Page 76 of Branded Betrayal

Doctor is on his way to update us.

I jump up from the floor and pull Savannah up before darting back down the hallway toward the emergency room.

Just as we round the corner to the waiting room, a tall man in a white coat walks out of the red double doors toward my father and brother, his brows knitted together. He pulls down his face mask to reveal a tense jaw.

He’s not smiling.

I want so badly to grab Savannah and hold her close, to have her tell me everything is going to be okay because right at this second, reality looks like the exact opposite of “okay.”

“Doc, how is he?” Colt asks.

The doctor looks between us, his lips pulled into a tight line. “The surgery went well. We repaired the spleen, inserted a chest tube for the lung, and stabilized his ribs. He’s critical but stable. The next twenty-four to forty-eight hours will be crucial for monitoring internal bleeding and infection. If he continues to improve, he should make a full recovery, though it’ll take time.”

My shoulders sag, relief flooding me. “Can we see him?”

“You can go up to the ICU one at a time, just for a few minutes. He’s still heavily under sedation, so he won’t respond, likely for hours. But you can at least see him.”

The doctor walks away. I turn to my father and Colt. “Let me go up first. Please.”

Dad nods. Colt just glares at me like he wants to say shit that’s gonna get his ass kicked.

Savannah stands a bit away from us, wringing her hands together like she doesn’t know what to do or say. “Blaze,” she murmurs. “I’ll just call Nash to pick me up. I don’t want to intrude any more than I already have. You have . . . things to deal with. You need to be here for your brother.”

She thinks I want her to leave. But the truth is, I’ve never wanted or needed her more than I do right now.

I don’t say that, though. I only nod.

And she recoils like I’ve just smacked her clear across the face. Then she turns away and hurries out of the glass doors before disappearing around the side of the redbrick building.

I rake a hand through my hair and twist away from the door, catching my father’s knowing look. My lips twist, and I shake my head before stalking out of the waiting room.

Gritting my teeth, I stab the Up button next to the elevator.

He’s going to be fine. He’s going to be fine. He’s got to be fine.

The ICU is quiet when I step through the double doors. I give my name to the receptionist, and she points me in the direction of Wyatt’s room, number 342. I bring a hand to the back of my neck, rubbing out the massive knot at the base of my skull as I walk past each room. Bleeping monitors reverberate between my ears.

I keep my head down, not wanting to make eye contact with anyone in my path. I stop once I see the number on the right of the doorway.

Jesus Christ.

I wince at the breathing tube taped to the side of his bruised mouth. His lips are split with deep, angry-looking gashes that match the ones on his face. IV lines stick out of his hand, running to clear-plastic bags hanging on a stand next to him.

The sharp scent of antiseptic assaults my nostrils when I walk into the room. Monitors surround the bed, tracking his heart rate, oxygen, and God only knows what else.

Everything’s working to keep him alive. But he lies so still, his skin so pale against the white sheets, save for the streaks of purple and blue that pop against the bedding. If it weren’t for the steady beeping of his vital signs, I’d think the worst.

I swallow hard, slowly approaching the side of the bed.

“Fuck, Wy,” I say, my voice choked. “I let you down so many damn times. If I’d’a been more supportive and a better brother, maybe I would have been there today, rooting for you. Maybe I could have helped . . . maybe I would’ve seen something or stopped something . . .”

My voice cracks and trails off as my eyes catch on the bruises covering his arms. I gently graze his hand, careful not to disturb the IV.

“You know, you were right the other day. I was a selfish asshole for leaving, and I don’t have the right to pretend like nothing happened. I know you all moved on without me. But I don’t want to miss anything else. I already missed too much.”

I sink into the chair next to the bed and scoot it closer to the bed so I can hold on to him. Because what if he needs a lifeline, and I’m the only one he’s got?

I won’t fail him again.