I didn't even bother waiting for the bus.
The moment I hung up the phone, I booked the first Uber I could find. The ride felt endless, every red light stretching my nerves thinner and thinner. By the time the car screeched to a stop outside the hospital entrance, I barely waited for it to fully halt before shoving the door open.
"Sorry!" I called back to the driver, already running toward the building.
The cool morning air hit my face as I sprinted up the pavement.
And then I saw him.
Garrick stood just outside the entrance, leaning casually against the brick wall, puffing out a cigarette like he didn't have a care in the world.
Something inside me snapped.
I stormed toward him, grabbed the front of his collar and slammed him hard against the wall. The thud echoing against the concrete.
"What the fuck have you done?" I hissed.
He cursed as his cigarette slipped from his fingers and fell to the ground. "Elena—what the hell—"
"I'm merely doing my job," he added, straightening slightly.
"Excuse you?" I said, incredulous. "Your job? What about my job?"
"Oh, Elena," he scoffed. "Stop pretending you care this much about your patients. This one's special, isn't he? Why? Because he's hot? I always knew you had it in you—"
Slap.
The sound cracked sharply in the cold air, as his head snapped to the side.
"You're the one who cheated, asshole," I said coldly. "Not me. You."
I stepped back, studying the red mark blooming across his cheek. Satisfied.
I should have done that months ago.
"Now if you'll excuse me," I said, turning toward the hospital doors, "I have to clean up your fucking mess. Again. For fuck's sake."
"He's a wanted criminal, Elena."
I froze.
Slowly, I turned.
Garrick had pushed himself off the wall and walked toward me, planting himself squarely in front of the entrance, blocking my way. I stepped back, just a little.
"That's why I came," he continued. "Not to provoke him. To arrest him."
His eyes hardened.
"He's wanted in this country for first-degree murder."
I stared at him for a moment, trying to decide whether he actually believed the words coming out of his mouth.
"Then you can arrest him when he's discharged," I said flatly. "Until then, he's still a patient under this hospital's care."
Garrick scoffed. "Elena—"
"No," I cut in, stepping closer so he had no choice but to move or let me collide with him. "You don't get to storm into the ICU ward, provoke a man who just woke up from a major surgery, and call it police work. Certainly not without an arrest warrant."
I pushed past him, shoulder knocking into his chest as I reached for the hospital doors.
"As long as Marcus is under medical supervision," I continued, "you have no jurisdiction to drag him anywhere."
"Marcus, isn't it?" he muttered, chuckling.
But I didn't care.
The automatic doors slid open with a quiet hiss. I quickly rushed inside.
"Elena."
I didn't stop walking.
"You won't be able to protect him forever," Garrick called after me, his voice carrying through the lobby. "Sooner or later, he's leaving that hospital bed. And when he does—"
I pressed the elevator button, jaw tight.
"He's mine."
The doors slid open, and I stepped inside without looking back.
But even as the elevator began to rise toward the ICU floor, a cold unease settled in my chest. Because I knew Garrick well enough to recognize that tone. It was the same tone he used, when he vowed to win me back. And he meant every word.
I made my way through the doors, tapped my ID and stepped into the ICU ward only to find several nurses staring at me as if I had grown a second head.
It was visiting hours, so the unit was more crowded than usual. Families and loved ones hovering beside the beds, murmuring softly to the patients or speaking in hushed voices among themselves. The nurses clearly hadn't expected to see me back so soon.
Julie approached, offering me an apologetic look. "John was transferred to one of the regular rooms downstairs."
"Marcus," I murmured automatically.
Julie blinked at me.
I cleared my throat. "His name's Marcus."
"Right," she said slowly. "Well...Dr.Madakwe approved his transfer this morning. That's when the whole fight happened. Garrick found him in the regular ward."
She grimaced. "He's sedated now."
I nodded, absorbing the information.
"I'm sorry," she added, lowering her voice. "We didn't know who else to call. he doesn't have any next of kin listed, and...well...he only seems to respond to you. Whenever the rest of us try to talk to him, he barely says a word."
A strange weight settled in my chest, but I gave a small nod.
"Can you tell me where they moved him?"
Julie nodded. "He's in room 133."
She gestured back to the elevator and started walking with me.
The regular ward was quieter than the ICU, though it still carried that same sterile smell of antiseptic and recycled air. Fluorescent lights hummed softly overhead. And somewhere down the hall, a monitor beeped in steady intervals.
She slowed as we approached the far end of the corridor on the ground floor.
"That's his room," she said, pointing toward a half-closed door. "Security came by earlier too. Garrick requested it."
My brows knit together. "Requested what?"
"That he be kept alone," she said quietly. "Apparently he's considered...dangerous."
My stomach tightened.
Julie gave me a small, sympathetic look before stepping away. "I'll leave you to it."
With that, she disappeared back down the corridor, leaving me standing alone outside room 133.
For a moment, I simply stood there, staring at the door.
Then I pushed it open.
The room was dimmer than the hallway, the blinds half drawn agains the late afternoon light. The steady beeping of a heart monitor filling the quiet.
Marcus lay in bed, the blanket pulled to his waist. His dark hair spread across the pillow. For a second, relief washed over me at the sight of him breathing steadily.
Then I saw it.
Cold metal glinted against the hospital rail. Handcuffs. One of them was fastened tightly around his wrist, the other locked to the frame of his bed.
My chest tightened.
Fucking hell.
I stepped closer, anger simmering underneath my skin. He looked less like a patient and more like a prisoner. A prisoner who had just undergone surgery.
My gaze moved over to him. To his bandaged torso, rising and falling with slow breaths. The faint stubble shadowing his jaw after days of not shaving. The bruising still visible along his ribs.
I approached the side of his bed, my eyes drifted to his chart on the small table beside him. Someone must've moved the pink tulips along as well, since it was still standing there, though it was staring to wilt. I fingered one of the petals.
The movement must've stirred him, because he shifted.
His brow furrowed slightly, his fingers twitching against the cuff.
I covered them with mine instinctively. I didn't know why.
Then his eyes opened, dark and disoriented. They moved slowly around the unfamiliar room before settling on me.
For a moment, confusion flickered across his face.
Then recognition followed.
He tried to push himself upright, but I tightened my hold on his hand just as the chain snapped taut with a sharp metallic clink.
Marcus froze.
His gaze dropped to the restraint on his wrist. The confusion vanished instantly, replaced by something far more dangerous. Rage.
His breathing quickened as his eyes shot back to me. I immediately let go of his hand, stepping back.
"What—" His voice came out rough, still thick with sedation. He pulled against the cuff again, the metal rattling loudly against the bed frame. "What is this?"
"Easy," I said quickly. "Marcus—"
His jaw tightened as he stared at the restraint like it was an insult carved into his skin.
"You bind me?" he rasped. "Like I'm some animal?"
The fury in his eyes made the air in the room feel suddenly thinner.