Chapter 39
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
“He’s barely hanging on.”
“Blunt trauma to the head.”
“Possible abdominal hemorrhaging.”
Medical terms snapped from all around, and it was as if she were alone in the dark, walking through a tunnel being hit everywhere all at once.
Emily reached for the wall at her side as she followed the swarm of people surrounding the gurney—surrounding Liam.
“We’re losing him!” another voice yelled as two wide double doors opened for the gurney.
“Miss?” A hand touched her shoulder, stopping her progress. A nurse, maybe? “You can’t come back here. I’m sorry.”
Emily held her arm in front of her face to block out the beam of light shining in her eyes.
“Are you okay?”
“I have to go with him,” she said, feeling drunk and in a daze once the flashlight was gone.
“I’m sorry. We’re taking him into the operating room now. Waiting room is down the hall and around the corner.”
She stared at the woman. Not blinking. Not moving. Shock spiraling through her.
When the doors closed inches from her face, her hand went to her stomach as she fought away the rise of bile in the back of her throat.
She pivoted to the side and backed up against the wall and slid down to the cold linoleum floor. She wrapped a hand around her throat in a futile attempt to soothe the rawness inside.
She’d been thirteen when her dad’s military helicopter crashed.
Jake had just thrown a game-winning touchdown. The running back had lifted him to his shoulders to parade Jake around the field, and Emily had cheered from the stands. Proud of her big brother.
But not even a minute later, Jake’s gaze had zipped lightning-fast across the field, and she’d followed his eyes. Her hands had fallen to her lap at the sight of two of their dad’s friends from the Army standing off to the sides of the bleachers talking to her mom.
Her mom’s hand was over her mouth. Her head bowed.
Bad news had been delivered, and Emily’s heart had slowed to a dull achy throb—life without her dad? How could her heart keep beating?
But her dad survived the helicopter crash. Somehow . . . he’d survived.
The waiting for news during his surgery had been brutal, though. All she’d been able to do back then was rock in place, an attempt to hang on, to keep it together.
Rock and rock and rock.
Jake had never wanted to follow in their dad’s footsteps. He’d wanted to be a teacher. Coach high school football.
And she’d never believed she could be like her mom—the wife of a man who put his life on the line.
But Jake didn’t play football or teach. He served in the Marines.
And now Emily was her mother.
In this very moment—she was the spouse hoping for good news—and it’d never occurred to her for a second when she began to fall for Liam she couldn’t be with him because of his job. That hadn’t been her fear, even though it’d been one for Liam.
But now . . .
“Emily. You okay?”
Everything was so white. The floors. The walls. So sterile and cold. But the place reeked not of surgical soap but of death.
Her stomach tightened. Little black dots appeared in her line of sight.
Stay strong, damn it. Be strong.
“Emily, you okay?”
The crushing pain in her chest advanced throughout her entire body. She dragged her eyes north to the sound of a familiar voice.
“Knox?” She tried to shake off her stupor—that loopy, semi-drowsy sensation, like the time she’d woken after her laparoscopic endometriosis surgery, hit her.
“He’s still alive,” Knox said. “You need to focus on that.”
He was crouched before her. Blood on his tee. On his hands and forearms. Liam’s blood.
“I need to be with him.” She grabbed a tissue from the box Knox held out to her and wiped at her runny nose.
“Have faith. Believe in him. That man is way too stubborn to die on us. Besides, he just found you. He’s not going anywhere.”
“I can’t lose him, Knox.” She sniffled, sucking in air as she fought for a deep breath.
She’d been raised by a woman who’d remained stoic and brave all those years while her father had served, and maybe Emily hadn’t planned on becoming her mom—but she hadn’t planned on meeting Liam, either.
She couldn’t lose him. Not now. Not like this. She hadn’t had a chance to tell Liam she loved him.
“He made me promise I’d let him go if something ever happened, but this is . . . no, I can’t.”
“You won’t have to say goodbye. You got it? We’re not losing him,” he said, his voice deep. Full of grit.
Knox moved to sit beside her and stretched his legs out, setting the tissue box on his lap. “Can you tell me what you know?” she asked once she’d gained better control of her breathing and slowed the tears somewhat. “And tell me the truth.”
He turned his head to the left and looked into her eyes.
“I’m hoping he was climbing down the steps to leave the tower when the missile hit, which would mean there was some space between him and impact before he got blown back.
” His eyes were now on his hands. On the blood.
