I hear footsteps and then—“Natalie!”
Looking up, I see Sarah at the door. She’s followed closely by Alex.
She throws herself at Natalie. “Are you hurt? Let me look at you! Your hands!”
“They’re just grazes, Sarah,” Natalie assures her. “How did you find out…?”
“It was all over the news.” Alex looks between me and Natalie. “Ethan Wilder’s fiancée attacked.”
“Fiancée?”
“That was me,” Jake glances at me. “There were pictures of you and Natalie at the site of the accident, so I did some word twisting and fed them a narrative we can control.”
“I’m so glad you’re okay.” Sarah rests her forehead against that of my fiancée’s. “You scared the shit out of me. The baby?”
“It’s fine. Roland was there. He shielded me.”
“Roland—?” Sarah blinks. “The guy who was hit? How is he?”
“He’ll make it.” Natalie hugs her tightly. “I’m so glad to see you.”
“It’s nearing five in the morning so we brought some breakfast.” Alex holds up a bag. “I hope it’s enough.”
Grateful sounds all around.
The food containers are passed around, and everybody digs in. Natalie seems tired, but seeing her friend seems to have revitalized her.
Alex nudges his head towards me. “Want to grab some coffee?”
I follow after him, knowing he wants to talk.
Once we’re out of the room, he asks, “Was it a hit? One of the news channels got ahold of the footage, and I saw it. It seemed deliberate. The car didn’t even sway.”
I fill him in as we get some badly brewed coffee from the hospital cafeteria.
“Do you want me to reach out to my brother?” His question is quiet. “If it’s a paid hit, he’ll know about it.”
I meet his gaze. “If you can. I want to rule it out.”
He nods. “I’ll get on it.”
We head back just as a nurse is walking towards the room. Seeing me, she hurries forward. “Mr. Blake is going to be moved out of post-op now. He’s awake, but still a bit groggy.”
“Thank you.”
I inform the others, and when Roland is brought in an hour later, I see Natalie rub her eyes. I wrap my hand around hers.
The room is quiet, too quiet, and Roland looks nothing like the man I know. Pale, eyes unfocused, machines beeping steadily beside him. There’s a bandage on his head and a nasalcannula delivering oxygen. His chest rises and falls with difficulty. He looks older. Fragile.
“Roland,” Natalie says gently, stepping closer to the bed.
His eyes open a little more. “Natalie,” he murmurs. His voice is hoarse.
I take in the wires and monitors, the bruises peeking out from under the hospital gown. The nurse told us he suffered a serious concussion. A broken rib punctured his lung, which was the main concern during surgery. They managed to stabilize him, but recovery will take time.
He blinks slowly, trying to focus on Natalie. “You’re okay?”
She nods quickly, her voice catching. “Thanks to you. You saved me.”
