CHAPTER 42 TOGETHER WE STAND
Cole lay in bed, his eyes closed but eyelids twitching with the rapid-fire images behind them.
His jaw ached from clenching, teeth grinding against the nightmares waiting in the darkness of sleep.
The sheets beneath him felt like sandpaper against his hypersensitive skin, his hospital gown twisted and damp with cold sweat.
His body begged for sleep, every muscle fiber aching with bone-deep exhaustion, but terror kept him tethered to consciousness.
Each time he drifted toward unconsciousness, Ezra's hollow eyes yanked him back to wakefulness.
He tried to turn his mind off—not only from thoughts of Ezra, but from the previous night’s horrors.
The scene at the park was a soul-harrowing horror movie that played on a continuous loop that he feared would never stop for as long as he lived—the metallic stench of blood mixing with frozen earth, and those guttural, animal-like screams that seemed to vibrate through the marrow of his bones.
Those sounds had burrowed into his skull like parasites, nesting there, waiting to erupt again the moment his guard dropped.
Cole turned his head on the sweat-dampened pillow to look at Gabe's bed. His husband lay on his back, one arm curled over his forehead, eyes closed but eyelids fluttering with the telltale signs of wakefulness. The soft blue glow from the monitors cast shadows across the planes of his face, highlighting the worry lines that had deepened over the past days. He wouldn’t sleep soundly until Cole was able to do the same, which didn’t bode well for either of them.
A soft knock preceded Devlin's entrance.
Cole pushed himself upright as Gabe's eyes fluttered open.
The wait for news about Ezra had stretched his nerves taut, each minute without word another weight on his chest. The haunting image persisted behind Cole's eyelids—Ezra folded into himself inside that crate, bones pressing against papery skin, curled like a frightened child.
How had he even recognized him? The hollow-cheeked specter they'd found shared nothing with the laughing thirteen-year-old whose smile had once captured Cole's heart, whose eyes had sparked with life instead of nightmarish vacancy.
“Ezra...?” Cole whispered, his voice barely audible over the mechanical hum of hospital equipment.
His heart hammered against his ribs, each painful thud sending cold sweat trickling down his spine.
The fluorescent lights overhead seemed to pulse in rhythm with his mounting dread.
Behind his eyes, he saw Ezra's emaciated body collapsing inward like wet origami, organs failing one by one, machines beeping in diminishing intervals until flatline.
Or worse—Ezra's vacant eyes staring through him from a sterile room, rocking back and forth on institutional sheets, trapped forever in a prison of his own fractured mind, the rescue coming years too late to save the person inside the broken shell.
Devlin approached the bed, his face a precarious mask of professional detachment with hairline fractures of exhaustion around his bloodshot eyes.
His shoulders sagged beneath his wrinkled white coat as he cleared his throat.
“They have Ezra in a room on the third floor—intensive care,” he said, his voice low and measured.
“The doctors have him stabilized, but...” He paused, choosing his words carefully.
“His body shows signs of prolonged starvation and dehydration.
They're running fluids now, but even after his physical wounds heal…” He left the sentence unfinished, the implication hanging in the sterile air between them.
Cole's hands shook in his lap. “Has he said anything at all?”
Devlin's shoulders dropped as he exhaled.
“He hasn't spoken,” he said, voice barely above a whisper.
“The doctors can't get any response from him—it's like he's locked inside himself.
But they've seen this before with trauma survivors.” He leaned forward, a flicker of hope softening his exhausted features.
“They think hearing your voice might reach him where theirs can't. Something familiar breaking through when everything else fails.”
Cole's voice cracked as he forced the words past the knot in his throat. “And if I… I can’t reach him?” His fingers twisted the edge of the sheet. “What happens then?”
Devlin pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes closed for a moment before he looked up again.
“The psychiatric team is recommending transfer to Northridge,” he said, his voice gentle but clinical.
“They specialize in trauma cases like this.
It's about an hour's drive—close enough that you could see him regularly, even daily if needed.”
Cole's vision blurred as tears welled up, threatening to spill over his lower lashes. He blinked rapidly, feeling the warm wetness slide down his cheeks, leaving cool trails as they fell. His voice emerged as a ragged whisper, barely audible. “Can I see him?”
“Of course.” Devlin wheeled the hospital-issue chair to the bedside, its rubber wheels squeaking against the polished linoleum. He supported Cole's elbow as Cole winced, swinging his legs over the edge of the mattress.
Gabe leaned forward, the mattress creaking beneath him. “Do you want me to come with you?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper, each word carrying the weight of concern.
“I...” Cole swallowed, the room wavering through a film of unshed tears. “I'd like to talk to him alone.” His Adam's apple bobbed as he met Gabe's gaze, fingers trembling where they gripped the wheelchair's armrest. “If... if that's okay.”
Gabe nodded, tears catching the light like tiny prisms. “Of course, babe. I understand.”
Cole watched Gabe's fingers curl against his thigh, knuckles whitening slightly before relaxing—a gesture of acceptance that made Cole's chest tighten with both gratitude and guilt.
