CHAPTER 35 CAROUSEL OF EMOTIONS
Dane sat in a vinyl hospital chair that creaked with his every breath, watching Angel and Abel's chests rise and fall beneath the thin hospital blanket, their faces slack with sleep.
Thank God for small mercies. Each time one of them stirred, Dane's heart clenched—fearing the moment he'd have to shatter that peace with news that the kids were still missing.
His body felt hollow, his limbs heavy with exhaustion that had settled into his bones.
The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting everything in a sickly green pallor that made the hours since their ordeal began seem like an eternity.
He stood with legs that threatened to give way beneath him, stretching until his spine cracked like kindling.
The window offered no solace—only a parking lot stained purple-black by the approaching dawn, where headlights cut yellow tunnels through lingering fog.
Overhead, the sky hung like bruised skin, neither night nor day but a sickly in-between where hope traditionally died.
The dread that had settled beneath his sternum now pulsed with each labored heartbeat, a malignant growth feeding on his fear, sending irregular jolts of panic through his chest that left him gasping for air.
Please, God… we can’t take any more… please let us wake up from this nightmare…
The wailing siren of an ambulance echoed in the distance, its pitch rising and falling like a wounded animal as it approached.
A kaleidoscope of red and blue lights sliced through the fog, painting the gray morning in violent strokes across the rain-slick pavement of the hospital.
The ambulance skidded around the corner, tires hissing against wet asphalt, followed by a second one whose lights pulsed with the same urgent rhythm.
Throughout the endless night, ambulances arrived in sporadic waves, each siren sending ice water through Dane's veins, each set of flashing lights igniting the same primal fear that knotted his intestines into sailor's rope.
This time was no different—his mouth went desert-dry, and his stomach clenched like a fist.
Casting another look at the sleeping young men, their faces ghostly under the fluorescent lights, Dane left the room with legs that felt borrowed.
Devlin sat slumped in a molded plastic chair in the hall, his head buried in trembling hands.
Dane lowered himself beside him, the cold surface of the chair seeping through his thin pants, and squeezed Devlin's shoulder, feeling the knots of tension beneath his palm.
“They're still asleep,” Dane whispered, his breath visible in the overly air-conditioned corridor. “Thank God.”
Devlin sniffled and lifted his head, revealing bloodshot eyes rimmed with raw, pink flesh.
His trembling fingers wiped away moisture that had gathered in the crow's feet at their corners.
“What do we say when they do wake up?” The distress in his voice—thin and reedy like an old violin—reflected the hollow ache in Dane's chest. “How do we tell them—”
“Dr. Grant to ER.” The intercom crackled with static, the tinny female voice echoing through the antiseptic-scented corridor. “Dr. Grant to ER.”
The two men tensed together, their spines straightening against the hard plastic chairs. “Why do they want you in the ER?” Dane asked, the unease in his voice causing each word to drop like a stone into still water.
“I don't know,” Devlin murmured and rose on shaky legs that threatened to fold beneath him like wet cardboard.
When Dane half-stood, muscles coiled with intention to follow, Devlin pressed a cold palm against his shoulder.
“Stay here. If the boys wake up, they shouldn't be alone.
If this has anything to do with us, I'll text you immediately.”
Dane nodded, his stomach tightening into a fist-sized knot. “Okay.”
Devlin hurried away, his white coat flapping behind him like a flag of surrender as he disappeared into the brushed-metal elevator at the end of the hall.
Sinking back into the chair that creaked in protest, Dane leaned his head against the institutional beige wall, feeling its cool surface against his feverish skin.
He closed his eyes against the harsh fluorescent lighting, the pulse in his temples throbbing in time with the distant beeping of medical equipment.
Behind his eyelids, he saw only ambulance lights cutting through fog, wondering with heavy dread if one of those recently arrived vehicles was carrying the broken body of someone they loved.
When Devlin arrived at the ER nurses' station, Penny—a middle-aged woman with close-cropped silver curls and skin the color of burnished mahogany—looked up from her computer terminal.
Her navy scrubs were spotless despite the chaos of the trauma ward, and her ID badge hung from a lanyard decorated with cartoon bandages.
She immediately directed him down the fluorescent-lit corridor with a flick of her French-manicured index finger, her expression brooking no argument.
