Chapter 10 #5
When I finally pull back, embarrassed by my display, Butcher simply squeezes my shoulder once before turning to comfort Shaylin, who’s weeping openly now that the worst fear has passed.
I move to the window, needing a moment alone to compose myself.
Outside, dawn has given way to full morning, sunlight streaming across the parking lot where, just hours ago, I knelt in Zach’s blood, begging him not to leave me.
The contrast is jarring, the peaceful scene outside at odds with the chaos that still grips my heart.
He made it through surgery, but he’s not out of danger.
The rational, medical part of my brain knows this, knows the complications that could still arise.
The infections, the bleeding, the organ failure.
But for now, for this moment, I allow myself to simply breathe in the knowledge that Zach is still in this world.
And as long as he’s breathing, there’s hope.
A nurse appears in the doorway, clipboard in hand. “Family of Zachary Kennedy?” she calls, and I turn immediately, moving toward her with Shaylin and Butcher close behind.
“He’s settled in the ICU,” she informs us, her eyes taking in our unlikely trio: the massive, leather-clad enforcer, the fierce, tattooed mother, and me, still wearing the clothes Tiana brought from the clubhouse. “Two visitors at a time, five minutes only for now.”
Shaylin looks at me, a silent question in her tear-reddened eyes. I nod, stepping back. “You and Butcher go first,” I tell her. “I’ll wait.”
She surprises me by shaking her head firmly. “No. You and I will go.” She turns to Butcher. “He needs to see his father, but he needs to hear Xavier’s voice more.”
Butcher looks like he might argue, but something in his wife’s expression stops him. He nods once, sharp and decisive. “Tell him I’ll be right behind you.”
The nurse leads us through corridors that should feel familiar; this was my workplace until recently, but they now seem alien and threatening. Each step closer to Zach fills me with equal parts longing and dread. I want to see him, need to see him, but I fear what state I’ll find him in.
Shaylin’s hand finds mine again as we approach the ICU doors. Her grip is surprisingly strong, her rings pressing into my palm. “Whatever we see in there,” she says quietly, “remember he’s still Zach. Still our Zach.”
I squeeze her hand in silent agreement, steeling myself as the doors slide open to reveal the controlled chaos of the intensive care unit.
Monitors beep, ventilators hiss, nurses move efficiently between beds.
And there, in the far corner, surrounded by machines that seem to dwarf his usually imposing frame, lies Zach.
* * *
The next day
The ICU room is bathed in early morning light when I jolt awake, my neck stiff from sleeping in the vinyl recliner.
For a moment, I’m disoriented, the steady beeping of machines pulling me back to reality.
I blink away the fog of exhaustion and focus on Zach, still unconscious but breathing on his own now.
They extubated him late last night after his oxygen levels stabilized, a small victory that had me openly weeping with relief when Dr. Patel delivered the news.
The ventilator is gone, replaced by a nasal cannula delivering supplemental oxygen.
His face looks less obscured now, more like himself despite the pallor and dark circles beneath his eyes.
I stretch carefully, wincing as my back protests the night spent in this chair.
The nurses bent the rules for me, allowing me to stay when visiting hours ended.
Professional courtesy, they called it, though I suspect it had more to do with the intimidating presence of Devil Souls members who’ve maintained a constant rotation in the waiting room.
“Good morning,” a soft voice says from the doorway. I turn to see Shaylin entering with two cups of coffee, looking as exhausted as I feel. “Thought you could use this.”
“Thank you,” I accept the cup gratefully. The warmth seeps into my hands, grounding me. “Any change while I was sleeping?”
She shakes her head, moving to Zach’s bedside. Her fingers gently brush his hair back from his forehead, a mother’s touch that makes my chest ache. “Nurses said he had a good night. Stable vitals. No fever.”
I nod, sipping the coffee, actual coffee from the café downstairs, not the terrible waiting room brew. The small kindness nearly undoes me.
“You should go home,” Shaylin says, settling into the chair opposite mine. “Shower. Eat something real. I’ll stay with him.”
“I’m fine,” I insist automatically, though my body screams for a proper bed and food that doesn’t come from a vending machine.
She fixes me with a look that reminds me so much of Zach that it steals my breath. “Xavier, you won’t do him any good if you collapse. He’d be furious if he knew you weren’t taking care of yourself.”
I open my mouth to argue, then close it again. She’s right, and we both know it.
“Just for an hour,” I concede. “Then I’m coming straight back.”
Shaylin’s smile is tired but genuine. “Butcher’s waiting outside to drive you. He won’t let you behind a wheel in your state.”
The thought of refusing doesn’t even cross my mind. After yesterday, arguing with Butcher about anything seems both pointless and ungrateful. I stand, stretching again, and move to Zach’s side.
His hand feels warm in mine, a vast improvement over the clammy coolness of yesterday. I lean down, my lips close to his ear. “I’ll be back soon,” I whisper. “Keep fighting.”
