Chapter 37
Quinn
Quinn didn’t feel like a person over the next twenty-four hours. He wasn’t dissociating by any means, but he felt more disconnected from his emotions as the time on the clock slowly ticked away and the numbness crept in.
He was certain he would be burying Eren by the end of the week.
Seeing him like that—lying in the bed with his eyes black, his head bandaged, and his face swollen didn’t paint the most positive picture.
But because Eren was a fighter, he made it through the most dangerous period without having another stroke, and the swelling in his brain had come down, too.
All that was left to do was wait.
Eren could wake up the next day, or he might never wake up; it was hard to say. The doctors grew more optimistic as days passed without incident, but Quinn refused to have hope.
Hope was dangerous. He’d had hope when Esme told him about her diagnosis because he was sure that medicine had advanced enough to save her, but that’s why the word terminal cut so deeply when she told him the disease had progressed.
No, hope didn’t belong in his vocabulary when he looked at August, who was being so fucking brave but barely holding it together.
Knowing that a monster had hurt August badly enough to alter his memories made Quinn lose a lot of his faith in humanity, so what was the point of hope when men like Perry were still walking free?
The only spark of positivity he felt while he waited for Eren to live or die was when he watched August with Alara and Emira.
They had been moved to a more spacious family room that could have passed for a hotel room, but it had a bed big enough to fit his giant hockey player, and a separate room for his nieces, so he wasn’t complaining.
It was further from the floor where Eren was being observed, so Quinn balanced his time between caring for the girls and receiving updates on their father.
He had been worried that leaving August alone with two rambunctious children would be too much, but they were surprisingly well-behaved once Quinn explained that August was hurt.
Quinn often found the three of them sitting on the couch watching hockey or cartoons when he returned from his pacing. August would let the girls do anything to him to keep them entertained while Quinn was gone, from painting his nails to smearing lipstick on his face.
August was a rock for him when it came to the girls—to everything, really.
Without him, Quinn would have had to rely on Una, who had her own family she needed to care for.
It would have meant fewer visits with Eren and more stress for Alara and Emira, who were already on edge about not seeing their father for days.
On a particularly bad morning, when August had woken up screaming from a nightmare, and the twins threw their biggest tantrum yet when Quinn refused to bring them to visit Eren, he realized he had reached the point of what he could mentally handle.
He stopped halfway to the ICU and found a single stall bathroom to lock himself into, and spent ten minutes crying shamelessly in the dark.
He hated crying. Everything about it was gross and pointless, but releasing his pent-up anxiety made his skin feel less tight, and he needed that before he had to face Eren again.
Quinn knew his eyes were still red when he went into the ICU because all the nurses stopped what they were doing to stare at him. He smiled so they knew he was okay and then hurried to Eren’s room, almost running into a doctor in his haste to get out of sight.
“I told you to take your time in the message,” Dr. Murdock said, bracing his hands on Quinn’s shoulders. “He’s only just opening his eyes, so it will take a while for him to orient himself enough to—”
High-pitched ringing ended the rest of the doctor’s explanation. Darkness began to appear at the edges of his vision, pulsing along with the rapid beating of his frantic heart. Quinn watched Dr. Murdock’s mouth move, not hearing what he was saying, even though it was probably important.
Was he fainting?
He had never lost consciousness before, so he didn’t know what it felt like.
Dr. Murdock stepped out of the way, and Quinn’s eyes locked onto the bed where his brother-in-law was hooked up to machines and purple with bruises. He didn’t look any different from the previous day, but then Eren opened his eyes, and Quinn’s knees buckled.
Dr. Murdoc’s hands shot out to catch him before he could hit the floor. “Oops, should have known that would happen. Maggie!”
His hearing came back, like someone had ripped a soundproof blanket off him. Quinn found himself in a chair with a cold cloth pressed to his face and no recollection of how he got there, his head swimming as soft voices called his name and coaxed him back into consciousness.
When he finally regained control of his body, Quinn winced at how sweaty and dizzy he was, but he was already fighting to get back on his feet so he could go to him. Go to Eren.
“He’s not moving any time soon,” said Dr. Murdock. “Give yourself a minute to breathe, Mr. Harlow.”
Quinn shook his head and pushed out of the chair. Two nurses hovered at his side as he crossed the room to the bed and gripped the safety rail. He was worried that the movement he’d seen had been some kind of mind trick, and that Eren hadn’t woken up, but when he touched his cold hand—there it was.
Blue. The same blue eyes that he saw when his nieces looked at him. The same blue eyes that Eren’s father had, who would be visiting later that day with Eren’s mother, after racing back from their trip overseas.
Callahan blue.
“Eren?”
Eren wasn’t opening his eyes fully, and his gaze seemed a bit unfocused as it slid over to Quinn.
“May…day…”
Quinn’s hands went numb from how hard he was squeezing the rail. Eren’s voice was slurred, but Quinn would recognize the name anywhere, even if he hadn’t heard it in months.
Mayday was the nickname Eren had given Esme when they first started dating. What started as a joke about her temper had turned into a word of affection shared between them that Quinn teased them about.
Hearing it now felt soul-crushing, and even though he was in a room surrounded by people he barely knew, tears began to blur his vision before running down his cheeks.
“We don’t know why he keeps asking for help,” said Dr. Murdoc. “We’re watching him for signs of discomfort and medicating him appropriately, but that’s the only word he’s said so far.”
Quinn tore one hand away from the rail and touched it to Eren’s cheek. The pressure was no more than a butterfly kiss, but Eren leaned into it and closed his eyes.
“He’s looking for my sister,” said Quinn. “He’s not asking for help. That was her nickname.”