The almost military precision of her movements revealed the stern authority of a seasoned RN who had spent three decades in New York City's busiest emergency room.
Devlin asked no questions as the nurse led the way, her white orthopedic shoes squeaking against the freshly mopped linoleum.
Her stride was quick and purposeful, navigating around gurneys and busy orderlies with the confidence of someone who knew every inch of this complex department.
Some doctors with inflated egos didn't appreciate the authoritative presence of head nurses like Penny, but Devlin had always respected their position.
The nurses, with their bloodstained scrubs and extensive knowledge of each patient's needs, were the backbone of any hospital and deserved the utmost respect.
“In here, doctor.” Penny pulled aside a curtain to one of the ER patient stations—and Devlin's world came to a halt. His knees nearly buckled as oxygen fled his lungs.
Savannah—alive, breathing, real—threw herself into his arms with a sob that shattered the sterile silence.
His arms remained frozen at his sides for a terrible second—fearing she might vanish into mist if he dared to believe—before he crushed her against him with such force he almost feared he might break her fragile frame.
“Oh God, oh God,” he gasped. His entire body convulsed with sobs that tore from somewhere deeper than his lungs as he buried his face in her hair, inhaling proof of her existence.
Through the blur of tears, he saw Maddy standing by the bed, hospital gown hanging from his slender body.
The boy's jaw clenched against trembling lips, tears carving silent paths down pale cheeks, shoulders squared with a desperate, fragile dignity that made Devlin's heart splinter further.
Yet, something in his posture remained defiantly upright—a resilience Devlin had feared was gone forever after the island.
“Maddy,” Devlin's voice wavered around the name. The boy stepped forward, and Devlin pulled him into their embrace with desperate force, as if they might disappear if he didn't anchor them with his own body. “We thought—” His voice broke completely. “God, we were so scared—”
“We're okay,” Savannah whispered against his chest, her voice fragile as spun glass.
Devlin pulled back just enough to search her face, his trembling fingers tracing her features like a blind man memorizing salvation, terrified of finding hidden trauma in her sea-colored eyes but detecting only exhaustion and relief mirroring his own.
Her throat constricted as she forced out the words: “Abel... is he...?”
Devlin's throat tightened, and his vision blurred as fresh tears spilled over.
“He's sleeping. He...” The words caught in his throat as images flooded his mind—Abel's screams when they found him in the park, the blood, the way the boy had clung to him. He pushed them away; this wasn’t the time to relive that horror story.
Not now . “I gave him something to help him rest.” He looked into Maddy's eyes, seeing shadows there that he prayed time would erase. “Angel too.”
Terror shadowed Maddy's face. “How bad... is Angel?”
“You're here,” Devlin whispered, the miracle of it stealing his breath. “You're here, and that's all that matters. Angel will be okay.” The unspoken because you're alive hung between them.
Maddy nodded, his jaw clenched from emotion, uncertainty lingering in his watery eyes.
“Cole and Gabe...” Devlin’s heart pounded against his chest, the fear from the past hours rushing back.
“Over here.”
Devlin jerked toward the voice, his heart hammering so loudly he thought it might burst through his ribs.
He ripped back the curtain separating the other patient station with frantic hands—and collapsed against the doorframe at the sight of Gabe in the hospital bed.
A sob escaped him, torn from some deep, wounded place that had been bracing for grief.
“Gabe...” The name trembled off his lips as Devlin stumbled forward.
When Gabe's arms wrapped around him, Devlin completely shattered, his body convulsing with relief.
Every heartbeat against his chest felt like a miracle he had stopped believing in.
“I thought—” He couldn't finish. He couldn't speak of the horrors his mind had conjured during those endless hours of waiting.
“You're a sight for sore eyes, doc,” Gabe rasped, and grabbed Devlin's face with trembling hands, kissing him with desperate force.
Devlin's knees nearly buckled, his body shaking. “Cole...?” The name escaped him as a quiet fear took hold of him.
“He's okay,” Gabe whispered against his lips. “He’ll be here soon. He has some broken ribs, and he’ll be sore as hell for a while… but he’s gonna be okay.”