The fluorescent lights caught the thin band of gold on Gabe's ring finger.
Cole knew he was only trying to be the anchor he'd always been, steady and present through every storm. But this particular tide pulled Cole backward through time. He needed to be Henry again, just for a little while—Ezra’s only friend before everything went dark.
“Maddy?” Max burst into the room with Horatio right behind him.
He closed the gap in three quick steps and pulled his son into an embrace, pressing his face into the boy's hair.
His shoulders trembled as the emotional floodgates finally opened.
“I was so scared, son,” he whispered, voice breaking on the last word.
Maddy's fingers dug into Max's back, holding on as if he might be swept away.
“I was, too,” he whispered shakily, his breath warm against Max's collarbone.
When he finally pulled away, his eyelashes were spiky with tears, but he managed a wobbly smile.
“I'm okay now, though.” He turned and wrapped his arms around Horatio's waist. “Really, I am.”
When he looked at Max again, there was something different in the boy's eyes—a flicker of light where there had been only clouded vacancy for months.
Or maybe not different, but painfully familiar, like discovering an old photograph you thought was lost forever.
The spark of curiosity, the slight upward tilt at the corners of his mouth that had been desperately missing since his traumatic experience on the island.
The old Maddy—before the island, before the nightmares—stared back at him now, a small flame somehow rekindled within the depths of hell.
Max's chest tightened as he struggled to maintain his composure, swallowing hard against the knot in his throat.
His vision blurred with unshed tears as gratitude surged through him—a warmth spreading from his core to his fingertips, leaving him trembling.
This unexpected mercy amid so much darkness felt like God's hand reaching down personally to touch their broken world.
He blinked rapidly, overwhelmed by the weight of gratitude that nearly brought him to his knees.
Horatio moved across the room with three unsteady steps and pulled Abel close to his chest, one hand gently supporting the back of the young man's head, fingers weaving through his hair.
His shoulders trembled with silent sobs as he rested his cheek against Abel's temple.
When he finally released Abel, his eyes were rimmed red as he turned to Savannah, enfolding her small frame in his arms like a delicate bird.
“Sweetheart...” Max's voice fractured on the word as he stepped forward for his turn. His chin quivered as he wrapped Savannah in an embrace so tight it nearly lifted her from the floor. Hot tears streamed down his cheeks, dampening her hair where he pressed his face against her crown.
“I'm okay,” she whispered, her voice muffled against his shirt collar, each word punctuated by a hiccuping breath. “We got away before...” A violent shudder rippled through her slender body, her fingers clutching at the fabric of his shirt. "We're okay."
Max stepped back, his hand trembling as he brushed her cheek with his fingertips.
“Thank God you're all home safe,” he murmured, voice raw.
After kissing her forehead, he turned to Abel.
The young man crossed the space between them, and when their arms locked around each other, Max closed his eyes.
Fragments of Devlin's account flashed through his mind—the blood, the screams, the bodies.
A sob escaped him as he buried his face against Abel's hair, holding him tighter.
Over Abel's shoulder, Max caught sight of Angel perched on the bed's edge beside Dane. Angel leaned into his husband's side as if he might collapse without the support, his red-rimmed eyes tracking their movements. The same haunted look that shadowed Abel's face darkened Angel's features.
“Angel...” The name slipped from Max's lips as barely more than a breath.
He moved toward the young man, who met his gaze with silent understanding—Max knew what they'd been through.
Angel leaned into Max's arms, his shoulders trembling with quiet sobs against Max's chest. “We'll find our way through this, son,” Max murmured, conscious of the two teens nearby who remained unaware of last night's horrors.
He reached out, drawing Abel into their circle, wrapping both young men in a protective embrace.
“Whatever comes next, you face it with us. Always.”
Horatio stepped forward, drawing Angel into his arms. “I’m so sorry, son,” he murmured, voice like gravel, his cheeks glistening with tears as his gaze shifted to Abel. “What you both endured... I would have given anything to spare you that.”
When they finally separated, Max dragged the back of his hand across his damp cheeks. “How is Gabe and… Cole?” The weight of what Devlin had shared about Cole's history—about Ezra—hung in the air between them.
“Physically,” Dane said, his voice low, “they’re doing okay. Sore, but nothing some rest won’t fix.” His shoulders rose and fell with a heavy breath. “But Cole...” He looked up, eyes searching Max's face. “Has Devlin filled you in on...?”
Max nodded. “Yeah. It… It’s something straight out of a horror movie. I can’t begin to imagine what Cole is going through. And Gabe… it’s so hard to see someone you love in pain and not be able to do anything for them but just… be there.”
“Sometimes,” Dane whispered, his voice catching, “being there is enough.”
Gathering the kids to him, Max moved in close to Horatio and the others.
“Yes, it is. This family,” he murmured with warm determination, “will always stand together, protecting each other in our weakest moments, and rejoicing together when the storm clears.” He looked at each of his family members there with him.
“Let’s take a moment to thank God for bringing our loved ones safely home yet again…
and say a prayer for Ezra, that the Lord will show him the way back into the light. ”