Chapter 37
THIRTY-SEVEN
Reid hadn’t changed. Twenty-nine days since the second burr hole. Stable vitals. No movement. Tuck and Trevor Foley came into the room with worn faces and quiet voices.
“Denver has neuro-specialists,” Tuck said. “Rehab. Diagnostics. Same meds, same machines. Just focused on recovery.”
“And if there is no recovery?” Claire asked.
Tuck’s tone dropped. “Then we give him peace.”
She saw it in his eyes. The decision was already made.
Tuck crouched in front of her. “I’m not giving up on him. But Denver is the place to give him the best chance of coming back.” He took her hands in his, eyes pleading. The same blue eyes as Reid’s. “I’d like you to agree, but… I have power of attorney, Claire. He’s going.”
She pulled a hand free and grasped Reid’s. “We’re going to Denver,” she said with watery eyes.
That night, the room was quieter than ever. No sedatives. No nurses. Just the hum of life-support.
Claire curled under the fleece blanket, palm pressed to her twelve-weeks-pregnant belly. She couldn’t process it, not without him. She whispered against his hand, “Tomorrow they’ll scan. If there’s nothing, they’ll move you. But I know you’re in there. You wait. You calculate. You fight.”
The machines clicked steadily.
NEURO IMAGING CENTER – 0630 HOURS
Reid was slid into the scanner. No sedatives. Foley’s eyes stayed on the monitor. Claire’s on Reid.
Forty minutes of images. Red. Yellow. Blank.
Then, in a dim side room, Trevor Foley placed one scan in front of her. A faint spark in the language center. Another flicker in the motor cortex.
“Reflexive?” Claire asked.
“Maybe,” Foley said. “But not a flatline.”
Tuck leaned forward. “That means we wait, in Denver.”
Claire stared at the scan. Reid was still quiet, but not gone.
Claire folded the blanket for the last time and set it across the chair beside Reid’s bed.
Four weeks. Two changes of clothes. Twenty-eight power bars. Forty-nine hours of sleep. Not one day away from him.
The door opened with a soft hydraulic hiss. Patrick Hedges entered first—Denver’s chief physician—tall, clean-cut, windbreaker zipped. Behind him was Seth Brady, Denver’s facility director and evac lead, clipboard in hand, gloves tucked at his belt.
“Hedges,” Claire said.
“You must be Claire.” He smiled warmly. “We’re ready for him.”
Seth scanned Reid’s vitals. “Pressure’s holding. Vent’s stable. We can make the flight.”
Claire stepped aside as they worked. She watched Seth check every line, power for every medical device, and the cranial rigs. Patrick stood silently at Reid’s side, immovable but also watching.
Tuck entered, transfer file in hand. “He’s yours.”
Seth took the clipboard. “Thanks, Boss.”
She placed her hand over Reid’s sternum and leaned close. “We’re going, Reid. Try to keep up.”
They moved fast once Seth called the signal. Hedges took the head of the gurney. Tuck grabbed Claire’s bags. Nurses’ eyes teared as the team rolled Reid down the corridor she knew by heart. The elevator doors closed behind them.
At the transport ramp, Ian waited with his hands in his pockets, face unreadable. Kieran stood beside him, eyes red-rimmed, arms crossed.
“You’ve got everything?” Ian asked.
Claire glanced at the gurney. “Just him.”
Kieran offered a thin smile. “Then you’ve got it all.”
Ian pulled her into a brief, firm hug. “We’ll see you soon. You’re not alone.”
“I know.” She sniffed.
As she turned, Kieran leaned close. “Tell him he still owes me five answers. And a rematch.”
Claire managed the faintest smile. Then the doors closed.
CHASE DENVER NEURO-REHAB UNIT
The elevator opened into silence. Not hospital sterile and sharp silence, but something warmer. The Denver neuro-rehab wing didn’t feel like a hospital.
Walls were pale sage and soft matte charcoal, lined with quiet recessed lighting. A long glass wall faced the mountains. The scent of eucalyptus lingered faintly beneath the filtered air. No beeping and no hallway chaos. Hope without noise.
Claire walked beside the gurney, holding Reid’s hand.
Room 218 waited at the end of the hall. When the door opened, her breath caught.
It looked like a home. Reid’s medical bed stood near the window, monitors recessed into the wall behind it, cords tucked neatly into custom housing.
No exposed poles. No blinking lights. Just a soft hum beneath the silence.
A second bed that was low, wide, and layered in navy linen sat beside his. Claire stared at it.
“For you,” Seth said from behind her. “If you’re staying. Nurses anticipated you’ll be part of his routine.”
She looked at him. “You expected me to stay?”
Seth’s mouth lifted slightly. “I didn’t expect anything. But we made space.”
Tuck and Seth transferred Reid easily to his new bed. Tuck adjusted the compass Claire had tucked near his arm during flight. He had remained quiet since they left Ann Arbor.
She wondered if he was feeling the way she did. Too many emotions to even admit.
Claire walked slowly to the second bed, sat down, and looked at Reid from just two feet away. No machines between them now. She reached out and touched his knuckles. There was no response, but he was still hers.
She glanced around the room. A small bookshelf. A filtered music system. A panel for lighting control that dimmed like sunrise and sunset. There was nothing accidental. It was designed to welcome someone back.
Seth placed the chart down gently. “We’ll start neurostimulation in the morning,” he said. “He’s in the right place now. If he’s coming back, this is where it’ll start.”
Claire didn’t look up. She just nodded and whispered to Reid, “Okay, Hanlon, this is your lane. You move when you're ready.”