My heart hammers so fast and hard, it’s close to beating out of my chest. Overwhelming relief blinds me. Pushing past them, I run toward the ICU.
My little rainbow came back to me.
I almost fall to my knees, my lungs working double time, as I watch doctors and nurses check her over through the glass. This is torture. I need to be inside there. With her. Holding her hand so she isn’t scared. I need to touch her so I know I’m not dreaming.
Her ocean blue eyes blink and frown in confusion at the staff fussing around her.
My chest expands as her lips part and formmyname.
“I’m here, Rainbow,” I hoarsely say, even though she can’t hear me. “I’m here.”
Slowly, her head turns.
Our eyes meet.
I smile, splaying my palm against the glass. “Iris.”
“I told you she’ll wake up,” her father says.
“She’s going to be okay.” One of her doctors steps outside and joins us. “How is she?”
“She passed her neuro exam and her vitals are stable,” he answers with a polite smile. “We’re going to shift her out of the ICU, so you can see her soon. It’s going to be a long recovery, but she’ll be fine.”
“Thank you so much,” answers her father.
I pace for the next hour as they move her into a room, desperate to be with her. While her father and I wait, her mother and all of her friends show up.
“Kian!” gasps Bianca with a sheen in her eyes. “Is she really awake?”
“She is-” I’m not expecting it when she throws her arms around me for a hug. I stand motionless before my brain starts functioning and I hug her back awkwardly.
Iris is the only woman I’ve hugged.
Rubbing her tears away, Bianca steps back. Only for Rosalie to take her place. I’m not slow this time and curl an arm around her slender shoulder.
“I’m so relieved. Our Iris is going to be healthy, Kian.”
“Thanks,” I utter low.
Nova and Dash, with Bianca tucked into his side, stand a foot away and nod once.
A throat clears.
It’s a nurse.
“She’s settled in her room and ready for visitors,” she informs us. “Two at a time, please.”
I take a step, but stop to glance at her parents. They see the yearning and desperation on my face. Her father urges, “Go. We’ll go right after.”
Grateful, I race after the nurse, all the way to the private room. She doesn’t come inside as I throw open the door and stumble in.
“Rainbow,” I croak, not even hearing the door slam shut behind me. The sight of her bandaged, her skin pale, and small body looking so frail and fragile on the large bed with the machines beeping around her falters my gait.
I watch her arm stretch in my direction, reaching for me with her palm open.
In two long strides, I cross the room to her side and capture it, afraid to squeeze too tight like I’m aching. The first contact of my skin against hers in what feels like forever undoes me. “Oh god, baby. I missed you so, so much.”
“Kian.” Her voice is low and scratchy.
