Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
Gunnar
Everything is hazy.
Fragments of memory float through my consciousness like debris after a storm—Ingrid's voice calling my name, my mother's hands on my face, pain so sharp it stole my breath, then nothing but darkness.
And dreams.
Fever dreams, I think.
Twisted images of children screaming, of knives flashing in the dark, of Ingrid's face swimming above me while someone kept saying "stay with us, stay with us, stay with us."
I don't know what's real anymore.
Don't know how long I've been under.
Don't know if I'm still alive or if this is what death feels like—floating in darkness, disconnected from everything.
Then I hear it.
Beeping.
Steady and rhythmic.
A heart monitor.
My heart monitor.
I force my eyes open.
The light is too bright.
I squeeze them shut, try again.
Slower this time.
Letting my vision adjust.
A ceiling comes into focus.
Concrete, painted white.
Fluorescent lights overhead.
The medical room at the clubhouse.
I'm alive.
I made it.
I turn my head—slowly, everything feels slow—and there she is.
Ingrid.
Curled up in a chair beside my bed, wrapped in a blanket that I recognize from my room.
Her red hair is tangled, pulled back in a messy ponytail.
Dark circles under her eyes.
Wearing what looks like one of my t-shirts.
She's asleep, but even in sleep she looks exhausted.
Worn down.
Like she's been fighting a battle of her own while I was unconscious.
How long has she been here?
How long have I been out?
I try to speak, but my throat is sandpaper.
Dry and cracked and useless.
I swallow.
Try again.
"In... grid..."
Her name comes out as a rasp.
Barely audible.
But she hears it.
Her eyes flutter open.
Land on me.
And then she's crying.
"Gunnar." She's out of the chair in an instant, hands cupping my face, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Oh god, Gunnar. You're awake. You're really awake."
"Hey." My voice is still a wreck. "Don't... cry..."
"Don't cry? Don't cry?" She laughs through her tears, the sound watery and broken. "You've been unconscious for almost four days. You spiked a fever and we thought—I thought—"
She can't finish.
Just presses her forehead to mine and cries.
Four days.
I've been out for four days.
"I'm here," I manage. "I'm okay."
"You almost weren't. You almost—" She pulls back, wipes her eyes. "God, I was so scared. When they brought you in, there was so much blood, and the knife was still—"
"I remember." Fragments, at least. "The raid. I was trying to get to the van. The kids."
Her face falls.
That tells me everything.
"They got away," I say.
"Yes. The traffickers escaped with the children." She squeezes my hand. "But that's not your fault. You almost died trying to save them."
"Almost isn't good enough."
"It's going to have to be. For now." Her voice is firm. "Right now, the only thing that matters is that you're alive. Everything else can wait."
I want to argue.
Want to tell her that those kids can't wait.
But my body has other ideas.
Even this brief conversation has exhausted me.
My eyelids feel like they're weighted down.
"Tired," I admit.
"That's the sedation wearing off. They kept you under to help you heal." She strokes my hair. "Sleep if you need to. I'll be here when you wake up."
"You've been here... the whole time?"
"Where else would I be?"
The answer is so simple.
So matter-of-fact.
Like there was never any other option.
Like leaving my side never even occurred to her.
"Love you," I mumble, already fading.
"I love you too." Her lips brush my forehead. "Now rest."
I don't have the strength to fight it.
Just let the darkness pull me under again.
But this time it's different.
This time, I know I'll wake up.
And she'll be there.
The second time I wake up, I feel more human.
Still weak.
Still sore.
But the fog has lifted.
I can think clearly.
Can piece together my surroundings without feeling like I'm swimming through mud.
The medical room looks the same—stark white walls, fluorescent lights, equipment beeping softly.
My left side aches with a deep, throbbing pain that pulses with every heartbeat.
The knife wound.
I remember it now.
The blade sliding in.
The white-hot agony.
The feeling of my strength draining out of me along with my blood.
I almost died.
The realization hits differently now that I'm fully conscious.
I almost died in that parking lot.
Almost never saw Ingrid again.
Almost broke my promise.
"You're awake."
I turn my head.
Ingrid's still in the chair, but she's sitting up now, watching me with those green eyes that I want to wake up to every day for the rest of my life.
"Yeah." My voice is still rough, but better. "How long this time?"
"About six hours." She stands, stretches, moves to my side. "How do you feel?"
"Like I got stabbed."
She doesn't laugh.
"Too soon?"
"Way too soon." But her lips twitch. Just a little. "Aesir said he'd come check on you when you woke up again. I should—"
"Not yet." I catch her hand before she can move away. "Stay. Just for a minute."
