28. Corm
Chapter 28
Corm
H elpless.
When we join the others, an administrator is waiting for us. I guess Mom being on the board got many people an early wake-up call.
“Mrs. Quinn, I’m sorry to have kept you here. We have a waiting room set up for you. From what I understand, they will be transferring Ms. van den Linden to the post-op soon, and the doctor will come to give you an update,” he informs us.
I want to remind him that Saar is no longer Ms. van den Linden, but I refrain, because with the other Mrs. Quinn present, it would only cause confusion. And it would not help Saar anyway.
Helpless.
We’re all corralled into a boardroom, where trays with fruit, bagels, and fresh coffee are waiting like this was a business meeting.
“This is the best we could do,” the administrator apologizes, but I tune him out and walk over to the window, ignoring the others.
But my need for solitude is interrupted immediately. I more sense than see a small figure beside me. In the window’s reflection, I recognize Saar’s friend with the weird amateur pixie haircut.
Is it Cora or Lily? I should know that. I should have cared about her life more. Fuck, I’m going to have these women over at my house regularly from now on.
Lily or Cora doesn’t say anything, and I don’t quite know how to react, so I grumble. “If you say everything is going to be okay—”
“I wasn’t. Not because I don’t think everything will be okay. It will. But I’m sure you’re probably sick of hearing that.”
Something tells me she speaks from experience. “Then—”
“I didn’t come to say anything. Words are meaningless in these kinds of situations. I came to stand here because I know Saar wouldn’t want you to be alone.”
I whip my head to her, stunned. Well, she may think words are meaningless, but her words just tilted my world on its axis.
“I thought I made her life miserable.” I shamelessly fish for some confirmation that Saar told her friend… I don’t know what. Something she didn’t tell me.
“Well, you both rode that hate train with honor.” She giggles. “But in the last few weeks, you made her happy. I think she makes you happy, too.”
“She does.”
We turn to stare at the awakening city in silence. Behind us, chairs squeak, coffee is poured, things are moved, but nobody talks.
Helpless.
Everything is happening in a silent choreography, where everyone is exhausted by the waiting and uncertainty. On the background of that soundtrack of worry, I’m grateful for my current company.
“I’m Lily, by the way,” she offers.
Shit. “How did you know?”
“You might make my friend happy, but you’re still an asshole.” She giggles.
I chuckle humorlessly, and want to vow to her I will protect her friend better from now on, but the door opens and I whip around.
“Oh.” A man in scrubs with a mask pulled down to his chin looks around the room, probably taken aback by the number of people.
“Dr. Freedman, you can speak freely,” my mother says gently, like she is in charge here. “It’s just the immediate family.” She smiles confidently, as if she knows everyone in the room besides me. And the doctor, apparently.
“Mrs. Quinn?” he asks, and she nods.
I guess they didn’t know each other, but someone warned him a board member was here. I wonder if that’s a good thing.
I also wonder if my domineering tendencies don’t come from my mom, but I file that thought to digest later and focus on the surgeon who looks too exhausted.
“Is she okay?” The words rasp my sore throat.
He steps in, the door closing behind him. My chest feels tight as he takes a cup of coffee from my mom.
Seriously, we’re going to host a party now? What the fuck? He’s been here for half a minute, and I feel like I lost several lifetimes.
“She sustained two injuries—one to her upper arm, which required surgery to repair the muscle and tendons, and a second, more superficial wound to the head.”
Yes, fucker, I know that. I squeeze the back of the chair in front of me in a white-knuckle grip.
“The head wound?” I choke out, dreading and clinging to his every word, a cold weight settling in my stomach.
He glances at the chart he’s been holding. “The bullet grazed her skull, causing laceration and concussion. Fortunately, it didn’t penetrate her brain. She did, however, sustain some trauma to the scalp and skull. We’re monitoring her closely for any signs of swelling or bleeding. As of now, she’s stable.”
I shake with pent-up anxiety, struggling to process his words. “As of now?” My voice comes out rough, barely controlled.
“Right now, the primary concern is physical recovery. She will require physiotherapy to regain full mobility of her arm. The head injury is more unpredictable. We’ll need to monitor her for neurological function once she regains consciousness.”
The knot in my chest that has been depriving me of oxygen since the first gunshot tightens. Panic rises, but I try to breathe through it.
“What does that mean?” Celeste asks.
“Emotional trauma is not uncommon in victims of violent incidents,” Freedman says. “She could develop symptoms of PTSD, flashbacks, anxiety, difficulty to process what happened.”
The words hit me right in the solar plexus, cold sweat trickling down my back. My beautiful Saar—so strong, so fierce—might wake up with her body shattered, and her mind locked in a nightmare.
Never in my life have I felt this powerless.
