I’m just about to brush a strand of hair from her face, my hand hovers above her cheek, when one of the medics moves in fast, pushing me back without hesitation.
“We’ve got a pulse!” he shouts. “Sir, we need to move—now!”
The words knock the breath from my lungs. I exhale so hard I nearly lose my footing. My legs feel useless beneath me as they lift her onto the stretcher, treating her like she’s fragile porcelain, like one wrong move could splinter her into pieces they’ll never be able to put back together.
Keep fighting, baby. I’m here waiting for you.
They strap her in quickly, tightening the belts across her torso and thighs, securing the oxygen mask over her face. Her skin is still pale. Her lips, once a pretty shade of pink, are now pale with a tinge of blue that makes my stomachtwist. But her chest rises now, even if it’s with help. They move fast, weaving the stretcher through the hallway, barking instructions that I barely register. I keep pace beside them, one hand on the railing of the stretcher.
I’m not letting her go, not even for a second.
We’re just feet from the ambulance bay when I hear the voice I thought I’d silenced.
That motherfucker won’t quit.
He steps forward like Maverick, and I didn’t put him into a wall and left him bleeding.
“I’ll ride with her,” he says, tone clipped and self-important, as if anyone asked.
I stop moving. I let go of the railing as my boots plant hard against the marble. I turn around slowly, letting the weight of everything I’m carrying shift into my stare. I look him dead in the eye, and before he can say another word, I shove him again.
Like he didn’t learn the first fucking time.
My hand lands square in the center of his chest, sending him stumbling backward.
“I think the fuck not,” I say between clenched teeth.
His perfect facade cracks, just for a second. His expression twitches—shock, fury, disbelief—but I don’t give him time to respond.
The medic standing nearby glances between us, hesitating. “Only family members can ride with the patient.”
Fuck it.
“My name’s on the paperwork,” I lie without flinching. “I’m her husband.”
The lie leaves my mouth so fast, but I don’t fucking care it’s not true. I see Vartan’s mouth open, ready to bitch, but I’m already flipping him off as I step onto the rig, not sparing him a second glance.
The door slams behind me with a finality that feels more like a goddamn promise.
The sirens scream to life as the ambulance tears away from the venue, like we’re outrunning hell itself. Every bump in the road, every turn of the wheels, feels like we’re climbing out of a grave I refuse to let her sink into.
I stare at her face,tears burning behind my eyes. I force them back down, like I’ve done my entire goddamn life. This isn’t about me falling apart; this is about holding on to her.
“You’re okay,” I whisper, as I brush her damp hair from her forehead. “You’re gonna be okay, darlin’. I’ve got you now.”
Her fingers twitch against mine. It’s faint—barely there—but it’s enough to gut me.
“I’m right here,” I whisper again, the words catching in my throat. “I’m not going anywhere.”
The ambulance swerves around a sharp corner, jostling the rig, and the monitor beside us gives another sluggish beep. The sound punches through the air, sending chills down my spine. Her heart rate’s still too low as she’s slowly slipping through the cracks right in front of me, and I’m fucking helpless.
There’s nothing I can do in this moment to help her, and it’s fucking killing me. I would bleed for her, break for her, burn every inch of this goddamn world if it meant I could take away all her pain and carry the weight she’s been shouldering alone. I’d hold it all, so she didn’t have to.
Fuck.
Panic twists through me again, coiling tight in my gut. I swallow hard, trying to force it down, but the nausea climbs fast. My stomach’s in knots, and all I can do is hold on.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, cutting through the noise. I pull it out with shaking fingers, glancing at the screen.