The medical staff were professionals, so they shed no tears, but Quinn could tell that they were fighting back emotions as they looked at Eren.
“Has he lost his memories?” Quinn asked. “I can’t tell if he thinks I’m Esme, or if he’s asking for her.”
Dr. Murdock motioned for the nurse beside Quinn to let him take her place, and then he stood next to him and sighed.
“We don’t know anything right now. I’m sure you heard his speech is slurred, and he hasn’t moved the right side of his body yet.
Mr. Callahan still needs days of scans and rest before we can determine how extensive the damage is.
He might walk away with permanent damage from the stroke that limits his mobility, or he might have great motor function with episodes of memory loss.
It’ll be hard to say for sure until he starts talking more, and he undergoes several neuro exams.”
The doctor was avoiding a definitive outcome, but the unspoken truth was obvious. Eren wasn’t going to play hockey again, not at a professional level.
Quinn didn’t care about that, but he had a feeling Eren would hate it. But Quinn would deal with the fallout once they got there because Eren was alive.
“He’s not going to…die?” Quinn asked because he had to be sure. “He won’t suddenly drop dead?”
The doctor hummed and tapped his finger on the rail.
“I don’t live in a world of certainties, but he survived a cracked skull and a stroke, and seems responsive when he speaks, so these are all positives.
Most people wouldn’t wake up, and had he not turned to avoid the puck at the last second and it hit his temple, I don’t think we would be having this conversation. ”
“So, he could, but we’re hoping he won’t,” said Quinn.
The doctor nodded grimly. “We are using blood thinners to stop another clot from forming to prevent more strokes, and he’ll be getting a CT in an hour, so I’ll be able to say more once I have the scans.
He’s not out of the danger zone yet, but he’s awake, and we’re going to do our best to help him progress in a positive direction. ”
Quinn was satisfied with that. As long as Eren was alive and happy, he would be content with any outcome.
“I know you’re anxious to let the children see their father,” Dr. Murdock continued, his voice turning strained. “But I think it would be wise to wait just a little longer until he’s more aware and can cope with whatever response he’ll have.”
Eren was sleeping again, swollen cheek braced against Quinn’s finger.
“I also don’t want to scare them because sometimes people who suffer from strokes will say confusing things that don’t make sense. They get their words mixed up, or even speak in the wrong language, and that can be upsetting even for adults.”
Esme had done that, too. It wasn’t from a stroke; she had just been delirious in the end, and the girls remembered it.
“But if you want to bring them down, and we’ll set Mr. Callahan up in a room with a window so they can see him from the outside, we can do that. The blood vessels in his left eye are still ruptured, so we can keep the less bruised side of his face to the window so it’s less frightening for them.”
Quinn realized that he hadn’t verbally responded to any of the doctor’s suggestions, so he cleared his throat and said, “Yes, that would be perfect. I’ll give them five minutes so they can see that he’s okay, and maybe that will hold them off for a while.”
His tone was robotic, but he couldn’t put energy into speaking. Everything he had needed to be saved for Eren and the twins—and for August, who he suddenly needed to see more than anyone in the world.
Quinn didn’t remember excusing himself from the room and bypassing the medical staff.
He didn’t remember the tedious walk and elevator ride back to the family floor.
He didn’t remember letting himself into the room and taking August’s hand that was still secured with laces, and dragging him into the bathroom so they could have a second alone together.
His surroundings didn’t come back into focus until he jumped onto the counter and pulled August into his arms, wrapping around him in a way that was slowly becoming a habit between them.
Colours, sounds and scents bombarded his senses, and all Quinn could see, touch, and smell was August. His worried blue eyes. His warm, solid body. His masculine deodorant. The way his deep voice spoke his name softly, as if he were comforting him.
“Quinn.”
Sitting on the counter did nothing to close the height difference between them, but August had the most adorable fix by going boneless in his arms and folding himself around Quinn’s body.
“Talk to me.”
Quinn’s hand gripped the back of August’s neck, applying pressure until he got the hint and lifted his head to meet Quinn’s eyes.
“He’s awake,” Quinn whispered, too fearful to speak the words any louder and risk shattering the dream he hadn’t been able to hope for.
August’s brows pinched together, and his eyes began searching Quinn’s face for a deeper answer.
Always so impatient.
Quinn knew they had less than two minutes before Alara and Emira started knocking on the door, so to avoid wasting time, he drew August in for a kiss to get it out of his system.
“Eren’s awake,” Quinn said between kisses, laughing breathily against August’s mouth. “He’s not dead, August.”
And now August was smiling, and Quinn didn’t have a chance to stop him before he was lifted off the counter and spun around in August’s arms. They were laughing, and Quinn was crying again because he was worried for Eren and his uncertain future, but he let himself have this win, soaking up the victory alongside the man he loved.
Esme would have to wait a little longer to see her soulmate, but knowing his sister, she wouldn’t mind.
Quinn imagined she was cheering them on from the sidelines like she always did while she watched Eren—looking beautiful and happy—and swimming in the extra material of her husband’s too-big jersey.
A knock at the bathroom door broke the illusion, and Quinn was left facing reality when he heard Alara’s voice speaking nervously through the barrier.
“Uncle Quinn? What are you doing?”
“Nothing!” Quinn called back, motioning for August to put him down. “I was just checking Snowy’s bandages.”
August stuck his bottom lip out at the nickname. “Not you, too.”
Quinn smirked and curled his finger under the laces. “Who do you think encouraged them to call you that?”
Quinn left August standing with his mouth open while he went to tell his nieces about their father. But even as he explained their upcoming visit to the excited six-year-olds, he couldn’t stop his gaze from drifting back to the man watching them, and smiling when August smiled back.