Chapter 17 Hospital Promises
Don't Leave Me
Hospitals had their own kind of silence.
Not true silence.
A different one.
Machines beeped.
Voices echoed down hallways.
Shoes squeaked across polished floors.
Yet beneath all of it existed a strange stillness.
A feeling that lives were changing behind every closed door.
Some getting better.
Some getting worse.
Some hanging somewhere in between.
I hated it immediately.
Mostly because Jaxon lay on the wrong side of one of those doors.
The emergency surgery had lasted nearly three hours.
Three hours of waiting.
Three hours of pacing.
Three hours of imagining every possible outcome.
None of them good.
Mason and Rhett stayed with me through most of it.
Even Nico arrived eventually.
The sarcastic mechanic spent nearly an hour pretending he wasn't worried.
Nobody believed him.
Not even Nico.
By midnight, the doctors finally emerged.
I stood so quickly my chair nearly tipped over.
The surgeon looked exhausted.
But not devastated.
The difference mattered.
"He'll be okay."
The relief hit hard enough to make my knees weak.
I grabbed the edge of a chair.
Steadying myself.
Breathing.
Actually breathing for what felt like the first time all night.
The doctor continued speaking.
Something about blood loss.
Internal injuries.
Recovery time.
I heard maybe half of it.
The only words that truly mattered were the first three.
He'll be okay.
Everything else felt secondary.
A nurse eventually escorted me to his room.
The walk seemed endless.
Every step filled with nervous anticipation.
Fear.
Hope.
Guilt.
Too much guilt.
Because deep down, I knew the truth.
Jaxon hadn't been hurt by accident.
He'd been hurt protecting me.
The realization sat like a stone inside my chest.
Heavy.
Permanent.
The nurse stopped outside a private room.
"He'll be asleep for a while."
I nodded.
Unable to trust my voice.
Then stepped inside.
The sight nearly broke me.
Jaxon looked smaller somehow.
Not physically.
Emotionally.
The hospital bed.
The bandages.
The IV lines.
Everything felt wrong.
Unnatural.
Jaxon belonged in a garage.
Covered in grease.
Arguing with customers.
Pretending he didn't care about people.
Not lying unconscious beneath fluorescent lights.
For several moments, I simply stood there.
Unable to move.
Unable to look away.
Then slowly crossed the room.
Pulling a chair beside the bed.
His face looked pale.
Tired.
There was a bruise near his temple.
Bandages wrapped around his side beneath the thin hospital blanket.
The sight reignited fresh anger.
At the Vipers.
At the attack.
At everyone who kept dragging him back toward a past he'd fought so hard to escape.
Most of all, I was angry at myself.
Because somewhere along the way, I had become one more thing he felt responsible for protecting.
The thought hurt.
A lot.
I reached out carefully.
Taking his hand.
His fingers felt warm.
Solid.
Real.
Thank God.
A quiet knock interrupted my thoughts.
I looked up.
And immediately sighed.
My father stood in the doorway.
Of course he did.
Because apparently life wasn't difficult enough already.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then he stepped inside.
The room felt noticeably smaller.
"I heard what happened."
His voice sounded softer than usual.
Almost human.
Almost.
I looked back at Jaxon.
Not interested in having this conversation.
"Dad."
The single word carried enough meaning.
Unfortunately, my father ignored it.
"He nearly died."
I closed my eyes briefly.
Because hearing those words aloud hurt.
More than I expected.
When I opened them again, my father remained exactly where he'd been.
Watching.
Waiting.
Concerned.
Not for Jaxon.
For me.
The distinction mattered.
"Elliot."
His voice softened.
Something rare for him.
"Come home."
The request settled heavily between us.
Not because it surprised me.
Because it sounded sincere.
For once.
No campaign managers.
No advisors.
No strategy.
Just a father worried about his son.
The problem was that he still didn't understand.
I looked toward Jaxon.
Toward the man lying in that hospital bed.
Then back toward my father.
"I'm already where I need to be."
Pain flashed briefly across his face.
Gone almost immediately.
Yet I saw it.
The same way I'd seen every other emotion tonight.
Raw.
Unfiltered.
Real.
For a moment, he looked older.
More tired.
Less like Senator Reed.
More like Dad.
"I don't want you dragged into this."
The confession sounded honest.
Finally.
At least that.
I swallowed.
Then answered quietly.
"I wasn't dragged."
His jaw tightened.
I continued anyway.
"I chose this."
The words hung between us.
Simple.
Final.
True.
My father understood immediately.
The realization appeared in his eyes.
Slowly.
Painfully.
Like watching someone lose an argument they desperately wanted to win.
Neither of us spoke.
Eventually, he nodded once.
A small movement.
Resigned.
