Chapter 46
“Drive faster, Declan, or I swear I’m going to skin you alive.”
The recruit, no, the crow, simply nods, ignoring my threat. It’s probably for the best. I’m losing my shit as Delilah remains unconscious, lying in my arms. Possibly dying.
Fuck.
The words reverberate in my head, making my body go cold. She’s dying. My reason for living is dying.
“Faster, damn it!” I shout.
“X, calm down.” June places a hand on my arm, but I shake it off. “She’s going to be okay.”
“You don’t know that,” I snap, my gaze trained on Delilah. Her features are slack, her lips parted, and her face ghostly pale. She looks peaceful, but it’s a facade. I swear I can feel her slipping away from me, her pulse weakening with every heartbeat.
Declan makes a sharp right turn, and I pull my girl closer, shielding her with my body. She moans, a tiny, broken sound, and my very soul fractures.
“Delilah, please fight this.”
She doesn’t respond. The car lurches forward, and we speed up, the headlights of other vehicles blurring as we pass them.
“Where the hell are we going?” June asks Declan. “You’ve passed two hospitals already.”
“I have to go to the clinic on Mayberry so X won’t be found. The staff there is loyal to me, not my father.”
“How much longer?” I ask.
“Two minutes.”
“Make it one.”
Before I completely lose it, we’re at a small, private hospital on the outskirts of town. As soon as we arrive, a nurse and two orderlies wheel out a stretcher, and I take Delilah to them. When they reach for her, I jerk back, ready to fight them. My instinct to protect her is hard to override.
“It’s okay, X. They’ll take care of her,” June says softly, placing a hand on my arm. She’s either really brave or very stupid.
Reluctantly, I hand Delilah over to the medical staff, my fists at my sides shaking with the urge to snatch her back. I follow the nurses inside, watching as they transfer her from the stretcher onto a gurney. She looks so small, fragile, her features too pale, her breathing too shallow. If possible, she appears worse off than when I stabbed her.
One of the orderlies turns to me. “You can wait here. The doctor will be right with you.”
I almost laugh. “If you think I’m not going with her, you’re in for a rude awakening.”
The man gives me a tight-lipped smile. “It’s hospital policy. Only patients are allowed inside the room.”
“You will make a fucking exception.”
“I’m sorry, sir, I can’t do that.”
“She’s part of the Kent family,” I lie.
He holds my gaze for a moment before looking away. “Oh, I didn’t realize. I’m sorry, sir. I’ll let the staff know.”
June’s voice comes from behind. “Where’s Declan?”
I don’t bother looking at her. I can’t take my eyes from my little raptor. “He’s bringing the car around.”
“Is there a waiting room?” June asks.
“Yes,” the orderly says. “Take a left, and it’ll be the first room on your right. You can’t miss it.”
“Thank you.”
He nods, then he and the other orderly wheel Delilah away, with me right on their heels. She’s taken to a private room, a large one with several machines and a large bed. The Kent name goes a long way here.
“What’s the situation?”
I turn at the sound of a voice, finding a middle-aged man in a white lab coat. He’s tall and wiry, with dark, close-cropped hair and glasses.
“She passed out,” I say.
“How long has she been unconscious?”
“About fifteen minutes,” I answer him, while keeping my eyes on the nurses who bustle in and out of the room.
The doctor nods, scribbling something quickly on a clipboard before turning his full attention to Delilah. “We’re running an ECG and getting her blood drawn for cardiac enzymes. We need to rule out a myocardial infarction or any arrhythmias that might have contributed to her condition,” he explains, his tone professional yet not devoid of empathy.
I watch helplessly as they attach electrodes to Delilah’s chest. The steady beep of the cardiac monitor fills the room, each tone a lifeline to her current state. A nurse adjusts the IV line they’ve inserted, while another checks the monitors displaying her vital signs. Their efficiency is a small comfort, but the sight of Delilah so still, so vulnerable, fucking wrecks me.
“Will she be okay?” I ask, my voice breaking slightly under the strain of staying composed.
The doctor meets my gaze, his expression serious as well as reassuring. “We’re doing everything we can right now. Her vitals are stable, which is a good sign, but we’ll know more once we get the test results back. It’s good that you brought her in immediately.”
I nod and turn back to Delilah, taking her hand in mine, her skin cool and pale against my own. The room seems to pulse with the rhythm of the machines, a symphony of medical technology that I can only hope will assist in bringing her back to me.
Guilt gnaws relentlessly at my conscience. If I hadn’t told her about Ben, she would still be smiling, laughing, teasing me with that sparkle in her eyes. My choices constrict me, a heavy cloak of responsibility that I can’t shed. My disclosure shattered the fragile peace of her world, and now, I worry it might cost her much more than either of us could have imagined.
I’m roused from my spiraling thoughts by the sound of the door swinging open. The doctor enters, a stack of papers in his hand that likely holds more weight than the mere paper they’re printed on. His face is somber, and as he approaches, I steel myself for the news, every muscle tensed in dread.
“We’ve completed the initial tests.” He pauses, ensuring he has my full attention, though he’s had it since he crossed the threshold. “The ECG revealed significant underlying issues. Her cardiac enzymes are elevated, which indicates there was some damage to her heart muscle. It appears she suffered a severe cardiac event, likely exacerbated by acute emotional stress based on the limited information we have.”
The words hit me like a physical blow. My role in this—my failure—is clear. But before I can drown further in self-reproach, the doctor continues.
“Given the complexity of her condition and the results we’ve seen, I’ve called in a specialist. A cardiologist has just arrived and will be taking over her care and diagnosis management from here.” He gestures toward the door where a figure in a white coat is just entering, carrying a sense of urgency and purpose.