A sound escaped Devlin's throat—half-sob, half-laugh—as the nightmare scenarios that had tormented him for hours began to fade.
The kids gathered around, and he pulled Savannah close, pressing his lips to her hair and inhaling the scent he had feared he'd never smell again. “You made it,” he whispered, voice raw. “You’re all home… everyone is safe .”
Dane checked on the boys, then returned to the hall, his chest so tight he could barely breathe.
He paced like a caged animal, fingers trembling as they swiped at his phone screen, checking for messages from Devlin for the twentieth time in five minutes.
The silence was deafening, crushing him beneath its weight.
No news. Was that mercy or torture? His mind conjured images too horrific to bear—blood-soaked concrete, empty eyes staring skyward. The boys would wake soon to this living hell, and he had nothing—not one goddamn word of comfort to offer their broken hearts.
“Fuck.” The word lodged in his throat like a stone as he collapsed into a chair, his entire body convulsing. He pressed his face into his palms hard enough to leave marks.
God... PLEASE... end this nightmare... PLEASE...
Dane dug his heels into his eye sockets until stars burst behind his lids, as if physical pain could somehow drown the agony ripping through his soul.
“Please...” The word was a shattered whisper as hot tears leaked between his fingers.
He slid his hands over his head, his fingers raking through his hair, pulling until pain sparked across his scalp and caused his vision to swim through tears.
Down the corridor, the elevator doors swooshed open.
Dane choked back a sob, his sleeve smearing wetness across his flushed face as he lifted his head.
His heart seized mid-beat. The world crashed to a standstill.
Every muscle in his body locked in paralysis.
Fresh tears flooded his eyes, distorting the impossible vision before him—a mirage his broken mind couldn't bear to trust. “What...” Dane lurched to his feet, legs threatening to buckle beneath him, his pulse thundering from nothing to everything as the two kids—alive, breathing, real—walked toward him, Devlin a guardian shadow behind them.
Dane's knees weakened. His hand covered his mouth as a rasping sound escaped his throat—something between a gasp and a wail.
Maddy sprinted toward him, and Dane seized him with such force that the boy's feet left the ground.
Their bodies collided and melded, as if trying to erase the nightmare hours of separation through sheer physical pressure.
His fingers dug into Maddy's hospital gown, clutching fabric and flesh as if the boy might vanish if he loosened his grip for even a second.
“Oh my God,” Dane's voice shattered, each syllable raw and bleeding.
His fingers dug into Maddy's back, clinging to this miracle while his mind still flashed with those blood-soaked images from the park—the moment his world had shattered when they thought.
.. The relief was so violent it felt like drowning.
He buried his face in Maddy's hair, inhaling the living scent of him, his tears soaking the boy's scalp.
When he finally lifted his head, his vision swam through tears that scorched trails down his cheeks.
He spotted Savannah clinging to Devlin, her small shoulders heaving with silent sobs.
“Sweetheart…” His voice broke completely as he reached for her with a trembling hand.
The girl flung herself into his embrace, and Dane clutched both teens against him as violent sobs racked his frame, stealing his breath until he thought he might pass out from the sheer force of his relief.
Devlin stood back, face damp with tears that glistened under the harsh fluorescent lights.
“Cole and Gabe?” Dane asked, his voice cracking on the final syllable.
“They're okay,” Devlin said, running a trembling hand through his disheveled hair. “They’re both bruised up, Gabe will need some more stitches, and Cole has some broken ribs… but they’re alive and safe.”
“Thank God,” Dane breathed, his shoulders sagging with momentary relief.
“How is Angel?” Maddy asked, clearing his throat with a raspy sound. He pulled away from Dane's embrace, leaving cold patches where his tears had soaked through the fabric. “Is he still asleep?”
“Yeah,” Dane murmured, exchanging a look with Devlin, who discreetly shook his head.
The subtle gesture conveyed the weight of unspoken horrors, silently telling Dane that the kids weren't aware of the blood-soaked events at the park.
“He was exhausted and worried. Devlin gave him something to sleep.” He looked at Savannah, noting how her small fingers twisted the hem of her gown. “And Abel too.”
“I think it would be okay to wake them up now.” Devlin smiled, his weary eyes heavy with a relief none of them was sure they would ever feel again.