Chapter 19 #2
Doc rolled up the blanket, revealing my left arm encased in a brace the color of blue Gatorade.
“You took a big hit, Parker. Three broken ribs on your left side, one of which punctured a lung. Broken ulna. some superficial burns, and a lot of cuts. The lung’s already sealing up, shifter healing, you know.
The area of most concern was the head injury you sustained.
You had serious brain swelling that should have ended you.
It was there, then it wasn’t.” You’re a goddamn walking miracle.
Everything's healing quicker than…He checked the monitor by my bed. “Maybe Menace’s angel friend made a stop by the room,” he muttered to himself.
I tried to laugh, but it hurt too much. “Guess my luck is changing,” I said, and tasted copper at the back of my throat.
Doc handed me a cup with a straw. “Sip. Small sips.”
I drank, each swallow burning all the way down.
“You remember what happened?” Doc asked.
“Bomb,” I said. “Clubhouse. I went to check for Maddie. I was stupid. Got caught.”
Doc’s eyes went flat. “You weren’t stupid. You were brave.” Sounded like a compliment and not just a fact. “Most people wouldn’t have made it out. Or wanted to.”
I looked down at my hands. They were clean, but the skin was shredded in places, pink and shiny with healing. “I saw my mom,” I said. “I was pretty sure I was dead.”
Wrecker shifted beside me. “You weren’t dead.”
“I think maybe I was. Just for a minute.”
Doc pressed two fingers to my neck, counting the pulse. “Did she say anything interesting?” he asked, and I almost laughed at how clinical he made it sound.
I nodded, then winced. “She told me to listen.”
Doc’s lips quirked. “Good advice. Maybe you should try it more often.”
Wrecker glared at him, but Doc ignored it.
“How long was I out?” I asked.
“Twenty-four hours. Not the worst I’ve seen, but I’ll want to keep you here for at least another day. Two if you’re smart.”
I nodded. “I’ll be smart.”
Doc snorted. “That’ll be the day.” He finished his checks, made a note on the clipboard, and turned to Wrecker. “No strenuous activity for at least a week. And keep her away from power tools.” He left without waiting for a response.
Wrecker scooted his chair closer. He ran his thumb along my jaw, careful not to touch the bruised side. “You scared the shit out of me,” he said, voice low.
“Sorry,” I said, and meant it.
He didn’t say anything for a while. Just looked at me, like he was cataloguing every freckle, every cut, every inch of me.
“I heard you,” I said. “In the rubble. I heard you calling for me. That’s why I came back when I died.”
He shook his head. “You don’t have to make everything into a joke, Wren. Sometimes people just get lucky.”
“I’m serious. I wanted to stay. Because of you.”
He looked away, jaw working. “You’re not allowed to die before me,” he said finally. “That’s the deal.”
I tried to smile. “You planning on dying soon?”
His mouth twitched. “Not if I can help it.” He reached out and took my hand. “You’re not getting rid of me that easy.”
I squeezed his fingers, even though it hurt. “I don’t want to.”
He bent down, brushed his lips across my forehead. “Rest. I’ll be here.”
He stayed with me throughout the entire night. When I woke up, he was reading a battered paperback, his feet propped on the windowsill. When I asked for water, he was already halfway out of the chair. When I needed to puke, he held the basin and didn’t even flinch when some of it got on his arm.
The second day, I heard voices in the hallway. Bronc, low and furious, and Juliet, sharp as a knife. I caught the words “Greenbriar” and “retaliation.” I caught my own name twice.
I tried to get out of bed, but the pain was too much. When Wrecker came back, I said, “You need to let me help. I can hack the cameras, I can—”
He cut me off. “No. Not this time. You almost died, Parker. You’re sitting this one out.”
“You can’t just—”
“I can,” he said, voice gone dark. “And I am. You’re staying here, where you’re safe. Bronc can handle the rest.”
I wanted to argue, but my throat closed up. Maybe it was the drugs, maybe it was the ache behind my ribs, maybe it was just the sudden, absolute exhaustion.
“Fine,” I muttered. “But you better not let him do anything stupid.”
He grinned. “I’ll do my best.”
We watched bad TV for hours. He made fun of every commercial, every plot twist, until I was crying with laughter. He never let go of my hand, even when I dozed off.
Once, in the dead of night, I woke to find him asleep in the chair, mouth open, head back against the wall. He looked peaceful for the first time since we'd found each other again. I watched him breathe, slow and even, and realized I didn’t hurt as much as I thought I would.
The next morning, Doc cleared me for solid food. I demanded pancakes. I ate every bite, even though it tasted like cardboard.
I asked about Rocket again.
“Maddie’s bringing him by this afternoon,” Wrecker said. “She said he’s hogging the bed.”
I tried to picture it, and it made my heart hurt in a better way.
We didn’t talk about the war, or what was coming. We didn’t talk about the next move, or how much time we had before Greenbriar tried something worse.
For now, it was enough to breathe.
For now, it was enough to know that he was here, and so was I, and even if the rest of the world was burning, we’d survived this round.
I drifted off again, Wrecker’s hand wrapped around mine. The last thing I heard was his voice, soft and true:
“Rest, little bird. I’ve got you.”