CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
ZADE
The doctor walks toward me, his strides measured, his expression heavy with a gravity that makes my chest tighten.
Like he is about to deliver a death
sentence— No.
I don't let my mind finish the thought.
I march straight toward him, my boots cutting through the sterile quiet of the hallway just as he pulls his surgical mask down.
"How is she?" I demand before he can even open his mouth.
The doctor swallows hard,
"The steel nail narrowly missed her spine and her lungs, Sir ,It is an absolute miracle. However, she has lost a massive amount of blood, and the rusted metal poses a severe infection risk. We've thoroughly cleaned the tract and stitched her up, but she is currently heavily sedated and fighting a high fever."
I inhale a long, ragged breath, only just realizing I had been holding it since the moment I carried her through the sliding doors.
The air burns in my throat.
"How long?" I press, my voice a low, dangerous vibration.
"How long is it going to take her to wake up?"
"It entirely depends on how her body fights the fever," he explains, shifting his weight uneasily.
"We've done everything within our power. But... as you know, standard hospital policy requires us to launch a formal police investigation for the severe level of... abuse... she has clearly received."
He speaks hesitantly, his eyes darting toward the floor, terrified of my reaction.
I step into his space, crowding him until the cold shadow of my stature completely swallows him up.
"Listen to me very carefully, Doctor. You are going to treat her. You are going to make sure she breathes, and you are going to make sure she opens her eyes. But you will do absolutely nothing that involves the police."
The doctor's breath hitches.
"Your hospital will be compensated generously for everything it currently lacks," I continue, my voice dropping into a dangerous whisper.
"And right now, it clearly lacks privacy. So you are going to ensure we have it."
He is a smart man.
He looks at my blood-stained clothes, reads the absolute finality in my eyes, and nods frantically.
"Yes. Yes, of course. It is our absolute pleasure to keep this matter private, Mr.Hamilton. You can see her as soon as we finish transferring her to a private recovery room."
He offers a tense bow and scrambles back into the surgical wing.
A few minutes bleed by before a familiar shadow falls over me.
I look up to see Nate walking down the corridor.
In his hand, he's clutching a long trail of glossy paper.
He looks up, his eyes bloodshot but clear.
"Any news?" he asks, his voice rough.
"The surgery was successful," I say, the tension leaving my shoulders in a bitter wave.
"They're moving her to a private recovery room now. I can see her in a few minutes."
I pause, my eyes dropping to the paper tightly gripped in his fingers.
"What's that?"
Nate looks down at his hands, a sudden, breathy laugh escaping his lips.
He holds the paper up for me to see. They are ultrasound images.
"I saw them on the screen, Zade," he whispers, his eyes growing moist as he stares at the printouts.
"Their heartbeats are so strong. I heard them... it was the best fucking thing I've ever seen in my life."
He turns the images toward me.
To anyone else, they're nothing but two small, blurry white dots against a dark background.
But seeing them punches me straight in the gut.
As genuinely, deeply happy as I am for my friend, I can't stop the violent pang of envy and guilt that rips through my chest.
I want that.
I want that future so badly it makes my blood ache, but looking at my stained hands, I wonder if a monster like me is ever allowed to have it.
"They're perfect, Nate," I say softly, meaning every word.
"They are," he breathes, staring at the photos for a second longer before sliding them safely into his pocket.
"Ellie is still under sedation. The doctor thinks it's best if I keep her admitted here for a week to monitor her stress levels. I'm thinking about breaking the news to my mom and dad first... then we can figure out how to talk to her parents."
"That's the best option," I reply, patting his shoulder.
"Tell your mother first. I'm certain half of her illness will fly away the second she hears she's getting grandchildren."
Nate nods, his gaze shifting toward the heavy door at the end of the hall.
"You should go see her. They should have her settled in the recovery room by now."
I pull him into a brief, heavy embrace, clapping my hand against his back.
"Don't you ever let them feel like they're second best, Nate. None of them. Not Ellie, and not those babies. You're their entire universe now."
I pull back, and Nate wipes the corner of his eye, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.
"The sentimentality doesn't suit you, Zade."
"Go see your family, motherfucker," I murmur.
I turn on my heel, leaving the warmth of his reality behind as I step back into my own darkness.
I push open the door to Alice's private room.
The space is dead quiet, save for the rhythmic, agonizing beep... beep... beep of the heart monitor.
The sound does absolutely nothing to ease the bleeding pain in my chest.
Seeing her like this shatters something vital inside me.
She looks so small beneath the sterile sheets, her skin deathly pale, her body hooked up to plastic IV lines.
A thick layer of white bandages wraps around her shoulder beneath the paper-thin hospital gown.
And then there is the bruise on her cheek. Dark, swollen, and angry.
It stares back at me like an accusation, a violent reminder of exactly what is about to happen to the bastard waiting for me in the basement.
I sink into the plastic chair beside her bed, my joints aching, and gently take her hand in mine.
I run my thumb over her knuckles. Despite the fever burning through her veins, her skin feels terrifyingly cold.
The fierce, unbroken defiance in her every gesture had become the very drug keeping me alive.
To see her completely still, completely silent... it is a unique brand of torture.
"Wake up, Wildfire. Please," I whisper against her cold knuckles, my voice breaking in the quiet room.
I reach up with my free hand, gently brushing a few stray red strands away from her forehead.
Her hair is the only vibrant, colorful thing left against the stark canvas of her pale skin.
"He is going to pay for this, Alice," I growl into the silence, the ice returning to my veins.
"I am going to make sure he lives through every single tier of agony I can inflict—"
The sharp click of the door handles interrupts me.
A nurse walks into the room, holding a fresh IV bag. She glances at me tentatively, sensing the dangerous aura radiating off my frame.
"Would you mind stepping out for a moment, sir?" she asks, her voice soft but firm.
"I need to check her vitals and adjust her dressings."
"I am not stepping out," I snap, my grip tightening slightly on Alice's hand.
"I understand your concern," the nurse replies calmly, not backing down.
"But I can treat her much more efficiently if you give me just a moment of space."
I glare at her, the dark urges in my mind screaming at me to throw her out of the room.
But I look down at Alice's pale face, realizing she needs the care.
I let out a harsh breath.
"Two minutes," I warn, my voice dripping with malice.
I stand up, gently lifting Alice's limp hand to place it back down on the mattress.
But just as I begin to turn away, a small, weak warmth wraps around my fingers.
My heart stops.
I snap my gaze back down to the bed.
Alice's fingers have weakly, desperately curled around my bandaged hand.
Her long eyelashes flutter, her eyelids cracking open just enough for me to see the clouded, feverish green of her eyes.
"Don't..." she whispers, her voice a raw, ragged rasp that cuts straight through the sterile quiet. "...go."