My eyes burn as tears I haven’t cried since my mom died gather in my eyes. “Please, Becket. Please tell me she’s alive.”
“She’s alive. She’s in surgery now,” he tells me, and I rip out what’s left of the tubes and needles attached to my body.
“Easton.” Juliette stands in front of me. “Stop. You’re hurting yourself.”
A nurse runs in as a machine beeps from somewhere in the room.
I look around like a caged fucking animal.
“Mr. Hayes. You have to sit back down.” She turns away and calls out, “Someone get me help.”
“Get out of my way and take me to my wife.” I try to push past her, not giving a shit that she’s a woman. She’s keeping me from Lindy.
“You’re not going to help your wife if you hurt yourself, son. Sit down. Let me take care of you for ten minutes, and we’ll wheel you down to the private waiting room where the rest of your family is. I’m not going to keep you from her, but I’m not going to let you bleed all over the hospital either.” She grabs a bandage and puts pressure on my unsplinted arm where my IV ripped out.
I lean back against the bed as the room starts to spin.
“Sit down, Mr. Hayes.”
Becket moves around me and eases me down on the bed. “What’s happening, Becks? Why is she in surgery?”
Becket looks to the nurse, whose badge hangs from her pocket saying her name is Helen.
She answers for Becket, “Your wife has internal bleeding. They need to find the cause of the bleed and stop it.”
“You’ll take me to her?”
“Just let me fix you up first. Now sit there and don’t move. I’m going to get you some scrubs to put on.”
Shit. I hadn’t even realized I was in a hospital gown.
The nurse leaves the room, and I close my eyes. “What happened?”
“You were in a car accident,” Jules tells me. “It was bad, but you had front and side airbags. They helped. It could have been so much worse.” Jules wipes her eyes as she cries, and a guy in navy-blue scrubs walks into the room.
“Mr. Hayes?”
“Yes.” My body locks down, preparing for the worst.
“I’m Dr. Midori, your orthopedic surgeon. You have a distal radius fracture in your right forearm, most likely from bracing during your accident. We were able to go in and repair it. You’ll be in a splint for two weeks, while the swelling goes down, then in a cast for another four weeks. Once the cast is off, you’ll be able to work with your team’s physical therapist to get you back on the ice. That should take another four to six weeks. So all in all, you’re looking at about three months before your back on the ice.”
“Doc, I don’t give a fuck about my arm. I need to get to my wife,” I tell him, ready to crawl out of this room if I have to.
Nurse Helen comes back into the room with scrubs and a wheelchair.
“Helen, do you know where Miss Kingston is?” the doctor asks her.
“Hayes,” I whisper. “She’s Mrs. Hayes now. She changed her name last week.”
Dr. Midori nods. “Do you know where Mrs. Hayes is?”
“I do. If you’d all give Mr. Hayes and me the room, I’ll help him get changed and wheel him down to the surgical floor.”
Becket clears his throat. “Is it okay if I help him instead?”
“That’s fine, but don’t let him fall. I’ll be right outside this door.” Helen walks out, and Dr. Midori stares at me.
“You aren’t leaving the hospital, right? We’d like to monitor you overnight.”
“If you can do it from my wife’s bedside, then go for it. But I swear to God, doc. If you don’t get out of my way and let me get to my wife, I’ll go right through you,” I warn him.
“We’ll make sure he doesn’t go anywhere, doctor,” Jules tells him. “Thank you so much for taking care of him.”
The doctor walks out of the room, and I wait for Jules to leave too.
“Not a chance, Easton Hayes. I’m not letting you out of my sight. I’m going to sit right here and keep my eyes focused on this wall while you get changed.”
“Don’t fight with her,” Becket tells me. “The way you feel about getting to Lindy is how Jules and Kenzie have felt all night about you. Let her stay if it makes her happy, E.”
I nod and kick my legs out so Becks can pull my pants up because if I bend over to do it myself, I have a pretty good feeling I’ll fall the fuck over. My head is spinning from the drugs or the anesthesia or the accident. Pick one. It could be any of them.
He helps me get the shirt on, then Jules calls for Helen and the wheelchair. “I’m really not supposed to let you out of my sight, Mr. Hayes.”
“You know where I’m gonna be, Helen.”
She moves behind the wheelchair. “I do. And I’m going to take you there.”
The hospital is quiet, with the lights off in most of the patient rooms. But once we get down to the surgical floor, there’s no sign of the time. No way to tell that it’s the middle of the night. Helen wheels me into a private room with the Kingstons, and Kenzie runs to me.
Becks stops her before she can launch herself at me. “Don’t, Kenz. Don’t hug him. Give him a minute. He’s covered in bruises and has a fractured arm.”
“I’m okay. How’s Lindy?”
Jace comes over to me then. “She’s still in surgery. They’re supposed to come out here and update us once they locate the source of the bleeding, but we haven’t heard anything yet.”
I stand carefully, and Jace holds out his arm for me to grab onto as I slowly make my way over to where Ashlyn and Brandon sit, surrounded by the Kingstons. Scarlet rises from the seat next to her and touches my chest. “I’m glad you’re okay, Easton.”
I carefully squat down in front of Ashlyn, and she takes my hand in hers. “I’m so sorry,” I say as tears fill my eyes. “I couldn’t stop it. It’s my fault. I couldn’t save her.”
“Easton,” Ashlyn sobs. “There was an officer at the corner of the street. He saw it all. You couldn’t have controlled what happened. The paparazzi caused the accident. The man on the motorcycle had a long-lens camera with him. He died for a stupid picture.” Her voice shakes. “And Madeline—” She breaks off on a sob, and Brandon pulls her to him.
“Come on, Easton.” Becket moves next to me and helps me into the chair next to Ashlyn. “You’ve got to take it easy. They’ll come out and tell us what’s going on soon.”
Soon doesn’t come for three more hours.
And when it does, you could hear a pin drop in the room.
A man and a woman, both dressed in dark-blue scrubs and surgical caps walk into the room. “Mr. Hayes?” the woman calls, and Juliette points them my way.
“I’m her husband,” I say, feeling Ashlyn take my good hand in hers. “And this is her mother.”
“Are you okay, Mr. Hayes?” the woman asks, and the room whirls around me. “I’m fine. Tell me about my wife.”
The male surgeon answers, “Your wife is a fighter. Her seatbelt saved her life, but it also caused a splenic laceration. Once we located the bleed, we did everything we could to save her spleen but were unable to. She’s out of surgery now and in recovery.”