Chapter Eighteen #2
Abigail’s room sits right next to mine….by design.
The med bay is several rooms down the corridor.
I round the corner just in time to see Patch shoving open the door, sliding his cut on as he steps into the hallway.
He looks fucking exhausted…and he’s covered in blood.
“Abigail?” I ask.
“I need you to take a deep breath,” he says.
Which immediately causes me to stop breathing altogether.
“What is it?” Spike asks as he comes up beside me, Asher clutched against his chest, and Riley tucked into his side. “Where’s my sister, Patch?”
“She’s alive,” Patch says quickly. “But she was shot.”
The words hit like a hammer.
“I did everything I could for her here,” he continues. “But I had no choice but to send her to the hospital. She needs blood. She just left in the ambulance. I’m heading there now.”
Shot…. Abigail was shot.
My head spins, and my knees give out. I catch myself against the wall before I hit the floor.
“Brother,” Patch says, grabbing my shoulder. “Look at me.”
I force my eyes up.
“She’s fine,” he says firmly. “The bullet went through her thigh. Clean shot. Didn’t hit anything major. She lost a lot of blood because I already had her on meds for the infection she’s fighting,” he explains. “Some of them thin the blood a bit. Made the bleeding worse than it should’ve been.”
My chest tightens.
“She’s going to be fine,” Patch continues. “But her body was already worn down fighting that infection. She needs fluids, blood, and a proper surgical team.”
He squeezes my shoulder once.
“I signed in as her attending physician. I’m heading there now. Take a deep breath… and follow me.”
“You hate working at the hospital,” I mutter, trying to force air back into my lungs.
Patch snorts.
“True,” he says with a tired chuckle. “Worst place a doctor can work, in my opinion. Too many rules. Too many administrators. Too damn monotonous.”
He turns and heads toward the exit, and I follow him blindly.
“I much prefer being my own boss.”
We burst out of the bunker and into the night air.
The same SUV we arrived in is still waiting.
Patch climbs into the back seat and gestures for me to get in.
“I’m actually thinking about opening my own clinic,” he says as we pile inside.
He slams the door.
“Hospital,” he tells the driver. “Quickly.”
The engine roars to life, but I barely notice.
“I’ll have to hire staff,” Patch continues casually, like my entire world isn’t currently hanging by a thread. “Might ask Maverick if anyone staying at his estate has medical experience before I place an ad.”
He glances at me.
“I’d rather my staff be people from the estate or our club,” he says. “That way they won’t panic every time one of you idiots walks in covered in blood and smiling like a lunatic.”
I stare straight ahead, fists clenched.
Because right now the only thing keeping me together is Patch’s unusual rambling.
It takes fifteen minutes to make the trip to the hospital, and every second of it feels like an hour. When we finally pull into the emergency entrance, it takes every ounce of self-control I have not to jump out and start tearing through the building looking for her.
But I force myself to stay half a step behind Patch.
As much as I want to run through the halls tossing out demands, I know things will go smoother if I let the actual doctor do the talking.
The hospital smells like antiseptic and burnt coffee.
Fluorescent lights buzz overhead as we move toward the nurses’ station.
“How’s my patient, nurse?” Patch asks a stout older woman behind the counter.
Her head snaps up.
“Dr. Adams,” she says with a warm smile. “Well, I’ll be damned. It’s good to see you. It’s been a while.”
“Indeed,” Patch replies. “You look well, Marsha.”
“Trying my best,” she chuckles. Then her eyes narrow slightly. “Are you back?”
“Just until my patient is released into my care,” Patch says easily. “Now, please give me the report on Abigail Turner.”
“Of course,” she says, clicking keys on her keyboard.
“Abigail Turner was brought in about thirty minutes ago with a gunshot wound to the leg,” she explains. “Dr. Langford already examined her. He said the wound had been cleaned and packed properly before arrival.”
She glances at Patch knowingly.
“Now that I know you were the one who treated her first, that makes sense.”
Patch just nods.
“Vitals?” he asks.
“Stable,” she says. “She lost a fair amount of blood, but nothing critical. We’ve started fluids and are prepping for a transfusion.”
My lungs finally remember how to work.
“She’s in room one-seventeen,” Marsha says, holding out the folder.
“Thank you,” Patch replies, taking the file from her hands.
He doesn’t slow down as he turns down the hallway.
I stay right on his heels.
When we reach the room, a man is standing outside the door with his arms crossed, hat tucked under one arm.
The sheriff.
“What are you doing here?” I ask immediately.
“Gunshot report,” he says simply.
