Chapter 28 - Ryker
RYKER
Boys, make sure when someone tells your wife they can’t rely on a man, yours has a reason to say fucking watch me.
—Sebastian Beneventi’s advice to Ryker and Maverick
Iwalk out of The Busy Bee with Bodhi’s hand in mine and Hendrix throwing an irritated glare my way. “Not my fault he likes me better.”
“You don’t have to tell him no. He’d probably like Barney the goddamned dinosaur better than me right now because I told him no more chocolate milkshake.”
“No way, right, little man?” I squat down in front of him and smile. “You want to go see Delaney with me?” I look over at the shop to see the lights off and wonder if I missed her already. Damn. Maybe we won’t be stopping by the shop after all.
“Things going well with you two?” Hendrix asks nonchalantly, like he probably hasn’t been dying to ask me that since we sat down at the diner. “You know . . . after everything with the asshole detective?”
I stand and run a hand through Bodhi’s mop of sandy blond curls. “Yeah, man. It’s good. Better than good.”
“I’m happy for you, Ryker. Don’t fuck it up,” the asshole fucking taunts me.
“Your kid’s going to start cursing any day now. You know that, right?” What the—
Detective Brooks slinks along the side of Love in Bloom, looking over his shoulder like he’s expecting someone to be behind him.
Or maybe like . . .
I give Hendrix Bodhi’s hand and jog across the street as the detective climbs into an oversized truck parked in front of the shop.
“Hey.” I slam my hand against his window. “What’s going on, detective? Did you need something?”
Quickly glancing between him and the shop, I miss whatever he says, too frozen as I watch flames lick up the front of the window of the shop. A pot hanging by a decorative rope falls to the floor as the rope catches fire, and I bolt.
“Hendrix,” I yell, not bothering to look back. “Call 911.”
People are already gathering in front of the shop. Neighbors. Customers. All shadows in my periphery as I try the door and grunt when it’s locked.
Voices meld together that I ignore.
Someone reaches for me, but I shrug them off.
I need to get in there.
The sign in the front window crashes to the floor next, flames engulfing it, and I make a split-second decision and sprint for the back.
An arm catches mine, and I yank and turn.
Hendrix. His mouth is moving, but all I see is the panic in his face as I grab his jacket. “Delaney’s in there. Tell the cops Brooks was just here. And keep Bodhi away.”
“He’s with my mom. Safe. You can’t go in there,” he signs and speaks all at once, big and sharp because he knows better than to half-ass it with me when my head’s in a war zone.
The world narrows for a split second, and I snap. “The fuck I can’t.”
I shove him back, and lunge for the door, needing to get to my wife.
“The fire department is close,” he tells me, grabbing for me again as the windows beside us shatter.
Fuck.
I shake my head and break his hold. “She’s in there. And I’m going to find her.”
He looks between the shop and the apartment. “You go upstairs, and I’ll check the shop.”
I nod and run one way, and he goes the other. The stairs are already cloaked in a haze of gray smoke as I hit the first step at a run and take them two at a time. Desperate to get to my wife.
The metal is already hot to the touch as I fly to the top and try the knob.
My stomach drops. It’s unlocked. She’s here.
I hit it with my shoulder instead of fucking with the red-hot knob and stumble inside when it cracks open. Smoke stings my eyes, hanging heavy in the air. “Lane!”
Nothing.
No answer. No movement.
Smoke hangs low across the ceiling, thick enough to sting my eyes and claw its way along my throat. Growing thicker by the minute. Closing in on me. Getting closer to the floor.
She has to be here.
Tunnel vision kicks in, and I don’t hear anything. Don’t see anything. I’ve got a solitary mission to find my wife.
The living room is empty. The table still set with the fruit bowl in the center. The one my girl never put fruit in.
