Chapter Thirty-Four Khai
Chapter Thirty-Four
Khai
Beep… beep… beep…
“Hello, Khai.”
Beep. Beep. Beep.
My head feels thick, heavy, like I’m trying to surface from deep water.
Where am I?
“It’s day nine.”
Why does everything sound muffled? Distant. Like I’m hearing it through layers of glass.
“You’ve been extubated today.”
Pain blooms everywhere at once. Not sharp, dull and consuming. It presses into every part of me.
“The doctors are very optimistic about your prognosis.”
My body feels like it weighs a thousand kilos. I can’t move. Can’t respond.
“I hope today is the day.”
Beep. Beep. Beep.
The sound grows louder, faster.
I feel like I’m floating upward, breaking through the surface inch by inch. Sounds sharpen. Light bleeds through the darkness. And then,
A scent.
Something sweet. Familiar.
Perfume.
“He has been here every day,” the voice says, closer now.
That voice.
Soft. Clear. Angelic.
The beeping spikes.
“What’s happening?” familiar voice says urgently.
Warmth touches my shoulders, hands grounding me, anchoring me. The contact sends something through my body, steadying my breath.
“Khai?” The voice wavers. “Can you hear me?”
“I’m paging Dr. Gorman. I think he’s waking up.” I hear footsteps leave the room in a rush.
I force my eyes to move. Once. Twice. It feels impossible, but I push anyway.
I need to see her. She feels like…
“Heaven,” I murmur as my eyes finally open.
She’s right there.
Those eyes. Perfect lips shaped into the softest smile I’ve ever seen. My smile, smile meant for only me. Golden hair pulled into a messy bun, loose strands framing her face. Her hands are still on my shoulders. Alive. Breathing.
The world stills.
She smiles, warmth lighting her features. “Not quite heaven,” she says gently. “Welcome back, Khai. You’re at St John’s Hospital.”
The door opens, breaking the moment, and her hands fall away as a doctor steps inside.
“Welcome back, Mr Blackwood,” he says, flipping through the chart at the end of my bed. “I’m Dr. Gorman.”
He turns to her without looking up. “Miss Winters, please order a CT, MRI, EEG, and full blood work for Mr Blackwood.”
“Right away, Dr. Gorman,” she replies, as she starts to leave the room.
She pauses in the doorway, glancing back at me over her shoulder before disappearing down the hall.
Time loses its shape, bending, breaking, until nothing makes sense. Bright lights burn above me. Scans. Tests. Needles biting into my skin. More blood drawn than I can track.
Faces hover, disappear, return again. It all becomes noise.
Because she is the only thing my mind will hold onto.
I keep asking for her. Over and over. My voice grows hoarse with it. The doctors and nurses murmur reassurances, we’ll send her in, she’s being checked, try to rest, as if any of that can quiet the storm tearing through my chest.
My heart won’t slow. It feels like it’s trying to escape my ribs, pounding with terror and disbelief. None of this makes sense.
She was just there.
In my arms.
Lifeless. Cold. Gone.
And yet,
She’s alive.
Breathing.
Real.
The truth settles slowly, trembling and fragile, like it might shatter if I breathe too hard. My Little Heaven. Still here. Somewhere beyond these walls, beyond the fear and machines and waiting.
And until I see her, until I know, nothing else matters.
The door bursts open.
Jaxon staggers in first, and for a moment I barely recognise him. He looks carved down to bone, unshaven, eyes hollow with exhaustion, his right bicep wrapped tight in blood-stained bandages. He follows my gaze and gives a humourless huff.
“Bullet graze,” he mutters. “Barely worth mentioning.” Then his voice cracks, just slightly. “I can’t believe you’re awake. We thought we lost you.”
“We?” I echo, my throat raw, my voice barely more than breath.
Jaxon’s eyes flick toward the door. Guards stand rigid outside, silhouettes of protection and warning. For a heartbeat, I think he means them.
“Yes,” he says softly. “We.”
The door opens again.
My heart stutters, then slams violently against my ribs as if it’s trying to escape my chest entirely.
Liam steps inside.
The world tilts.
His eyes find me instantly, and whatever strength he’s been clinging to dissolves. Tears brim, spill, leave him wrecked and unguarded as he takes me in, alive, broken, breathing. My mind refuses the image. My brother. My twin. Here. Real.
Alive.
The machine beside me erupts into frantic beeping as my pulse spikes, panic and disbelief colliding in my veins. I can’t look away from him. I can’t blink. If I do, I’m terrified he’ll disappear again.
Liam crosses the room in a handful of strides, urgency written into every movement. He grabs my hand like he’s anchoring himself to something solid, his grip warm, shaking.
“Khai,” he says, voice breaking as it wraps around my name. “It’s okay. You’re safe. Just, just breathe. I’ll explain everything.”
And for the first time since the world fell apart, I let myself believe that maybe… just maybe… not everything that was lost is gone forever.