“Son, you really need to get out of here before it’s too late.” His pained stare captures me as the black haze builds again, the brightness I noticed about him before dims.
How come he can move and I can’t?
“Too late for what? Where are you going? Please don’t leave,” I ask him frantically.
I’m not ready for him to leave. I only just got here.
Wherever here is.
“We don’t have time for this, Liam. Just promise me you’ll open your eyes.”
Open my eyes? What the hell is he talking about? My eyes are open.
“Why did you do it?”
“There is no time for this, Liam. Just rem–” He shakes his head, still caught up in what he wants to say.
Then as soon as he was there, he’s gone.
Darkness wins out again.
Thirty-Four
Liberty
“Family of Liam Hetcherson?” A short, older woman wearing blue scrubs steps into the private waiting room we've been moved into and closes the door.
At first, I thought it was a good thing when they herded us into the small room an hour ago. Then I remembered I once saw a movie where they moved the family of a car crash victim to another room to let them know he had died. I don't share my concern with anyone, though. Even if I want to, I can't. Hell, I can barely manage a whisper at this point. My voice is no longer mine, lost to the violent sobs that wracked me four hours ago.
Instead, I’ve sat quietly, tucked into Fox’s chest. Brianna to the left of us, Kota to the right.
“Yes, how is he?” someone asks, but I can’t be sure. Maybe it’s the older man from earlier, or maybe it’s Hart. Everything bleeds into each other. Faces. Voices. Time.
“He’s out of surgery and in recovery.” A collective sigh settles through the room, releasing an invisible band of tension that’s been restricting us all.
“Is my son going to be okay?” Brianna stands and steps closer. I want to follow her up, but I’m mentally incapable. Body spent, mind lost, I hold on to Fox like a lifeline.
“Your son is very lucky, Mrs. Hetcherson. The first bullet penetrated what we call zone 1.” She motions to the lower part of her neck. “And the second bullet entered what we call zone 2.” This time, she motions higher up her neck. “The first bullet penetrated his left common carotid artery. And while serious, we were able to reconstruct and repair the artery, using a vascular graft. Now the second bullet being higher was a little more complex. There was complete disruption of the internal carotid artery, as well as a small laceration in the internal jugular vein. The degree of the injury was such that to control the bleeding, the internal carotid artery had to be ligated.”
“What does that mean?” My voice croaks, burning raw, and even though I know no one can hear me, I still ask.
“What does that mean?” Fox asks the question for me, his voice vibrating against my cheek.
“It means we couldn’t repair the artery. Laymen’s terms, we tied it. Now, arterial repair is reported to achieve better neurological outcome and survival rate compared to ligation. However, patients like Liam who present with a normal neurologic examination can still have an excellent prognosis.”
“So, he’s going to be fine?” It’s Kota’s turn to ask.
“We won’t know for sure until he wakes up.”
“When will that be?” Kota presses. I can’t see her from my position, but I know she’s standing there, holding her mother’s hand, staying stronger than I ever could be.
“Right now he’s sedated and intubated. Over the next twenty-four hours, we will know more. In the meantime, I suggest you all go home, get some rest and come back in a few hours. He won’t be taking any visitors just yet.” There’s a flurry of movement, a few calls of resistance, but I stay sitting there, hiding.
“I’m not leaving,” I croak against Fox again, thinking he’s going to force me to leave. “Not until I see him.”
“I wouldn’t dream of moving ya, Lib. Hetch would kick my ass if I sent you home.” He rumbles against my back, and it’s the first smile that slips free. “Just don’t get too comfortable. I do have to give you back.”
I don’t answer, nor do I move. Stuck in a trance of time as it stands still. Seconds could be minutes, minutes could be hours. Exhaustion tugs at the edges of my mind and before I can put up a good fight, it wins.
Thirty-Five
Hetch
“Shoot me. Or I’ll have to do it.” His voice teeters between a moan and a tremble. While my hand rests ready on top of my gun belt, prepared to arm myself at a moment’s notice, my gaze stays trained on a man I don’t recognize, yet love.