“He’s settled in the ICU,” she informs us, her eyes taking in our unlikely trio: the massive, leather-clad enforcer, the fierce, tattooed mother, and me, still wearing the clothes Tiana brought from the clubhouse.“Two visitors at a time, five minutes only for now.”
Shaylin looks at me, a silent question in her tear-reddened eyes.I nod, stepping back.“You and Butcher go first,” I tell her.“I’ll wait.”
She surprises me by shaking her head firmly.“No.You and I will go.”She turns to Butcher.“He needs to see his father, but he needs to hear Xavier’s voice more.”
Butcher looks like he might argue, but something in his wife’s expression stops him.He nods once, sharp and decisive.“Tell him I’ll be right behind you.”
The nurse leads us through corridors that should feel familiar; this was my workplace until recently, but they now seem alien and threatening.Each step closer to Zach fills me with equal parts longing and dread.I want to see him, need to see him, but I fear what state I’ll find him in.
Shaylin’s hand finds mine again as we approach the ICU doors.Her grip is surprisingly strong, her rings pressing into my palm.“Whatever we see in there,” she says quietly, “remember he’s still Zach.Still our Zach.”
I squeeze her hand in silent agreement, steeling myself as the doors slide open to reveal the controlled chaos of the intensive care unit.Monitors beep, ventilators hiss, nurses move efficiently between beds.And there, in the far corner, surrounded by machines that seem to dwarf his usually imposing frame, lies Zach.
* * *
The next day
The ICU room is bathed in early morning light when I jolt awake, my neck stiff from sleeping in the vinyl recliner.For a moment, I’m disoriented, the steady beeping of machines pulling me back to reality.I blink away the fog of exhaustion and focus on Zach, still unconscious but breathing on his own now.
They extubated him late last night after his oxygen levels stabilized, a small victory that had me openly weeping with relief when Dr.Patel delivered the news.The ventilator is gone, replaced by a nasal cannula delivering supplemental oxygen.His face looks less obscured now, more like himself despite the pallor and dark circles beneath his eyes.
I stretch carefully, wincing as my back protests the night spent in this chair.The nurses bent the rules for me, allowing me to stay when visiting hours ended.Professional courtesy, they called it, though I suspect it had more to do with the intimidating presence of Devil Souls members who’ve maintained a constant rotation in the waiting room.
“Good morning,” a soft voice says from the doorway.I turn to see Shaylin entering with two cups of coffee, looking as exhausted as I feel.“Thought you could use this.”
“Thank you,” I accept the cup gratefully.The warmth seeps into my hands, grounding me.“Any change while I was sleeping?”
She shakes her head, moving to Zach’s bedside.Her fingers gently brush his hair back from his forehead, a mother’s touch that makes my chest ache.“Nurses said he had a good night.Stable vitals.No fever.”
I nod, sipping the coffee, actual coffee from the café downstairs, not the terrible waiting room brew.The small kindness nearly undoes me.
“You should go home,” Shaylin says, settling into the chair opposite mine.“Shower.Eat something real.I’ll stay with him.”
“I’m fine,” I insist automatically, though my body screams for a proper bed and food that doesn’t come from a vending machine.
She fixes me with a look that reminds me so much of Zach that it steals my breath.“Xavier, you won’t do him any good if you collapse.He’d be furious if he knew you weren’t taking care of yourself.”
I open my mouth to argue, then close it again.She’s right, and we both know it.
“Just for an hour,” I concede.“Then I’m coming straight back.”
Shaylin’s smile is tired but genuine.“Butcher’s waiting outside to drive you.He won’t let you behind a wheel in your state.”
The thought of refusing doesn’t even cross my mind.After yesterday, arguing with Butcher about anything seems both pointless and ungrateful.I stand, stretching again, and move to Zach’s side.
His hand feels warm in mine, a vast improvement over the clammy coolness of yesterday.I lean down, my lips close to his ear.“I’ll be back soon,” I whisper.“Keep fighting.”
Outside, the hospital corridor is busy with the morning shift change.I nod to the nurses I recognize, still unsure of my place here; no longer staff, not quite a regular visitor.Butcher waits by the elevator, his massive frame making the space around him seem smaller.He looks up as I approach, dark circles under his eyes evidence of his own sleepless night.
“Ready?”he asks, voice gruff with fatigue.
I nod, too tired for small talk as we ride the elevator down in silence.In the parking lot, he leads me to his truck, a black behemoth that suits him perfectly.
The drive to my apartment passes in a blur.I must doze off, because suddenly Butcher is gently shaking my shoulder.“We’re here,” he says.
My apartment building looks strangely unfamiliar, as if I’ve been gone for months rather than days.I fumble for my keys, aware of Butcher’s watchful presence behind me.
“I’ll wait,” he says as I unlock the door.“Take your time.”
