Chapter 28 Piper
Riverside General's ER was chaos.
I pushed through the automatic doors and was immediately hit by the smell of antiseptic and coffee, that particular hospital smell that made my stomach clench. The waiting room was packed. A kid was crying in his mother's lap, two older men were arguing about something with the triage nurse.
I walked up to the desk, trying to look calmer than I felt.
"I'm looking for someone who was just brought in. From the fire on Maple Street. Liam Sullivan."
The nurse didn't look up from her computer. "Are you family?"
"I'm—" I hesitated. What was I? "A friend."
"I can't give out patient information to non-family members."
"He was injured saving people from a fire. He's a firefighter… a Captain. I just need to know if he's okay."
She finally looked at me, expression tired but not unkind. "I understand. But HIPAA regulations—"
"Please." My voice cracked. "I just need to know he's alive."
She studied my face for a moment. "He's being treated. That's all I can tell you. If you want to wait, the surgical waiting room is on the third floor."
Surgical.
The word hit me like cold water.
I nodded, not trusting my voice, and headed for the elevators.
This was fine. This was just me being a decent person. He'd saved Daniel—saved him—and I needed to make sure he was okay. That's what anyone would do, right? It didn't mean anything. Didn't change anything.
The elevator took forever. I stared at the numbers climbing and tried not to think about Liam on an operating table somewhere in this building.
The third floor waiting room was quieter. A few people scattered in chairs, most staring at their phones or the muted TV in the corner.
I found an empty seat and sat down, hands gripped together in my lap.
Now what? I just... waited? For what? News about someone who wasn't even mine to worry about anymore?
This was ridiculous. I should leave and go home. Daniel was fine, and Liam was in surgery, and there was nothing I could do here except sit in this uncomfortable chair and—
"Piper?"
I looked up.
A woman in her late fifties was standing there, purse clutched in both hands, eyes red. Next to her, a man about the same age, wearing a Riverside Fire Department t-shirt.
Liam's parents.
Oh God.
"Mrs. Sullivan," I managed. "Mr. Sullivan."
His mother’s expression faltered. "You're here."
I stood up, not sure what to do with my hands. "I just… I heard what happened. I wanted to make sure he was okay."
"They said surgery." Her voice broke. "They said his shoulder, and his ribs, and—"
Mr. Sullivan put his arm around her. His eyes met mine over her head. There was no anger there, just exhaustion and worry.
"He went into a burning building," he said quietly. "Alone. They told us he saved two people."
"I know," I said. "I heard."
One of them was Daniel. One of them was my ex-boyfriend who I broke up with just hours before this happened. But I wasn't going to say that to Liam's parents.
Mrs. Sullivan wiped her eyes. "Of course he did. Of course he went in." She looked at me, really looked at me. "I didn't think we'd see you again."
The words hung there between us.
"I didn't think I'd be here either," I admitted.
We sat down together. It was awkward and stilted, three people who used to be something like family and now didn't know what to say to each other.
Mrs. Sullivan twisted a tissue in her hands, Mr. Sullivan stared at the wall, and I counted the tiles on the floor.
This was a mistake. I should just leave and give them space. This wasn't—
"He talks about you," Mrs. Sullivan said suddenly.
I looked up.
"Not to us, of course, not directly. But your name comes up. Especially when he’s talking with Scott. How you're doing. If the bakery's successful." She met my eyes. "He keeps track."
I didn't know what to say to that.
"He's trying," Mr. Sullivan added. "To be… to do better. I don't know if that matters to you—"
"It doesn't," I said quickly. Too quickly. "I’m sorry."
Mr. Sullivan nodded slowly, like he'd expected that answer.
We went back to silence.
An hour and forty minutes later, a surgeon in blue scrubs emerged through the double doors.
We all stood at once.
"Sullivan family?"
"Yes," Mr. Sullivan said, stepping forward. "How is he?"
"He's stable. We repaired a fractured scapula and removed some debris from the shoulder wound. He also has three broken ribs and significant smoke inhalation, but his lungs are clear. He's going to be fine."