Then turned toward the door.
Before leaving, he paused.
Looking back one final time.
At me.
At Jaxon.
At the choice I'd made.
Then he left.
The door closed softly behind him.
Silence returned.
Thank God.
I looked down at Jaxon's hand still resting in mine.
The room felt different now.
Quieter.
Safer.
For a long time, I simply sat there.
Watching him breathe.
Listening to the monitors.
Thinking.
About everything.
The storm.
The garage.
The breakup.
The attack.
The months leading here.
The months ahead.
Eventually, exhaustion settled heavily across my shoulders.
Yet sleep felt impossible.
Because there was still something I needed to say.
Something I'd been carrying for too long.
Maybe because life had a way of reminding you that time wasn't guaranteed.
Maybe because almost losing him had stripped away every remaining fear.
Whatever the reason, the words refused to stay buried.
I squeezed his hand gently.
Then leaned forward.
The room remained quiet.
Only us.
Only truth.
"I know you can't hear me."
My voice sounded rough.
Emotional.
Honest.
The kind of honesty heartbreak leaves behind.
I smiled sadly.
"Actually, that's probably a good thing."
The confession earned a tiny laugh.
One that quickly disappeared.
I looked at him.
Really looked at him.
At the man who'd changed everything.
"You were wrong."
The words came softly.
Certain.
"You've always been wrong about one thing."
Emotion tightened my throat.
Still, I continued.
"You keep acting like loving people destroys them."
My gaze dropped briefly.
To our joined hands.
Then returned.
"But loving you never ruined my life."
A tear slipped down my cheek.
I ignored it.
"The best parts of my life started when I met you."
The truth settled heavily in the room.
Beautiful.
Painful.
Real.
I thought about the storm.
The highway.
The stranger who'd stopped his motorcycle and changed everything.
Then smiled through fresh tears.
"I still love you."
The words felt inevitable.
Like finally exhaling after holding my breath for months.
"I never stopped."
Silence followed.
The steady rhythm of hospital machines filling the space between sentences.
I brushed my thumb gently across his knuckles.
The gesture felt familiar.
Comforting.
Home.
"You can push me away."
Another tear escaped.
"I'll probably yell at you later for it."
A weak laugh followed.
Then faded.
"But I'm not leaving."
The promise settled into the room.
Quiet.
Unbreakable.
"I love you, Jaxon Kane."
The confession hung in the air.
No fear.
No hesitation.
No audience.
Just truth.
For a long moment, nothing happened.
Then I felt something.
A slight movement.
Tiny.
Almost imperceptible.
My breath caught.
I looked down instantly.
Jaxon's fingers twitched against mine.
Just once.
Small.
Weak.
Real.
Hope exploded inside my chest.
And for the first time since the attack, I allowed myself to believe that maybe this wasn't the end of our story.
Maybe it was only the beginning of a new chapter.
Wake Up
The first thing I noticed was the pain.
The second was the voice.
One of those things bothered me significantly less than the other.
Pain, I understood.
Pain made sense.
I'd spent most of my adult life collecting injuries.
Broken ribs.
Dislocated shoulders.
Concussions.
Knife wounds.
A body like mine came with mileage.
The voice was different.
Because I knew that voice.
And if I was hearing it, one of two things had happened.
Either I was dreaming.
Or Elliot Reed was sitting somewhere nearby.
The possibility felt impossible.
Yet strangely comforting.
For several seconds, I remained suspended between sleep and consciousness.
Listening.
Trying to make sense of the world.
Machines beeped steadily.
Footsteps echoed somewhere in the distance.
Hospital.
The realization arrived slowly.
Followed immediately by memory.
Fire.
The garage.
The attack.
A flash of metal.
Elliot.
Panic surged through me.
My eyes opened instantly.
Regretted it immediately.
The bright lights overhead stabbed directly into my skull.
"Easy."
The familiar voice arrived again.
Closer this time.
Real.
Definitely real.
I turned my head.
Slowly.
Carefully.
And there he was.
Elliot sat beside the bed.
A book rested in his lap.
Dark circles shadowed his eyes.
His hair looked slightly messy.
His clothes were wrinkled.
Like he'd been living in the hospital for days.
The sight hit harder than any pain medication.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
We simply stared at each other.
The silence felt enormous.
Filled with things neither of us knew how to say.
Then Elliot smiled.
And every single thought disappeared.
"Hey."
The word came out quietly.
Softly.
Like he'd been waiting forever to say it.
Maybe he had.
My throat felt like sandpaper.
Dry.
Raw.
Destroyed.
Still, I managed one word.
"Hey."
His smile immediately trembled.
Just slightly.
Enough.
The realization struck instantly.
He'd been worried.
Terrified.