CHAPTER 7
GRAYSON
PRESENT
W hite .
White walls.
White floors.
White lights.
Every time my eyes close with a blink, I see it on repeat.
My brother on the ground.
Blink.
Fighting for breath and bleeding out while Savannah put pressure on his wound.
Blink.
Carrying his dead-weight body down the stairs.
Blink.
The look of horror on Noah’s face when he saw the life draining from Hunter.
Blink.
The way my older brothers face morphed into my best friends one as I stood frozen, staring at him in a puddle of his own blood.
I lean my elbows on my knees, place my head in my hands and tug my hair in an attempt to ground myself.
It doesn’t work.
I’m a fucking mess.
Shoes squeak against the shiny hospital floors as people rush past. My family talk amongst themselves, their tones hushed and full of worry. Every sound grates a little more on my already frayed nerves.
We arrived at the hospital over two hours ago, and Hunter’s been in surgery just as long.
It feels like the walls are closing in on me. The already heavy air in the crowded waiting room grows thicker, strangling me and making it hard to breathe. I tug on the collar of my shirt, my knee bouncing quicker with each strangled breath.
Fuck, I can’t breathe.
I jolt as a hand lands on my shoulder and I lift my head, finding Killian standing over me. “Hey, man. Take a walk with me?” He says holding up a cigarette.
I nod and stand, following him out of the waiting room and towards the front doors. As soon as the cool air hits me, I suck in a deep breath over and over again until they come easier, the weight lifting off my chest.
“You good, Gray?” Killian asks, putting his cigarette between his lips and lighting it.
I say nothing, not trusting my voice, and give him a nod. He watches me silently, blowing smoke out of his mouth and I turn away, needing a minute. I lock my hands behind my head and look up at the cloudless sky. Birds sing in the trees and the sound of sirens pierce the air as ambulances come and go from the emergency bay. I focus on all the things happening around me, using them as a distraction to block out the images flashing through my head like a slideshow I can’t pause.
“I have them too, you know,” he says after a beat, and I frown at him, not understanding.
“Panic attacks,” Killian explains.
“I don’t have panic attacks.” I lie.
He shakes his head at me with a scoff. “I know a panic attack when I see one, Gray. When did they start?”
I release a sigh. “Right after Rueben died. I had them under control, but…” I run a hand through my hair, unable to explain what the fuck is happening inside of me right now.
“But seeing Hunter like that brought it all back, right?” He finishes for me.
My shoulders sag, “Yeah.”
It took a long time for me to come to terms with the fact that anxiety was something I’ll possibly live with for the rest of my life. The first time I experienced a panic attack, I thought I was dying, and for the briefest of moments, I welcomed it. The darkness that crept in around the edges, sucking the air from my lungs and had stars dancing across my vision. In the dark was where I thrived, after all.
But then my baser instincts kicked in and I was left gasping for breath and shivering on the floor of my bedroom.
I started therapy after that.
I thought I had overcome the symptoms of my anxiety, until I walked into the bedroom of the staff cabin and saw the look on Savannahs face as she knelt over Hunters body.
“When did yours start?” I ask Killian, needing anything to distract my mind .
He blows out another cloud of smoke. “On my wedding day.”
Right. The day he was left at the alter by his high school sweetheart with no warning or explanation.
“Like you, I had mine under control. Until the day we decorated Sav’s house and Noah told me she was back.” I nod in understanding, remembering the day he’s referring too. The four of us – Noah, Hunter, Kill and me – were at Savannahs house to help Hunter with a surprise he had planned, when Noah dropped the bomb on his best friend that Daisy, Killian’s high school sweetheart, was back in town for the first time in three years.
“Shit, man, I’m sorry,” I say, not knowing how else to comfort him.
Killian shrugs. “Don’t be. I learned to overcome them before; I’ll do it again. So will you.”
I open my mouth to thank him, but the hospital doors slide open, Olivia appearing on the other side. I turn to look at her, taking in the large gash on her forehead now held together with butterfly stitches, and the dark purple bruise forming under one of her sky-blue eyes. My earlier anger returns at the sight, roaring to life inside of me and replacing the panic I felt only moments ago.
The motherfucker hit her.
Marked her.
When I got to Hunters house and found her sitting on his porch steps with blood trickling down her face, I felt murderous. The thought of that prick putting his hands on her lit a fire inside of me like nothing I’d ever felt before.
Ryan got off easy. If I’d found him, I wouldn’t have thought twice about killing him.
I grit my teeth and clench my fists to keep the anger at bay, but I don’t miss the way her weary eyes take in the movement. She offers me a hesitant smile .
“Your mum wanted me to let you know that Hunter is out of surgery. They’re taking him to recovery,” she says softly, her gaze flitting between Killian and me.
My breath leaves me in a rush, my shoulders slumping with relief and we follow her back inside the sterile building, this time taking a different route towards the ICU.