“It has to legally be called in,” Patch explains. Then he nods toward the man. “Officer Cooper, would you be so kind as to wait in the hall while we check on my patient?”
Cooper? I know that name.
“You’re Maverick’s cop friend,” I say, remembering him from a couple years back when he helped us with Riley.
“Yes,” he nods. “And don’t worry. I’ve already handled the legal side of things. I questioned her earlier and determined it was a drive-by.”
My jaw tightens.
“You won’t have any visitors.”
“She’s awake?” Patch asks quickly.
“She was a few minutes ago,” Cooper says. “I figured I’d wait out here for the cavalry in case things were as bad as she made them sound.”
“You questioned her without our lawyer?” I growl.
Cooper’s expression doesn’t change.
“I didn’t question her as a cop,” he says quietly. “I just needed the real story so I could fabricate one believable enough to keep the department off your doorstep.”
I study him carefully.
“You’re risking your career for a Shadow?” I ask, glancing at the closed door.
“I work in a corrupt industry, Mr. Davis,” he replies calmly, using my real damn name. “Taking down a group like the Iron Shadows would make someone’s career overnight.”
His gaze flicks toward Abby’s room.
“And they wouldn’t care what lies they had to tell to make it happen.”
He shrugs slightly.
“One of your women getting shot? That’s all the excuse they’d need to start digging. Warrants. Surveillance. Informants.”
He meets my eyes again.
“Trust me. My version of events is a lot better for everyone involved.”
I nod slowly.
Guess Maverick’s cop buddy isn’t such a bad ally to have.
“She was asking for you,” Cooper says as he steps aside. “Sounds like she’s had a rough week.”
I push the door open, and the second I step inside, piercing blue eyes lock onto me.
They’re glassy with tears.
“You’re back,” she rasps, her voice shredded. “I’ve missed you.”
Fuck.
“Babygirl,” I choke out. “Are you okay?”
She smiles, but the tears slide down her face.
“I’m okay,” she whispers. “But… not everyone is.”
I nod slowly. Ten fallen.
The silence between us stretches for a moment before she asks softly,
“Are you okay?”
“No,” I admit. “I’m not.”
Her eyes move over my body, slowly scanning me.
Looking for injuries.
Looking for blood.
Looking for proof that I paid the same price she did.
But she won’t find any.
Because I was safe.
While she wasn’t.
When she doesn’t find anything wrong, her shoulders sink, and she lowers her head against the pillow.
“It’s okay,” she whispers hoarsely. “I understand.”
She understands what?
“You changed your mind about us,” she says quietly. “I was shot, and now you’re back to the whole my life is too dangerous for someone as precious as you thing.”
“You’re not wrong,” I admit.
Her entire body deflates, and guilt punches straight through my chest.
“But at the same time,” I continue quickly, my voice rough, “you’re fucking wrong.”
Her eyes lift back to mine.
“My life is too dangerous for someone as precious as you,” I say honestly. “But there’s no way in hell I’m giving you up.”
I drag a hand through my hair.
“I’m just… fucking furious,” I admit. “You were bleeding out while I was three thousand miles away playing mob games in New York.”
Her expression softens.
“Then why are you still standing by the door?” she asks quietly.
She watches me like the answer matters more than anything else in the room.
“Why haven’t you come to me?”
Because I’m not okay.
One wrong step and it feels like the entire foundation beneath our feet will crumble, and I’ll lose her forever. I know it doesn’t make sense, but my head is a damn warzone right now.
“Please,” she whispers. “Come to me. You promised.”
I did.
I promised I’d come back to her.
But I was too… fucking… late.
“I’m sorry I didn’t keep you safe,” I say roughly, still rooted to the spot. “You’ve been through so much hell, and all you wanted was to be next to me and feel safe. But I failed you. Again and again.”
My throat tightens.
“How can you ever forgive me for everything I’ve done?”
She doesn’t answer right away.
The silence stretches between us until it feels like it might suffocate me.
Then her voice breaks through it.
“It’s easy to forgive someone you love when you can see how much they’re hurting,” she whispers.
She reaches a weak hand toward me.
“But Tank… forgiveness isn’t the hard part.”
My chest tightens.
“The hard part,” she continues softly, “is convincing the person you love that they deserve it.”
That hits like a punch to the ribs.
Her eyes lock onto mine.
“You keep thinking loving me means protecting me from the world,” she says. “But loving me means standing beside me while we face it together.”
A tear slips down her temple.
“I don’t need a hero who never fails,” she whispers.
“I just need the man who keeps coming back.”
The words shatter whatever wall I had left.
My feet finally move.
I cross the room in three steps and take her hand carefully in both of mine, terrified of hurting her.