“What does she need now? What do we do?” Finn steps forward, his voice shaking with anger.
“She needs rest," the doctor replies, his voice steady. “We’ll keep her sedated for the next several hours to give her body and brain time to heal.”
“When can I see her?” I start toward the door before he gets a chance to answer, grinding my jaw so tightly it aches.
“I will have to insist that only one or two of you stay with her.” He looks around the room again, his gaze stern, ready to throw the group out if we protest.
“I’m her husband,” I growl.
“For fuck’s sake. It’s not a real marriage,” Finn snaps.
Somewhere behind me, my mom gasps.
Freedman’s eyes widen. “I’ll send a nurse here while you choose who is staying with Ms. van den Linden.”
“Mrs. Quinn. She’s my wife,” I roar at the doctor who rushes out.
“Cal and Celeste should stay with her,” Finn says. “Celeste is her best friend.”
“I’m her fucking husband, and I’m staying with her.”
Celeste groans, standing up. “I’ll stay with her, but I’m sure she would want Corm by her side.”
Finn and Cal glare at her, and then at me.
“Jesus, the three of you.” The other friend—this must be Cora—stands between us. “Their marriage is not so fake anymore. So lay off, the two of you. We’ll stay here, and Celeste will text us updates.”
Cal huffs. “The marriage is real?”
“What the fuck?” Finn glowers at me.
“Finn van den Linden, sit fucking down right now,” his wife orders. I like her instantly.
The nurse comes in, and with no further altercation, Celeste and I follow her.
Saar’s chests moves evenly. I’ve been staring at that even, peaceful movement for twenty-four hours.
I’ve been clinging to it like it’s the only thread that connects me to my sanity. To some sort of solace.
Celeste left to catch some shuteye, but I refuse to move from her bedside. Livia sent meals that are left uneaten on the windowsill. Everyone kept texting me, so I turned off the phone.
Time stretches and collapses at the same time, while I sit here suspended in a vacuum of fear, doubt, and anxiety.
Never have I felt this broken.
Never have I felt this insignificant.
Never have I felt this hopeful.
Never have I wanted to switch places with anyone this much.
When we’re out of here, I’m taking her on vacation. I’m taking her on all the dates she deserves.
I’ve been making plans for us to pass the time and focus on the good, the future, on us instead of the uncertainty.
Fuck, I hate uncertainty.
The door opens quietly, and Celeste comes in. She is worried, but looks rested, wearing a different dress.
She takes a chair on the other side of the bed and lifts her eyebrows in question. I shake my head, and she understands.
“No change is good, too,” she murmurs, rubbing her belly.
“I’m going crazy here,” I admit.
“Go outside for a moment—”
“No.” I would rather go through Hell and back than leave her side. “They lowered the sedatives; she could wake up any minute.”
We sit in silence while I continue staring at Saar’s breathing chest like it’s my lifeline. It is.
“I never liked you,” Celeste says.
“I don’t particularly care.”
She snorts. “But you cracked her veneer, so I guess I will have to accept you.”
Again, like with Lily, I’m a man starved for validation. “Her shell is thick; the hairline fracture I might have caused is not enough yet.”
“Her shell is, but her skin is thicker, so that may be to your advantage.”
I frown, momentarily moving my gaze from Saar.
“She knows how to deal with assholes.” Celeste shrugs, a ghost of a grin on her face.
“Thank you for your vote of confidence.” I miss the silence before she returned.
She chuckles now. “What I’m saying is that she is tough, toughened by people in her life and by her career. A weaker man would never get through her walls, so I guess I do approve.”
I never wanted her approval, but fuck, I didn’t realize how much I needed it. “Thank you for telling me.”
“You better treat her like the fucking queen she is.”
I smile; these women will be the death of me. But Celeste’s words quicken my pulse, regardless.
Returning my gaze to Saar, I tense. Am I imagining it? Her breathing is more labored. Her hand is twitching.
Celeste perks up, noticing the change as well.
“Fuck, my head hurts,” Saar rasps, and I gasp, a mixture of relief and a different level of worry lodging inside my chest.
“Saar,” Celeste whispers. “Let me call the doctor.” Celeste stands to reach for the call button.
I grab Saar’s hand, taming my need to squeeze it too tight.
Her eyelids flutter like she is trying but failing to open her eyes.
“Baby.” I swallow a sob and kiss her forehead.
Saar frowns and finally pries her eyes open. The dark blue of her eyes is the most mesmerizing sight I’ve ever seen—even though her pupils are dark, still dilated from the medication.
She blinks a few times and then looks around, probably not sure where she is. Her eyes land on Celeste, and the panic on her face subsides slightly.
Mine, on the other hand, reaches a new high when she rasps, “What the fuck is he doing here?”