Chapter 39 #2
Ford stared up at the ceiling and said a silent prayer of thanks. He was alive, somehow.
He let out a slow breath. “Damn,” he whispered.
“Damn is right,” Hunter’s voice came from the door.
He stared at the ceiling while his mind tried to catch up with his body. Every part of him hurt. His ribs continued to protest every breath. He shifted slightly and immediately regretted it. “…Not doing that again.”
Beside him, Véronique stirred. Her hand tightened slightly around his arm before her eyes fluttered open. She simply blinked at him as realization dawned. “You woke up.”
Ford managed a weak smile. “Apparently.”
She pushed herself up onto one elbow. “I told Dr. Hunt you would.”
Ford raised an eyebrow. “You did?”
“Yep.” She studied his face carefully, like a small doctor evaluating a patient.
“Does it hurt?”
Ford considered lying then decided she’d see through it. “Yeah.”
“Okay.” She seemed satisfied with that answer. Véronique glanced across him toward the plastic bin. The baby still slept, undisturbed by any of this. “Baby Ford’s good.”
Ford turned his head slightly to look at the newborn again. “Yeah?”
“Dr. Sam says he’s strong.”
Ford let out a slow breath. “Good.”
Véronique leaned her head lightly against his shoulder again, careful not to press too hard. “You saved him.”
Ford stared at the ceiling, the memory returning in pieces. The storm. The building. The birth. Nadya’s voice. The baby in his arms. The water rising.
“Team effort,” he murmured.
Véronique shook her head. “Nope. Mr. Flynn said you saved his momma too.”
Ford didn’t argue. The door burst open, and footsteps rushed into the room. He didn’t have to turn his head—he knew to whom the footsteps belonged. The air in the room changed the moment Eira entered.
She stopped just inside the doorway and didn’t move. She looked exactly the same and completely different. Exhaustion lined her face. Her hair was pulled back loosely, and there were faint shadows beneath her eyes. But she was standing there, and he was still alive.
Ford gave the smallest crooked smile. “Hey.”
Eira crossed the room in three long steps. “You idiot.” Her voice broke halfway through the sentence.
Ford blinked. “That’s not usually the first thing people say when you wake up.”
She grabbed his hand. Her grip was tight enough that he could feel the tremor in it. “You stayed.”
Ford exhaled slowly. “Yeah.”
“You almost died.”
“Also true.”
Véronique looked between them curiously. “Mr. Rourke told him not to.”
Ford glanced down at her. “It was a good backup plan.”
Eira didn’t laugh. Instead, she looked down at him carefully, the way surgeons look at patients they’ve spent hours fighting to save. “You scared everyone.”
Ford met her eyes. “I’m sorry.”
Neither of them spoke. The baby made a small sleepy noise from the bin, drawing five pairs of eyes.
Ford let out a breath. “Saved by the coo.” He glanced at Eira again. “I guess we’re all here.”
Eira nodded slowly. “Yes, we are.”
Hunter stood a few feet back, leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed, expression just shy of innocent.
Eira narrowed her eyes. “You did this.”
Hunt tilted his head. “Did what?”
Eira turned back to the scene, then back to him. “Three patients. Different wards. Different protocols. And somehow they all ended up here.”
Hunter pushed off the wall, walking in like this was a normal afternoon. “Well,” he said thoughtfully, “Véronique required ‘emotional stabilization.’”
Eira didn’t respond.
“Kavi insisted on ‘monitoring the situation,’” Hunter continued. “Very official about it.”
“And the baby?” Eira asked.
Hunt glanced at the bassinet. “That was more of a… logistics issue.”
“Logistics.”
“Hard to argue with skin-to-skin warmth in a high-stress recovery environment,” he said.
Eira stared at him. “You reassigned a premature infant.”
“I relocated,” Hunt corrected mildly. “Temporarily.”
Véronique shifted slightly, tightening her hold on Ford like she had no intention of letting him go anywhere. Kavi glanced up at Eira, completely unfazed. “We’re helping.”
Of course they were.
Eira exhaled slowly, one hand coming up to her temple. “You bypassed every nurse on this floor.”
Hunt shrugged. “They’re busy.”
“You’re impossible.”
He smiled. “You’re welcome.”
Eira looked back at Ford. At the children. At the baby. At the steady rhythm of the monitors. This should not work. None of this should work. And yet, Ford’s vitals were steady.
For the first time since the storm, the room felt completely still. The moment held for only a few seconds before the door opened again.
Liana stepped in, eyes quickly sweeping the room.
It was quite a scene. Ford was awake, Véronique was leaning against him, the newborn was still sleeping beside him in the bin, Kavi was sitting at the bottom of the bed, and Eira was standing over it with Ford’s hand in hers, Hunter at the other side.
Liana exhaled. “Well, that answers that.” She crossed the room briskly. “Alright, troops.”
Véronique looked up. “What?”
Liana gently lifted the plastic bin from the bed, cradling baby Ford carefully against her hip. “Time to clear the operating theater.”
“This isn’t an operating theater,” Véronique protested.
Liana smiled. “It is when Dr. Eira is about to examine Mr. Ford.” She pointed toward the hall. “You two.”
Kavi straightened immediately. “Us?”
“Yes, you and Dr. Hunt.”
Véronique frowned. “We’re helping Mr. Ford wake up.”
“You did,” Liana said kindly. “And it worked.” She nudged them gently toward the door. “Now you can help by letting Dr. Eira do her job.”
Véronique hesitated, then leaned carefully toward Ford. “Don’t fall asleep again.”
Ford gave a faint smile. “I’ll try not to.”
Kavi gave him a quick nod of approval before following Véronique out into the hallway. Hunt walked around toward Eira, kissed her on top of her head and followed the kids out.
Liana carried the newborn, pausing briefly at the door to glance back at Eira. “You’ve got him.”
Eira nodded. Liana pulled the door closed behind her, and the room became still again.
Ford looked up at Eira. “I see Véronique and Kavi are better.”
Eira slipped into full doctor mode. “Don’t move.”
Ford raised an eyebrow. “I wasn’t planning?—”
“Ford.”
He stopped talking. Eira adjusted the overhead light and reached for the stethoscope resting on the bedside tray. “Deep breath.”
Ford attempted one. It turned into something halfway between a breath and a grimace.
“That’s… ambitious.” Eira listened carefully to his lungs. “Again.”
He tried. The breath caught halfway through.
Eira moved the stethoscope across his chest and back again. “Good air movement.”
“That’s encouraging.” Ford coughed and groaned.
She pulled the blanket down slightly to expose the bandage across his ribs. The surgical dressing covered most of the left side of his chest where the incision curved beneath his arm toward the center of his sternum. Eira peeled the edge of the dressing back just enough to inspect the wound.
Ford watched her face. “You’re doing the quiet surgeon thing.”
She didn’t look up. “What quiet surgeon thing?”
“The one where you don’t say anything while deciding whether I’m dying.”
“You’re not dying this time.”
“Good.”
She replaced the bandage carefully and re-secured the tape.
Ford studied her. “You slept?”
“Only a little.”
“Thought so.”
She finally looked at him. “You’ve been unconscious for four days.”
Ford blinked. “Seriously?”
“Yes.”
“That seems excessive.”
Eira’s hand rested briefly against his wrist. “You’re lucky to be alive.”
Ford gave her a tired half smile. “I figured.”
She met his eyes. “Don’t do that again.”
Ford’s eyebrow rose. “No promises.”
Eira shook her head. “Idiot.”
Now she was smiling, just a little.