“Delaney!” My voice rips my throat raw, smoke choking me as the floor shakes beneath me. I look around, dragging my shirt over my mouth, and drop lower, forcing air in through the smoke and panic. I make my way to the bedroom. Empty. The bathroom. Empty.
Fuck . . . I run to the kitchen. Please, baby. Please be in the kitchen.
I hit the edge of the room and freeze.
She’s on the floor, shoved up against the counter beside a box. Her hair is spread across the tile, blood pooling beneath her. And fuck, there’s so much blood. Too much blood.
Tori is there, curled against her chest. Her face tucked under Delaney’s. Her eyes wide and locked on mine. Like she’s scared. Like she’s been scared to leave her human.
No.
This isn’t happening.
It can’t be.
I’m on my knees before I feel myself move.
“Bambi . . .” Her skin is too pale under the soot dusting her face. A bruise is blooming along her temple. Her lips are parted. And she’s still. Too still. “Come on, Lane.”
I run my fingers along her neck, desperate to find her pulse beating beneath my touch, where it belongs. But it’s not. There’s nothing.
That can’t be right.
I flatten my palm over her chest, desperate to feel the rise and fall.
Still nothing as my world splits open and narrows to the tiny point of a pin.
I’ve got to get us out of here.
The floor vibrates beneath us, and I don’t know how much longer we have before it goes.
Carefully, so fucking carefully, I lift Lane in my arms and grab Tori’s leash. “Come on, girl. We’ve got to get out of here.”
I curl her against me, trying to use my body as a shield. Keeping the smoke away as I choke on it, trying to find my way back to the door. The floor feels soft under my feet as the first flames make their way into the apartment just before we make it outside.
The stairs sway beneath my feet as I carry Lane outside into the fresh air, her body unmoving under my hands. I lay her down in the parking lot, away from the building that’s going down any minute.
Tori never leaves our side. She comes to a stop, resting her head against Delaney’s hand.
“Please, baby. Wake up. Come on.” I run my hand over her head, looking for where the blood is coming from and pull it away, soaked. No. This isn’t fucking happening.
She’s limp. God, she’s so limp. And so small. So pale.
I tilt her chin, then pinch her nose and breathe for her.
Once. Twice.
Her chest rises beneath my hands and falls again, empty.
“Come on, baby. Come on. Breathe.”
I lace my hands together over the center of her chest and start compressions.
One. Two. Three. Four.
Her body rocks with each compression, her eyes never opening. And something in my heart shatters.
“Don’t fucking do this, Delaney.”
Five. Six. Seven. Eight.
My arms shake as Hendrix moves across from me. Black soot smears his face.
Nine. Ten. Eleven—
Sweat drips into my eyes as my arms shake and my wrists scream. “Breathe, baby. Breathe for me.”
I don’t stop when I feel her ribs crack. Don’t stop when Hendrix checks for a pulse and pulls back with pity in his eyes.
“Let me help. You breathe. I’ll do compressions.”
Switching, I breathe into her mouth two more times. Her lips are cold against mine. And I want so badly for her to wake up and smile. Wake up and laugh at whatever stupid thing I just said.
Just wake up.
I don’t know how long we go like this, waiting for the ambulance. For help.
I refuse to accept this as our fate. This isn’t how we end.
This isn’t how she ends.
“Please baby. Breathe.” I push two more beaths into her lungs and sit back, waiting for her chest to rise on its own. But it never moves.
I press my lips to her temple. To her head. To her lips.
Memories like snapshots flip through my mind. The first time I saw her in my jersey. The way her entire face lights up when she smiles. The way she clings to me while she sleeps. Cold feet tucked under mine, insisting she needs her space but burrowing closer anyway.
It’s too soon to be over.
Her life cannot be over.
I breathe for her again and again, forcing air into her lungs.
Tears fall from my eyes to her face, sending the soot down her cheeks in dark gray rivers.
“You promised me,” I break, the words ripping from my throat.
“Old and gray and surrounded by beautiful grandbabies. That’s our future, baby. You promised me that future.”
