Another two hours ticked by as we waited. I straightened as two figures filled the doorway.
I recognized Emerson first. He had the same gray eyes as his sister, his blond hair just a few shades darker. I stood, handing a sleeping Charlie to my mom.
I strode toward Emerson, who had his hand clasped in a darker one I knew had to belong to Adrian. My throat worked. “I’m Lawson.”
Emerson’s eyes shone. “Any word?”
I shook my head. “Not yet. We’re still waiting for the surgeon. I’m so sorry.Sosorry I didn’t protect her.”
Emerson dropped his husband’s hand and took hold of my shoulders. “You did everything you could. She told me.” His eyes shone with unshed tears, even as he tried to smile. “She was annoyed at you for being overbearing.”
My chest throbbed. I could practically hear Hallie complaining.
“My sister,”—his voice hitched—“she’s strong. She’s going to make it through.”
I nodded, unable to speak.
“Halston Astor’s family?” a voice asked from the hall.
All our eyes instantly went to the woman with golden-brown skin and dark hair. Her expression was kind but carefully masked. “I’m Dr. Dalal. I’ve been taking care of Halston.”
“Hallie,” I rasped. “She likes to be called Hallie.”
Dr. Dalal’s expression softened. “Of course.”
Adrian grasped Emerson’s hand. “How is she?”
The doctor scanned the room. “She’s in serious but stable condition. The wound caused a tremendous amount of blood loss. I’m afraid we lost her for a minute on the table.”
My heart jerked as if it could beat double-time for Hallie’s.
“We were able to get her back and repair the trauma to her abdomen. Unfortunately, her kidney was beyond repair, and we had to remove it.”
“What does that mean?” Emerson asked.
Dr. Dalal turned to him. “Many people live long and healthy lives with just one kidney. As long as there isn’t any brain damage from lack of oxygen, I expect a full recovery.”
“When will we know?” Dad asked.
“We need to wait for Hallie to wake up. She’s breathing on her own now. I can take one of you up to ICU to sit with her.”
Emerson and I shared a look. He motioned me forward as he swallowed. “I’ve always been her person. But that changed when she moved here. You brought her back to life, to fully living. You’ll bring her back again.”
“Thank you,” I choked out, the pressure building behind my eyes.
I followed the doctor out of the waiting room and toward a bank of elevators. Neither of us spoke on the journey. I didn’t have words.
She motioned to a hand sanitizer machine, and I quickly cleansed my hands. She punched in a code and led me through a busy room surrounded by other smaller rooms. She stopped in front of an open door.
“Hallie has a few machines tracking her vitals and stitches in her stomach. But you can hold her hand. Talk to her. It’ll help.”
“Thank you,” I whispered.
As I stepped into the room, the first tears fell. She looked so tiny in the hospital bed. So pale it appeared as if she might fade away.
My feet carried me toward her as if they had a mind of their own. I sank into the chair, taking her hand and pressing my lips to her palm. “I’m right here, Hallie. I’ve got you. And I’m never letting go.”
52
