Chapter 43 Harper
HARPER
“He’ll be okay.” Faith wrapped an arm around my shoulders.
We sat in the cold, sterile waiting room of Mercy Harbor, surrounded by the sharp scent of antiseptic and unspoken terror.
Knox’s friends had all arrived within the hour.
Jace clung to Scarlett, clearly shaken by how quickly life can change.
Tessa sat to my left, her hand warm on my knee, while her husband, Blake, worked beyond those double doors as an ER doctor.
Axel followed Dakota as she paced the length of the room, his usual sarcastic humor buried beneath a veil of worry.
Even Ryker, who’d tried to be the voice of reason, was nervous as hell, picking at his thumbnail like it owed him money.
“You don’t know that.” I wiped a tear from my cheek, hating myself for what I’d said to him.
How could I have accused him of choosing anything over me? Knox was literally willing to risk life in prison if it meant keeping me safe. And what did I do? Judge him for it. Criticize, accuse him of not caring enough about me.
I hurt him deeply.
And now, I might not get the chance to make it right.
It was sad, how sometimes we don’t realize how much we care about someone until their life hangs in the balance.
“We should have an update by now,” I said, my voice tight.
“He regained consciousness in the ambulance,” Faith reminded me gently.
“Knox has a hard head,” Ryker added. “In case you didn’t notice.”
His attempt to lighten the mood failed spectacularly.
All I could do was stare at those double doors and wait. As a nurse, I knew far too well that regaining consciousness didn’t guarantee survival. Internal bleeding. Brain swelling. A dozen other horrific possibilities that my medical training insisted on cataloging.
Suddenly, the doors burst open, and Blake walked toward us.
I stood on trembling legs, studying his face as he approached, searching for any sign of what he was about to say. Knox’s friends and sister gathered around, and we all listened with bated breath.
“Is he okay?” I asked.
“CT shows a concussion, but no brain bleed. X-rays reveal two cracked ribs, but no pneumothorax.” Blake’s clinical tone was both reassuring and maddening. “Knee is badly bruised, but no torn ligaments.”
No bleed. No collapsed lung. No surgical intervention.
My nurse brain translated Blake’s clinical rundown into three words: He’ll survive this.
But my heart was still catching up.
“So, he’ll be okay?” Ryker pressed.
“He’s stable but will need monitoring with neuro checks for the next forty-eight hours.”
“So, he’ll stay here.” I nodded, relief flooding through me. Here, where Blake worked as a doctor, thus he could demand the absolute best care.
Blake’s face fell. “His injuries are serious, but not life-threatening. I pulled strings to keep him here for two more hours, but that’s all they’ll allow. Hospitals don’t keep inmates longer than necessary. It’s a liability, increases security costs, and uses bed space.”
My eyes burned. Poor Knox. First, he was beaten within an inch of his life.
Then cuffed like an animal while he was too injured to even open his eyes.
And now, despite needing serious medical surveillance, he was, in the eyes of the hospital system and maybe even society, a stain that needed to be cleaned up and moved along as quickly as possible.
“Thank you,” I managed over the lump in my throat.
“They’ll be transporting him back to the prison,” Blake explained.
“I’ll stay with him there,” I decided. “I’m an experienced nurse with neuro deficits. And I don’t trust the understaffed night shift to catch warning signs.”
That’s what I said out loud. And it was true.
But the bigger truth was that I was worried about him in a way that terrified me. I didn’t trust anyone else to keep as close an eye on Knox as I would.
Blake nodded.
“Let me get you some food,” Faith offered.
“No.” I was already walking toward the doors. “Thank you.” I turned, looking at the friends who loved Knox as much as …
As much as I did.
Holy shit.
I loved him.
I loved Knox.
“I want to get his bed ready,” I said. “Make it as comfortable as possible.”
“He’s lucky to have you, Harper.”
My eyes welled with tears. No, he wasn’t. This was all my fault. If I hadn’t broken his heart, maybe he wouldn’t have been in a fight.
I could only hope it wasn’t too late for him to forgive me.