Chapter 40 Sebastian
Sebastian
Aquiet morning, but a long night. I run my hand down my face, my body aching, my mind not even close to tired, buzzing from endless bad coffee and thoughts that won’t let me rest. Did I read that chart right? Did I work fast enough on the gunshot victim? Did I turn the fucking oven off?
My temple aches. The same endless thoughts and worries, ones I thought might ease a little with a change in coastline.
Running. That’s what Zeke said I was doing. Running from memories, from loss, from visiting a grave I’m not brave enough to put flowers on. Zeke was partly right, but I wasn’t just running from that. I was running from her.
From the awful things I said. From the way I blamed her. From words I’m not strong enough to take back, no matter how wrong they were.
The doors to the ER bang open. “Female, late twenties, severe head trauma, and looks like a dislocated shoulder—”
I spring to action, my thoughts replaced with familiar adrenaline. Numbers and facts are shouted at me, blood pressure and more injuries, as the patient is moved onto the bed.
“Any ID?” I ask.
“Nothing,” the paramedic says. “She was in a house that was half standing. Looks like some kind of explosion. One more is coming in after her.”
The patient’s eyes flicker and focus on me. “Hey there, I’m Dr. Whitlock. Can you squeeze my fingers?” She blinks up at me, blood and dust on her face, and does so. “Perfect. I need you to wiggle your toes—” I pause, finally focusing on her face. On eyes I know.
But it can’t be.
My mind is playing tricks on me. She’s still squeezing my fingers, and a tear slips from her eye, parting the dust on her skin. Her lips part, cracked and revealing blood-stained teeth.
“D-don’t …” Her mouth opens and closes. “Ranger.”
The name has my heart hammering, and I’m surprised by the emotion that swells within me. “Denver?”
“Sebastian!” Nurse Hollins shouts, and I tear my gaze from Denver and go to the man they just brought in. “He’s crashing!”
“Crash pads.” Scissors tear apart a T-shirt, and pads are placed across his chest. His body jerks at the surge of power. Again. And again. His heartbeat returns.
Dr. Hues arrives, tying her hair back as she rushes over. “I’m here.”
She takes over the man and I go back to Denver. She’s blinking fast, staring at the ceiling, her movement limited by the neck brace. “Denver, out of ten, how much pain is your head?”
“Ten,” she whispers.
I inspect her dust-filled hair, the matting of blood. “Nurse Hollins,” I say, nodding at Denver’s good arm. Nurse Hollins takes hold of it firmly. “Denver, I need you to take a deep breath in for me.” She does, and she screams as I snap her shoulder back into the socket. “Good, you did good.”
“Sebastian,” Denver pants. “Don’t let Ranger in here.”
I search her face. “He’s in New York?”
“Yes, we don’t know where. He …” She suddenly tries to move. “Colt!”
“Denver, you cannot move until you’ve had scans,” I say, holding her down as gently as I can.
“I need to know if—” She breathes quickly. “Did someone come in with me? A man?”
“Yes, but—”
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
“Does he have tattoos?” she asks frantically. “A robin on his collarbone. Please, check if he has it, Sebastian, please—”
I swear under my breath and stride over to the other patient. He has a breathing tube in, eyes closed. He’s covered in blood, and I move his T-shirt aside, scanning his collarbone. I can’t see anything. Plenty of tattoos, but—
I snatch out a paper towel and run it under the sink, rubbing at his skin.
And it’s there. A small robin on his collarbone, head tilted in intrigue.
“Colt!” a man’s voice bellows. I turn to see someone barreling through the ER doors. His hair is silver, but he looks around my age.
“Fuck me, that’s Alistair Chase,” Dr. Hues says from beside me. “This must be Colt Harland.”
Colt Harland. I treated this man not twelve hours ago, and he’s already back?
“Irish crime family,” Hues adds. “Explains the explosion, I guess.”
Of fucking course.
“Colt, fuck.” The man is at Colt’s side. “Is he okay?”
“We’re not sure yet,” I say, eyeing him with caution. I expected all these men to be like Ranger, but this man seems genuinely … worried. “Are you a relation?”
“Friend,” he says, his gaze darting over Colt’s face. “Was he alone?”
“No, Denver Luxe is with him,” I say, and he straightens.
“Where?”
I hesitate. Denver didn’t say she wanted this man to be okay. She wanted me to identify him, but that was all. For all I know, this Colt was trying to kill her and got caught up in the mess.
“I can only divulge that information to relatives,” I say.
Dr. Hues looks at me with widened eyes. Alistair Chase, whoever the fuck he is, straightens up, his worry replaced with quiet menace.
“Tell me where she is,” he says quietly.
It’s been a year since I took bullets in my back.
Since I lost my brother and my best friend to men just like this.
And yes, I ran. But not from fear. I’ve spent that time preparing myself for the moment I might come across this kind of scumbag again.
I finally did what Ethan had been encouraging me to do.
I took up some boxing, mixed martial arts, anything that would hurt me or help me hurt someone else.
I’m bigger. Stronger. And I have far less to lose than before.
I lift my chin. “No.”
“Alistair?” Denver calls out.
His rage vanishes, and he shoulders me aside as he goes to her.
He sits on the edge of her bed. She’s crying as she talks to him, and I approach slowly.
“You promise he’s over there?” She sobs.
“He is,” Alistair says.
Her eyes shine. “Wilder? He was in the house, too. Where is he?”
“I didn’t … I didn’t see him,” he says, his voice breaking. “But we’ll find him. You’re okay, and Colt will be, too. I’m going to get some men in here for both of you. Ranger won’t get near you.”
My eyes dart between the two of them, and I wonder what could have changed in the last year for Denver to have left Ranger Luxe.
There isn’t time to think, because the doors are opening again.
“Another explosion,” the paramedic says.
I rush into action, but I’m almost shoved aside by Alistair. He’s staring at the older man who has just been brought in. “Finn.”
I guide him back. “You need to give us room.”
He does. His wide, brown eyes lose all fire and grit as he stares at the man covered in burns and blood, and he says nothing.