile.“He’s fighting hard.Harder than I’ve seen most patients fight.”
“When can we see him?”Shaylin asks, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Once he’s settled in the ICU, you can see him briefly, two at a time, just for a few minutes.”Dr.Patel’s eyes find mine again.“He’s heavily sedated and on a ventilator, which is standard protocol for this type of injury.We’ll begin weaning him from sedation tomorrow if his condition remains stable.”
I nod, already preparing myself mentally for what Zach will look like: the tubes, the wires, the machines breathing for him.“Thank you,” I manage, the words entirely inadequate for what she’s given us.“For everything.”
She squeezes my arm briefly.“He’s got a long recovery ahead, but if the next twenty-four hours go well, his prognosis is good.”She glances at her watch.“I need to check on him in recovery, but a nurse will come get you when he’s settled in the ICU.”
As she walks away, the waiting room erupts in quiet celebration, relief manifesting as tears, hugs, and murmured thanks to whatever deities these bikers believe in.Grey pulls out his phone, already calling to update those who couldn’t be here.
But I stand motionless, Dr.Patel’s words echoing in my mind.He made it through surgery.He’s fighting hard.His prognosis is good.
Zach is alive.
The thought hits me, and suddenly I’m shaking, fine tremors running through my body as the adrenaline and fear that have sustained me for hours crash into overwhelming relief.A sound escapes me, half laugh, half sob, and then strong arms are around me, holding me upright as my legs threaten to give way.
“Easy, son,” Butcher’s voice rumbles against my ear.“He made it.Our boy made it.”
I nod against his shoulder, unable to speak through the emotion clogging my throat.His hand pats my back awkwardly but with genuine affection, and I realize this is the first time Zach’s father has embraced me, this acceptance into their family solidified in crisis.
When I finally pull back, embarrassed by my display, Butcher simply squeezes my shoulder once before turning to comfort Shaylin, who’s weeping openly now that the worst fear has passed.
I move to the window, needing a moment alone to compose myself.Outside, dawn has given way to full morning, sunlight streaming across the parking lot where, just hours ago, I knelt in Zach’s blood, begging him not to leave me.The contrast is jarring, the peaceful scene outside at odds with the chaos that still grips my heart.
He made it through surgery, but he’s not out of danger.The rational, medical part of my brain knows this, knows the complications that could still arise.The infections, the bleeding, the organ failure.But for now, for this moment, I allow myself to simply breathe in the knowledge that Zach is still in this world.
And as long as he’s breathing, there’s hope.
A nurse appears in the doorway, clipboard in hand.“Family of Zachary Kennedy?”she calls, and I turn immediately, moving toward her with Shaylin and Butcher close behind.