Outside, the hospital corridor is busy with the morning shift change.
I nod to the nurses I recognize, still unsure of my place here; no longer staff, not quite a regular visitor.
Butcher waits by the elevator, his massive frame making the space around him seem smaller.
He looks up as I approach, dark circles under his eyes evidence of his own sleepless night.
“Ready?” he asks, voice gruff with fatigue.
I nod, too tired for small talk as we ride the elevator down in silence. In the parking lot, he leads me to his truck, a black behemoth that suits him perfectly.
The drive to my apartment passes in a blur. I must doze off, because suddenly Butcher is gently shaking my shoulder. “We’re here,” he says.
My apartment building looks strangely unfamiliar, as if I’ve been gone for months rather than days. I fumble for my keys, aware of Butcher’s watchful presence behind me.
“I’ll wait,” he says as I unlock the door. “Take your time.”
Inside, the stillness of my apartment feels eerie after the constant noise and activity of the hospital. I move through the rooms on autopilot: strip off yesterday’s clothes, turn the shower to as hot as I can stand, stand under the spray until the water begins to cool.
Clean clothes feel like a luxury. I pull on jeans and a sweater, the soft fabric a comfort against my skin. In the kitchen, I force myself to eat toast, an apple, and a protein bar, knowing my body needs fuel even if food tastes like cardboard.
The entire time, my mind remains with Zach. Every minute away feels like a betrayal, though the rational part of me knows this break is necessary. I check my phone obsessively, though I know Shaylin would call immediately if anything changed.
“Ready to go back?” Butcher asks when he sees me hovering toward the door.
* * *
We walk into the hospital together, an unlikely pair united by our concern for the man lying upstairs.
In the ICU, we find Shaylin exactly where I left her, her hand covering Zach’s, her lips moving in what might be a prayer. She looks up as we enter, a smile breaking across her tired face.
“His fingers moved,” she says without preamble. “Just a twitch, but the nurse said it’s a good sign. The sedation is wearing off.”
I move to the bed, hope surging through me as I take Zach’s other hand. “Hey,” I say softly, squeezing gently. “I’m back. Just like I promised.”
For a moment, there’s no response. Then, so slightly I might have imagined it, his fingers curl around mine.
“Did you feel that?” Shaylin whispers, her voice tight with emotion.
I nod, unable to speak past the lump in my throat. I squeeze again, and this time the response is unmistakable, a definite pressure against my palm.
“Zach?” I lean closer, my free hand moving to cup his face. “If you can hear me, squeeze my hand again.”
The seconds stretch into eternity as we wait. Then his fingers tighten around mine, the pressure weak but deliberate.
“That’s it,” I encourage, my voice breaking. “That’s perfect. You’re doing so well.”
His eyelids flutter, a slight movement that sends my heart racing. I glance at the monitors. His heart rate has increased slightly, his oxygen levels holding steady.
“Zach, honey,” Shaylin says, her own voice wavering. “We’re here. Me and your dad and Xavier. We’re all here.”
Another squeeze, stronger this time. His eyelids flutter again, and this time they open just a sliver, but enough to reveal a glimpse of the warm brown eyes I’ve been desperate to see.
“Hey,” I whisper, smiling through tears I didn’t realize were falling. “Welcome back.”
He blinks slowly, confusion evident in his gaze as he tries to focus. Recognition dawns gradually, his eyes moving from me to his mother, then back again.
His lips part, but no sound emerges. I reach for the cup of ice chips the nurse left earlier, offering him one. “Slow,” I caution as he accepts it. “Your throat’s going to be sore from the tube.”
He swallows with visible effort, wincing slightly. When he speaks, his voice is a raspy whisper, barely audible over the beeping monitors. “You okay?”
The question is so typically Zach, concerned for others even when he’s the one in a hospital bed, and it nearly undoes me completely.
A laugh escapes me, half sob and half relief.
“I’m fine,” I assure him, brushing his hair back from his forehead.
“Everyone’s fine. You’re the one we’ve been worried about. ”
Confusion clouds his expression again. “What happened?”
I exchange a glance with Shaylin, uncertain how much to tell him in his fragile state. “You were shot,” I say carefully. “During the attack on the clubhouse. Do you remember?”
He frowns, eyes closing briefly as if searching for the memory. “Riggs,” he whispers finally. “Is he…”
“Dead,” Butcher confirms, moving closer to the bed. “You got him, son. The Reapers are scattered. Grey’s handling it.”
Relief softens Zach’s features. His gaze returns to me, eyes more alert now despite the pain medication I know is coursing through his system. “You stayed.” His fingers tighten around mine again.
“Of course I stayed,” I reply, the words catching in my throat. “Where else would I be?”
A ghost of his familiar half smile touches his lips. “Told you,” he whispers, eyes drifting toward his mother. “He’s mine.”
Shaylin laughs through her tears, squeezing his other hand. “We know, baby. We know.”