She sits on the edge of the bed, careful not to jostle anything.
"I'm not going anywhere."
"I know. Just—" I squeeze her fingers. "I need to look at you. Make sure you're real."
"I'm real."
"Prove it."
She leans down, presses her lips to mine.
Soft.
Gentle.
Careful of my injuries.
But real, so real.
"Convinced?" she whispers against my mouth.
"Getting there. Might need more evidence."
She laughs—a real laugh this time, surprised out of her—and kisses me again.
This is what I almost lost.
This woman.
This moment.
This chance at something I never thought I'd have.
"I should get Aesir," she says when she pulls back. "And your mom. She's been going crazy. Barely sleeping. I had to threaten to sedate her myself to get her to take a break."
"She okay?"
"She's scared. We all were." Ingrid's eyes cloud. "The fever hit on day two. You were burning up, delirious. Doctor Reynolds said the knife introduced bacteria into the wound. For about twelve hours, we didn't know if the antibiotics would work or if—"
She stops.
Swallows hard.
"But they worked," I say.
"They worked. Your fever broke yesterday morning. You've been sleeping naturally since then, not sedated. Reynolds said that was a good sign. That your body was healing."
"And you've been here the whole time."
"Most of it. Astrid made me shower once. And eat, but I came right back." She looks down at our joined hands. "I couldn't leave. Every time I tried, I'd get to the door and think—what if he wakes up and I'm not here? What if something happens and I'm not here? So I stayed."
"Thank you."
"You don't have to thank me."
"Yeah, I do. For staying. For being here. For—" I pause, searching for the right words. "For choosing me. Even when I couldn't choose back."
Her eyes fill with tears again.
"Stop making me cry. I've cried more in the last four days than I have in years."
"Sorry."
"No, you're not."
"No," I admit. "I'm not."
She laughs again, wiping her eyes.
"I'm going to get Aesir. And your mom. They need to know you're awake."
"Okay."
She stands, but I don't let go of her hand.
"Ingrid?"
"Yeah?"
"When I'm healed—when this is over—I want to talk. About us. About the future."
Something shifts in her expression.
Hope, maybe.
Or fear.
Or both.
"Okay," she says softly. "We'll talk."
Then she slips out the door, and I'm alone with the beeping monitors and the ache in my side and the growing certainty that I'm done wasting time.
Life is too short.
I almost learned that the hard way.
I'm not making that mistake again.
The next few hours are a blur of medical checks and tearful reunions.
Aesir comes first, poking and prodding, checking my vitals, examining the wound.
"Healing well," he pronounces. "Better than expected, honestly. You're lucky the blade missed anything vital."
"So I keep hearing."
"Because it's true. Another inch to the left and we'd be having a very different conversation. Or no conversation at all."
After Aesir comes Mom.
She tries to hold it together, but fails completely.
"My baby," she keeps saying, holding my face in her hands, tears streaming down her cheeks. "My stupid, brave, reckless baby."
"I'm okay, Mom."
"You almost weren't. You almost—" She can't finish. Just pulls me into a hug that makes my side scream in protest, but I don't complain. "Don't ever do that to me again. Promise me."
"I can't promise that."
"Gunnar—"
"I can't. Not with the life we live. But I can promise I'll always fight to come home. Always."
She pulls back, studies my face.
"That girl hasn't left your side, you know. The whole time you were under—she was right there. Talking to you, holding your hand, refusing to leave even when we tried to make her rest."
"I know."
"She loves you."
"I know that too."
"Do you love her?"
"More than anything."
Mom smiles through her tears.
"Then don't let her go. Girls like Ingrid—girls who stay—they're rare. Hold onto her."
"I plan to."
She kisses my forehead, smooths my hair back like she used to when I was a kid.
"Rest. Heal. I'll be back later with food. Real food, not that hospital crap Aesir's been pushing."
"Thanks, Mom."
She leaves, and for a few minutes I'm alone again.
Then Hakon and Ulf appear in the doorway.
"Well, well," Hakon says, grinning. "Look who decided to rejoin the living."
"Heard you got yourself stabbed," Ulf adds. "Very dramatic."
"Fuck off."
"He's definitely feeling better." Hakon drops into the chair Ingrid vacated. "You had us worried, brother. When they brought you in—"
"I know. Lot of blood. Heard that part."
"More than a lot. You were practically gray. I thought—" He stops, shakes his head. "Doesn't matter what I thought. You're here now."
"The raid," I say. "What happened after I went down?"
Hakon and Ulf exchange a look.