Chapter 8 Creed #3
“Yeah, baby girl,” I give her a watery smile and slowly lower my forehead to her temple.
I can’t stop the singular, choked-off laugh that escapes my lips.
Her brows furrow for just a moment, as if she can’t distinguish whether this is reality or a dream.
Pulling back, I stroke my hands over the top of her tangled hair and whisper, “I. Am. Real.”
But just as her lips begin to pull with the faintest of smiles—an incremental shock of happiness shining through the pain—it’s gone just as fast as her eyes roll back, and her head slumps to the side. I look up in time to see the medic re-capping her IV, an empty syringe in his gloved hand.
“What the fuck?!” I bellow at him, ready to throw him from the moving vehicle.
Fury burns through my veins, but he just answers matter-of-factly, “It’s a light sedative that should keep her out during the flight.”
“She recognized me, you fuckwit! She was here!”
“I can’t risk her falling into a violent episode and injuring herself or this one in the process.” He nods toward Riley, who now has a cannula placed beneath his nose, connected to a small machine that hums quietly in the small cabin space. “She had to be knocked out.”
I want to launch myself at the prick of a medic and punch him in his fucking face for taking that moment from me when I’d just gotten her back.
So I do. He’s kneeling close enough to me that he doesn’t see my fist coming when it flies at his face.
His head snaps back, and my already injured knuckles split beneath the bandages, but I hardly feel it as I revel in the howl this asshole lets loose as his nose gushes blood.
Dad snaps my name from the front seat, while Jett shakes his head and Asher gives me a silent what the fuck was that for while handing the pussy a tissue for his face.
Ignoring all of them, I look back to check on Riley, my heartrate kicking up when I take in just how hard his body is working to stay alive.
His pallor is still sickly, but I can see from the monitor that his heart rate is steady again at least. There’s been too much happening in such a small space, and the pressure of it all is about to cause me to fully blow a gasket.
Before I can explode again, the back hatch opens and we’re quickly escorted onto the plane.
There are even more medical staff on board, and the entire space looks like it's been converted into a small, tubular hospital room.
My father and Jett carry Riley onboard, while Asher and I carry Collins.
Both have been sedated, but their unnatural stillness makes me uneasy.
We’re instructed to sit down, but that’s the last thing I want to do.
Fuck these assholes with their constant attempts to separate me from these two.
I’m practically strong-armed, forced down into a seat and made to buckle up while the med team works to set Collins and Riley up with everything they need, from hanging antibiotics to wound assessment where I hear talk of multiple injuries being disinfected and cleaned up.
I can’t see their bodies with the amount of staff attending to them; it makes me fucking twitchy.
I feel like a ticking time bomb, and Asher is no better where he sits beside me.
Jett and my father watch us warily from across the aisle until we finally get wheels up into the air.
The moment we’re at cruising altitude, Ash and I are practically climbing over one another to get out of our seats to get to our family.
He beats me to Collins, and as much as I want to rip him away and take his place, he needs eyes on his baby sister.
I need to be near Riley, too, so I'll give him this moment.
For now.
I settle in, listening to who I assume to be either a nurse or doctor give updates to the rest of the team on board. I hear her say something about giving Riley meds to increase his blood pressure and an antibiotic to help fight off the suspected infection in his blood.
“Sir?” the older woman says with a faint Scottish lilt, her voice soft as it calls from behind me.
I turn my head to see her standing at the entrance of the curtained-off area, a bleak look on her face.
I don’t like it. She must see the displeasure that takes over mine because she clears her throat, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot.
“I’m Dr. Gallagher, lead for medical transport for the McTavish family.
I wanted to inform you that Mr. Graves is stable…
for now. We were lucky that we had an antibiotic on board to start treatment for his infection, but I’ll have to keep a close eye on him for the duration of the flight. ”
“You said he has an infection in his blood?” I ask, sweeping my thumb over Riley’s knuckles in soft circles.
She nods, replying, "Although we cannot confirm without testing, I am sure of it.
So, it was better to be safe and treat him, than to be sorry.
The infection is called septicemia. It's caused by bacteria entering the blood stream.
Mr. Graves had several soiled wounds that went untreated for too long, and infection had already likely set in before they even had time to scab over.
The oldest of the injuries looks to be a gunshot wound–which will require surgery to remove, as there is no exit point.
It is likely the cause for the majority of the infection, but judging by the sheer number of lacerations to his skin, it could be a combination of the wounds that contribute to how severe it has become.
“I recommend that we keep them sedated or under general anesthesia for the time being to allow their bodies to heal without interruption. We will continue to monitor the pair of them to ensure that they remain in stable condition until we can get them to the McTavish private medical center for a more thorough examination and medical treatment.”
I nod, and she turns to leave, grabbing the privacy curtain on her way out, but before she pulls it closed, she pauses. “And please stop punching my medical staff, Mr. St. James.”
I look past her to the medic who sits like a pouty child, his nose bandaged with gauze and tape. I don’t feel bad for what I did and won't apologize either. “Yeah? Don’t hire assholes for medics who deserve to have their teeth knocked out and you’ve got a deal, doc.”
Asher sighs behind me, muttering something about needing a drink before kissing his sister’s temple and pushing to his feet. “You good, brother?” he asks, his eyes dropping to where my fingers are laced through Riley’s.
“No.” I shake my head, looking between the two people who have each claimed my soul for their own.
I don't know what the journey of healing and recovery is going to look like for the two of them. No doubt it will be long and difficult at times, but the fact that they’re both here, with their hearts beating?
It gives me hope. So I look up at my lifelong best friend and give him the first positive truth I’ve felt in a long time. “But I think I will be. We all will.”