Mrs. Sullivan made a sound—half sob, half laugh.
"He's unconscious right now," the surgeon continued. "The anesthesia should wear off in the next few hours. We're moving him to a room. You can see him soon, but only immediate family for now."
"Of course," Mr. Sullivan said. "Thank you, doctor."
The surgeon nodded and disappeared back through the doors.
Silence settled over us, the words ‘only immediate family’ hanging between us.
I wasn't family, not anymore. Maybe I never really had been.
This was my cue to make an excuse and leave. This was their moment, their son, their—
Mrs. Sullivan sat back down, dabbing at her eyes with the tissue, and Mr. Sullivan squeezed her shoulder.
Neither of them looked at me or said anything.
But neither of them suggested I leave either.
Twenty minutes later, a nurse appeared and gestured to the Sullivans. "You can see him now. Room 347."
We all stood.
The nurse glanced at me, then at Mr. and Mrs. Sullivan. "Family only, I'm afraid."
"She's family," Mr. Sullivan said simply.
The nurse looked between us—me, clearly not their daughter, still in the clothes I'd worn to dinner hours ago. She hesitated.
"She's family," Mrs. Sullivan repeated, firmer this time.
The nurse's expression softened slightly. "Alright. Follow me."
"He's still unconscious," she said. "But you can go in. Just keep it quiet."
The Sullivans went in first. I hung back in the doorway, suddenly unsure.
God, what was I doing here? Liam wasn't mine to worry about, wasn't mine to visit, wasn't—
Mrs. Sullivan looked back at me. "Come on, honey."
I stepped inside.
The room was dim, just one light over the bed. Monitors beeped steadily, and an IV drip hung from a pole.
Liam was there, lying still against white sheets. His shoulder was heavily bandaged, his chest wrapped. His face was pale under the oxygen mask, dark circles under his closed eyes. He looked smaller somehow. Vulnerable in a way I'd never seen him.
The Sullivans stood on one side of the bed. I stayed near the door.
"He's going to be okay," Mrs. Sullivan whispered, more to herself than to us.
Mr. Sullivan squeezed her hand.
I stared at the face of the man I'd almost married. The man who'd cheated on me, lied to me, destroyed our entire future.
The man who'd gone into a burning building to save my ex-boyfriend without knowing we'd broken up.
I thought of Jenna too. Of walking into Station 47 with cupcakes and finding him with his hands in her hair, her legs wrapped around him. The way my heart had shattered. The way I'd spent months putting the pieces back together.
I'd hated him for that. Still hated him for that.
But now he was here. Unconscious, bandaged, having risked his life for someone he thought mattered to me.
Was he different? Or was this just another version of the same man—impulsive, reactive, making grand gestures instead of doing the daily work of being decent?
I didn't know.
I didn't know anything anymore.
"We'll give you a minute," Mr. Sullivan said quietly.
I started to protest, but they were already moving toward the door.
"Just a minute," Mrs. Sullivan said, squeezing my arm as she passed.
Then I was alone with him.
I stood there, listening to the monitors beep, watching his chest rise and fall under the bandages.
"You're an idiot," I whispered. "You could have died in there."
He didn't answer. Just kept breathing, steady and slow.
I wrapped my arms around myself. "This doesn't change anything. You know that, right? You saving Daniel doesn’t… it doesn't undo what you did. Doesn't make us okay."
The monitors beeped.
"But..." I stopped. Swallowed hard. "Thank you. For saving him. Even if you thought… even though you didn't know…”
I couldn't finish the sentence.
I stood there for another moment, then turned toward the door.
I was halfway there when I heard it.
"Piper…”
My heart stopped.
I turned back, pulse hammering in my throat.
He was still lying there, his eyes closed, the monitors still beeping their steady rhythm.
I waited.
Nothing.
His chest rose and fell. The oxygen mask fogged slightly with each breath.
He hadn't woken up. Just... mumbling. Unconscious. Whatever anesthesia dreams people had.
I let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding.
I left before he could say my name again.