The cardiologist, a woman with a sharp, intelligent gaze, approaches and shakes my hand firmly. “I’m Dr. Laine. I’ve been briefed on Delilah’s condition, and I’ll be coordinating her care moving forward.
“We’re going to start with a comprehensive cardiac workup,” Dr. Laine explains, flipping open a tablet to review some notes. “This includes an advanced echocardiogram to assess the extent of the damage to her heart, and possibly a cardiac MRI if needed. We need a full picture of her heart health to tailor our approach effectively.”
I nod, absorbing every word while wanting to kill something. Or someone.
“Based on her current condition, we might need to add new medications to help manage her symptoms and stabilize her heart function,” Dr. Laine continues, her eyes scanning the data on her screen. “The only medication she’s on is the pill, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Hmm. Her medical records are sparse. I’ll come back when I have more information.”
Dr. Laine exits the room after that, leaving me with my thoughts. I have no idea what’s wrong with Delilah and it’s driving me insane. The only thing I do know is I contributed to her current state and it’s killing me.
The door swings open, and Declan steps in. He surveys the room quickly, his eyes finally settling on me, his expression grim. “X, how’s she holding up?”
I rub the back of my neck, fatigue pulling at my muscles. “It’s serious. They’re talking about a full cardiac workup.”
Declan’s brow furrows deeply at the news. “Damn, I’m sorry to hear that, man. If there’s anything I can do?—”
“You’ve done enough by just bringing her here,” I say. “I can’t ask for more than that, not when you’ve provided both protection and healthcare.”
He glances at Delilah, then back at me. “I’m going to grab some clothes for us, maybe hit the showers. After that, I’ll be back, and we’ll figure this shit out.”
“Thanks.”
Holding the clothes Declan brought,I turn to face him. He’s standing by Delilah’s bedside, his expression somber while vigilant.
“Declan, I’m trusting you to watch over her,” I say. “You’re the only one I can rely on right now.”
He nods, understanding the depth of what I’m asking. “She’s in safe hands. Go on and get cleaned up. I’ve got this.”
The warmth of the shower is a small solace, a brief reprieve from the world outside. I scrub away the grit of the past hours, preparing for whatever comes next.
Refreshed but still carrying the stress of the situation, I put on the clean clothes, more than ready to return to Delilah’s side. Stepping out of the shower room, the return to reality hits hard with the sterile smell of the hospital and the muted beeps of machinery.
As I make my way back to Delilah’s room, Dr. Laine meets me in the hallway before following me inside. Her expression is professional, but the slight downturn of her lips speaks volumes before she even begins to deliver her update.
“We’ve completed our evaluation, and I have some important information about Delilah’s condition.”
I nod, bracing myself.
“Based on the comprehensive cardiac workup, it’s clear the patient has a congenital heart defect that wasn’t documented in her medical records. The myocardial infarction she experienced damaged her heart to the point that medication alone will not be sufficient.” The doctor pauses and takes a deep breath. “She needs a heart transplant. It’s the best course of action to ensure her long-term survival and quality of life.”
The words land like a blow, despite the preparation I’d given myself. “A transplant,” I repeat slowly, reality settling in. It’s a daunting prospect, filled with risks and uncertainties.
“Yes, a transplant,” Dr. Laine says, her tone firm. “We need to start the process immediately to get her on the transplant list. Time is critical in these situations.”
A heart transplant. This isn’t just a close call to heal and move past; it’s a life-threatening situation that Delilah will have to deal with, and it’s one I’ve inadvertently hastened.
I nod, barely processing her words about next steps, about referrals to specialists, and about the importance of keeping her stress levels meticulously controlled. All I can see is Delilah, all I can hear is the echo of her laughter in my mind, now overlaid with the incessant beeping of machines.
As Dr. Laine prepares to leave, I catch her by the arm. “How long does she have?”
The doctor turns back to me, her eyes wide. “It’s difficult to give an exact timeframe. It depends on many factors including her overall health, the effectiveness of the current medical management, and the progression of her heart disease. I suggest?—”
I shake her. “Give me a fucking answer.”
“The truth is, without a transplant, we’re likely looking at months rather than years. Every case is unique, but given Delilah’s current state and the progression we’ve seen, her heart is under severe strain.”
I release the physician, swallowing hard.
Months. Not years.
“We’re doing everything we can to manage her symptoms and prevent any further damage,” Dr. Laine continues. “But it’s crucial we proceed with the transplant evaluation quickly. The sooner we can get her on the transplant list, the better her chances.”
I nod, clenching and unclenching my fists.
She takes a step back. “As for finding a donor match, it involves a complex evaluation process. We need to match blood type, tissue type, and size of the organ to ensure the best possible outcome. Delilah will be placed on a national transplant list, and her position will be determined based on the severity of her condition and her overall health.”
“The search for a suitable heart can be quick, or it can take time,” Dr. Laine adds. “We also must prepare for potential rejection of the transplant, so she will need immunosuppressive therapy post-transplant to help her body accept the new heart.”
My head pounds as I digest this information. “And until then? Can she die from another heart attack?”
Dr. Laine nods. “There is always a risk, especially in severe cases like Delilah’s. Her heart is already weakened, and yes, she could deteriorate before a suitable donor is found. That’s why our immediate goal is to stabilize her, manage her symptoms, and prepare her body to be as strong as possible for the transplant.”
The thought of losing Delilah before we even have a chance to fight for her recovery is unbearable. Agony in its purest form.
“We will monitor her very closely,” Dr. Laine says. “She’ll be in the intensive care unit where we can give her the best care available. We’re also going to start her on a new regimen of medications to support her heart function and reduce the risk of further damage until a donor can be found.”
“What can I do?” I ask, feeling helpless but needing to do something, anything that might save Delilah.
“Keep her calm at all times.”
Fuck. That’s the one thing I can’t do.