“No organs were punctured from what I can tell. No real external injuries aside from the gash on his head.”
“And what about internal injuries?” The wounds they couldn’t see were usually more dangerous, weren’t they?
“When there’s an explosion,” Knox began, “the blast wave causes an intense over-pressurization impulse. Shockwaves travel through the body, resulting in rapid compression and expansion, pushing on the organs of the body.”
“What-what are you saying?” She rubbed at the sharp throb beneath her breastbone, and her throat burned like she’d gulped a shot of whiskey and it’d gone down the wrong pipe.
“It’s a severe trauma for air-filled organs. Lungs, ears, the GI.” He was quiet for a moment and finally looked her way. “The fluid-filled cavities, too. Like the spinal cord and brain.”
“There was a lot of blood coming from his head,” she whispered.
“Don’t think about that. Focus on the fact we were able to keep blood flow to the brain on the way here. He had a pulse when the helo landed, and so—”
“Thank you. If it weren’t for you he might not have even made it here.”
After a moment, he said, “I’d hold your hand, but the blood . . .”
She reached for his palm, anyway. “I’m sorry. I’m being selfish. You shouldn’t be comforting me—he’s your brother. Family.”
“We all love him.” Emotion threatened. He was trying to keep it together for her. But beneath that hard exterior she could see the pain. The worse-than-hell pain.
She eyed that damn stark white wall on the other side of the hall again. Her limbs heavy.
“I was wrong. I know that now,” he spoke up after a few minutes passed.
“What?” She looked away from the wall.
He forced a tight-lipped smile, his eyes narrowing in the process.
“At the reception in Vegas, I told Liam not to leave with you. I didn’t want to see you get hurt.
” He cleared his throat, his eyes beginning to glaze as if he was on the brink of shedding a few tears himself.
“I was wrong, and I’m so glad he didn’t listen to me. ”
Emily gripped Knox’s hand tighter, but before she could answer, Harper approached them from the other side of the hall.
“He’s in surgery.” Knox let go of her hand and stood.
She stared at her palm, traces of blood there now.
Knox’s back was to her as he talked to Harper, their voices hushed. And when he bowed his head and brought his hands to his hips, she knew whatever Harper was telling him couldn’t be good.
“What is it?” She forced herself upright, using the wall as support, so her legs didn’t give out.
Harper sidestepped Knox. “The president ordered Hans back to the base to catch a flight to Dover. Elaina, too.”
Jessica and Luke had taken Elaina with them from Elliott’s compound, but Emily thought they were going to bring her to the hospital.
Elaina couldn’t leave right now.
“No!” She held her hands in front of her as if she could somehow make Harper’s statement go away. Push it back.
“Hans refused to leave without Elaina. The president spoke with the PM and obtained clearance for them to go back to the U.S. immediately,” Harper explained. “POTUS has to ensure there’s been no breach of intel at NORAD.” She gripped Emily’s bicep. “I’m so sorry.”
“This can’t be happening.” She turned out of Harper’s reach, lifting her eyes to the ceiling. The color as blank as her thoughts.
“The president wants this situation wrapped up without media attention, or before the British authorities get wind of who we actually are.” Harper removed her Yankees ball cap and clutched it between her palms. “We’re not supposed to be on-scene during the aftermath of an op.”
“But I didn’t say goodbye to her.” Emily whirled back around, her face pinching to the point of pain as she struggled not to break down again. “What if Liam . . . she needs to be able to say . . .”
“Everything will be okay. It has to be.” Harper reached into her pocket and offered her a folded piece of paper. “Elaina said to give this to you.”
She slid her palm over the side of her jeans, trying to remove the blood before she took the paper and unfolded it. Her eyes became glossy again at the words before her. “It’s, um, a letter for Liam.”
“Why does the weather always match my mood?” Emily stared at the River Thames out the waiting room window. No sight of the sun. A dark, angry sky. Rain pattering onto the river. “It’s like someone else is writing our story. Setting the tone,” she murmured. “They know how the story will end, and—”
“No.” Knox strode next to her and peered out the window. “That would imply we have no control over what happens, and I don’t believe that.” He rested a hand on her shoulder.
She wanted it to be true, but lately, nothing seemed to be in her control. A frustrating helplessness, especially now, washed over her.
It’d been six hours and nine minutes since the doctors had taken Liam into emergency surgery. She’d noticed every tick of the clock. Every second that passed.
“Do surgeries always take this long?” She turned toward the room.