Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
RUBY
There was so much blood.
Every time I close my eyes, I can see it.
Micah, lying gray-faced and motionless while Cole worked to stop the blood pumping out of him.
The red soaking his shirt.
The blood smeared all over the floor.
The hole in his chest.
A small moan escapes at the memory.
There was a hole in Micah’s chest. Where Henry shot him. Where Micah took a bullet that was meant for me.
Because it’s my fault. All of it. Because of Henry’s crazed obsession with me, Micah and Houdini were almost blown up. Micah was shot.
I clap my hand over my mouth to keep another moan from sneaking out.
The man I love—no, not falling, I’m already there—was shot because of me.
“He’ll be okay,” Rogue assured me as the paramedics loaded Micah onto the stretcher. “I’ve seen a lot of bullet wounds. This one isn’t too bad.”
But how can a bullet wound be not too bad? It wasn’t some little graze on his arm. It was a hole. In his chest.
There’s a lot of important stuff in there. The heart. Lungs. Arteries. What if the bullet hit one of them?
Tears turn the falsely cheerful wallpaper into a wash of blues and yellows. It’s hard to swallow past the giant lump in my throat. My fingers pick at the torn vinyl covering the cushion of my chair. I know I shouldn’t make the tear even worse, but I can’t make myself stop.
The hospital waiting room is packed full of Micah’s friends and coworkers; some of them silently waiting for news, others quietly talking.
Jester and Wraith are sitting across the room from me, their heads bent close together while they look at something on Wraith’s phone.
Houdini is standing by the water cooler, drumming his fingers on the water tank while he scowls at nothing.
Cole—who turned out to be a pretty competent medic—is talking with another Fox I come close to crying again.
I want Micah. I want to bring him home and take care of him and promise I’ll never let him get hurt again.
I press my hand to my aching chest. I bite my lip until I taste coppery blood.
Please be okay, I plead silently. Please.
Dad, I add, if you’re listening, can you please help Micah? I love him. You would love him too, if you met him. If there’s anything you can do, can you please bring him back to me? I love him too much to lose him.
For all my efforts, tears sting my eyes. A sob swells large in my chest.
“Hey.” A hand lands on my shoulder, heavy but gentle. When I turn, I find Wraith looking down at me with concern. “How are you holding up?”
Swallowing hard, I reply, “I’m okay.”
He studies me. “You don’t seem okay.”
I grip the windowsill hard. “It doesn’t matter how I feel. All that matters is Micah.”
His mouth compresses into a frown. “How you feel matters.”
“Not right now, it doesn’t.”
Wraith’s dark gaze sweeps over my face. Then he says, “Let’s go out in the hallway for a minute.”
There seems no good reason to argue—I’ll see the doctor either way—so I let Wraith maneuver me through the waiting room and into the hallway. Once we get out there, he puts both hands on my shoulders and turns me to face him.
“He’s going to be alright,” he says. “Where he got shot, it’s a good spot. Comparatively.”
“You don’t know that,” I retort. “You didn’t see the—” My voice breaks. “You can’t say he’s going to be alright. You don’t know.”
Wraith gives me a long look. Then he nods. “No, I don’t know for sure. Not a hundred percent. But I’ve seen a lot of injuries. I know which ones are really bad.”
“What if there’s a complication?” I ask. “What if… I don’t know. But things happen. I thought my dad was fine. Healthy. And then he just died. Right in front of me.”
“Ruby.”
“I know it’s my fault,” I sob. “But Micah shouldn’t have to suffer because of me. Micah is brave and kind and amazing and he deserves a long, healthy life. And now—”
“He will.” Wraith holds up his hand when I start to respond. “This isn’t your fault, Ruby. None of it is.”
“But—”
“But nothing. It’s that sick fuck’s fault. He did it. He’s responsible. Not you.”
“If I’d noticed…”
“No.” His voice is firm. “Guys like that, they’re a ticking time bomb. If it wasn’t seeing you with Knight, it would have been something else. At least the way it happened, Knight was there to stop it.”
“And get shot because of it.” Blinking away tears, I hold Wraith’s gaze. “Henry was going to kill Micah because of me. Sampson, too. How is it not my fault?”
“It’s not. Trust me.” His expression turns even more solemn. “I’ve seen some awful shit, Ruby. Shit I wish I could erase from my memory. Shit I feel guilty about every single day. I’m an expert in it. So I can tell you, with absolute certainty, that this is not your fault.”
My gaze dips to the floor. “I don’t know.”
“I do. And another thing. Knight’s going to be feeling guilty, too. He shouldn’t. But he will, because that’s the man he is.” When I look up at him in surprise, he adds, “It’s not your fault, or Knight’s. Don’t let the guilt come between you. Talk to him about it. And make him talk to you.”
My throat goes tight. “I just want to see him.”
Wraith pats my arm. “I know. And you will.” The faintest hint of a smile touches his lips. Then he turns me around so I see the doctor striding down the hallway towards us.
My heart skips. It could be nothing. He could be on his way somewhere else.
But as soon as he spots me, he makes a beeline in my direction. “Miss Ashe?”
His somber expression makes my legs go weak. If not for Wraith’s solid grip on my arm, they might collapse under me. “Yes?” I whisper.
“I figured it was you,” the doctor says. “Your fiancé said to look for the woman with curly red hair.”
At Rogue’s urging, I told the hospital staff that Micah was my fiancé. I wasn’t sure about lying, but Rogue insisted it would be okay. “Micah would do the same thing,” he explained. “This way, you can see him first. And trust me, you’re the first person he’ll want to see.”
It takes a second for what the doctor said to register. “He told you I have red hair?”
The doctor—Doctor Garrison, according to his nametag—nods. Then he smiles. “He did. He was very insistent that I find you first. She’s going to be so worried, he kept saying. Make sure you talk to Ruby first.”
“I’m Ruby,” I whisper. “Is he okay?”
I’m vaguely aware of Micah’s friends closing in around us, listening. But I can’t concentrate on anything besides finding out about Micah.
“He’s doing well,” Doctor Garrison replies. “There was some muscle damage, and his collarbone was nicked by the bullet. But the damage shouldn’t be permanent.”
“How is he?” I ask.