“That’s not bad, right? He can survive, right?” Tears hit the back of my eyelids, and before I can control it, they’re rolling down my face.
The neck is bad. I know it. It’s connecting to his throat. To his head. His face. His handsome face.
Sterling doesn’t answer me right away, the silence screaming louder than my mind is.
“It’s touch and go, babe. He lost a lot of blood.” His voice shakes, setting off a tremor through me.
“But he can still survive. He can, right?” A small, cold hand finds mine, and I open my eyes at the contact to find Brianna sitting down next to me, wearing the same stare Hetch had on his face the night I found him in my shower.
Lost. Broken. Scared.
“We need to be strong, but we also need to prepare for the worst, Lib.” I want to reject the words, ask her how could she say such horrible things to me, but I can’t. I can’t because the way she’s looking at me tells me she’s just as scared as I am.
“I think I’m going to be sick.” I release her hand and find my feet. “Yes, I’m going to be sick.” I stumble in the direction of what I hope is the bathroom, but get stopped by an older man I don’t recognize. Grey hair, wide shoulders, he could almost pass as my father if he wasn’t wearing police blues.
“Here, darling.” He hands me a sick bag and steps back. When I turn my back to him, my stomach convulses, bringing up the small amount of food I had for dinner last night.
A bottle of water is handed to me next, this time by Hart. I want to cry when I see him standing close to me in his SWAT gear, but I don’t. My focus is solely on keeping myself from vomiting again.
“Thank you,” I croak out, swallowing down mouthfuls of water to get the putrid taste out of my mouth.
“You gonna be sick again?” he asks, and I shake my head. With gentle fingers, he takes the bag from me, twisting the end, and handing it off to someone else.
Jesus, is everyone here? I look around the waiting room and realize there are more than a few officers here. More like twenty. All are wearing the same look as Fox. As Sterling. As Brianna and Kota. As me.
“I shouldn’t have pushed him away. I should have taken him back when he came to me,” I blurt to no one in particular. Maybe Hart. Maybe Brianna or Kota. Maybe all of them.
“What if he doesn’t survive this? What if I never see him again?” I’m pacing now, my world turning from color to darkness in simple seconds.
How could I be so stupid? Tears hit the back of my eyelids, and before I can control them, they’re rolling down my face. “I didn’t even tell him I love him. I made him play this stupid ‘need time’ game. Why? Why would I do that?” The tears don’t stop now, sobs wracking my body, twisting and contorting me with their strength.
“Hey, hey. Come on, you need to keep it together, Lib.” Arms come around me, Fox’s voice coaxing me away from hysteria.
“What if he dies, Fox?” I turn in his arms and push my face into his chest. It’s not the chest I want, but it’s the only one I have.
“He’s not going to, okay? He’s going to pull through, and you’re going to tell him you love him.” I almost believe him. Almost take comfort in it. Until his voice shakes with the same unease pressing within me. “He’s going to be okay.” He moves me back to the chair, pulling me down onto his lap and holds me while I hide from the world.
“I can’t lose him, Fox. I can’t.”
He doesn’t reply, or maybe he does, but nothing gets through the muffled sounds of my sobs.
For the next four hours, I stay like that.
Held in Fox’s arms, I cry, and pray, and wait.
Inhale. Exhale. Wait.
Please don’t die, Hetch.
Thirty-Three
Hetch
“Liam?” a voice I didn't think I’d hear again whispers and settles over me.
“Dad?” A black haze fixes itself against an endless sky, but even concealed behind an inky darkness, I still know it’s him.
My father.
“You shouldn’t be here.” His words are more than a whisper across the unusually frigid air and this time, my body tries to react. To search for him, find where he is. But no matter how hard I force my limbs to move, I can’t.
I’m stuck. Frozen. I’m nothing.
“Where is here?” I give up fighting when the haze slowly lifts, and he’s there, standing in front of me.
“Hello, son.” He steps toward me, his face coming into the light. He looks different from how I remember him.
Younger. Brighter. Alive.
His salt-and-pepper hair looks as thick as the day I graduated high school and the groomed mustache he’d worn since the day I was born is still tidy and neat.
“How?” I close my eyes, opening them again to make sure I’m seeing things right.
How is he here?
Why is he here?
Where is here?
“You shouldn’t be here, Liam. You need to go.” Seeing him again splinters something deep and raw inside of me.
The change of his aim The discharge of his gun.
The fall of his body.
The agony of my screams.