I gather her face in my hands and force the air into her lungs one more time. “Breathe for me. Take my air. Take my breath. Take it all. It’s yours. I’ll give it all to you if you just breathe.”
I press my head to hers, my heart breaking as anguish sits heavy, crushing my soul. “Don’t do this, Lane. Don’t fucking leave me.”
“Keep fucking going,” Hendrix demands between compressions. “Don’t you give up on her.”
I hear him. I hear every fucking word, and I feel each one in my goddamned soul.
I wait for him to pause and go again. Two more breaths. We do this two more times before I feel a faint pulse beating against her throat.
It’s faint, but it’s there.
Shit. She’s breathing.
I hold her face in mine, frozen, as the ambulance pulls behind the building.
Hands reach for her.
For me. And I nearly take their head off.
“No,” I argue, flashing back to the last time an EMT tried to pull me away from her. “I’m her husband.”
“Ryker, let them help,” Hendrix signs. “Help,” he repeats.
I get it. I do. I understand help. But my hands don’t get the memo.
My gut is still buried somewhere back on the kitchen floor where I found her.
Where I may have fucking lost her.
My body goes numb as I watch my wife loaded onto a gurney for a second time.
“How about we go get a cup of coffee from the cafeteria, son?” Dad leans against the wall across from me as Delaney sleeps between us, a tube down her throat keeping her airway open as oxygen is pumped into her lungs.
She coded twice before they got her to the hospital.
Twice where her heart stopped beating and I could have lost her.
But she’s here.
She’s fighting.
Even if she’s not awake to do it just yet.
“You need—”
“I need to be right here when she wakes up. That’s what I need. But thanks.”
I take her small hand in mine. Pale and cold. Always so cold. “How much longer before she wakes up?”
“It can be—”
I shake my head, stopping him. “You’ve been a doctor a hell of a lot longer than you were ever a football player, Dad. Just give it to me straight. Please. No one will give me any goddamn answers. How am I supposed to know what to do, or what to expect, if no one will answer me?”
My voice is raw from the smoke, from the begging and pleading and demanding she live.
It’s been nearly twenty hours since she was brought into Kroydon Hills Hospital. Nearly an entire day since they shoved that damn tube down her throat and forced her to breathe.
Twenty hours since I’ve left her side.
Thanks to family connections, my ass even sat in the hallway outside the MRI suite when she got her scan.
No damage beyond the cut that required seventeen stitches to close.
She caught it on something when she fell.
Amazingly, she walked away from there with a mid-grade concussion and no permanent damage.
It’s her lungs we have to worry about.
It took hours to clear the carbon monoxide from her body and get her oxygen levels up. Her lungs are swollen and irritated, but they’ll heal. It’ll take weeks. But she’ll breathe on her own again.
She’ll live.
And so will I.
I run my hand over her hair and kiss her cheek.
“I need her to wake up, Dad.” My voice cracks, and I look up at my father, expecting to see pity in his eyes. The few people who’ve been allowed in have all had the same look. But not Dad. His eyes are hard. They’re clinical.
“She’s going to, Ryker. But she’s going to do it when her body is ready. Don’t rush her. She needs this. Come with me. Let’s get out of this room for a few minutes. Get some fresh air.”
“Would you leave if it was Mom?” It’s a low blow, but I know the answer without him saying it, and so does he. When I look up at him, he shakes his head. It’s a small movement, but it’s there, and I appreciate the honesty. “Go. I’m fine. Maybe bring me back a coffee.”
“If you stay, I stay.”
“She’s my wife, Dad. You don’t have to stay. A coffee would be nice.” And so would a minute alone with Delaney.
“One day, you’ll have a family of your own, son. And then you’ll understand. You stay to give her your strength. I stay to give you mine. I’ll text your mother and ask if someone can get us some decent coffee.”
“Thanks, Dad.”