Chapter Forty-Seven Reed
Chapter Forty-Seven
Reed
Ten hours later, the seventh floor of the hospital continued to hold its collective breath.
The low hum of the fluorescent lights, the footsteps echoing down the hall, and the steady rhythm of beeping from screens in the nurses’ station were the only constants.
Everything else remained suspended as we waited for Gwen to open her eyes.
I rested my back against the wall in the hall, keeping my distance from where Easton hovered outside Gwen’s room alongside his sister, Juliette.
His face was battered, mottled with bruises, his arm in a sling, crutches tucked underneath him to take the weight off his bad leg.
But he’d survived, and he’d heal with a few months of PT.
Now we needed Gwen to wake up and for the doctors to deliver good news, preferably before her father, Wyatt Pierson, arrived, which would be soon.
I’d been with Hollis all night and morning, sleeping in the bed with her at her insistence.
Her brothers had shown up about fifteen minutes ago, fortunately when I was sitting next to her and not in her bed, so I’d wandered into the hall to give them privacy. I assumed they planned to talk to her about Lyra.
I swiveled my ball cap backward and shoved away from the wall at the sight of Constantine returning with our coffees. His son balanced the tray while Constantine pushed a baby stroller.
I stole a look at Illiana asleep as Constantine handed me my coffee. “She’s—”
“A gift from God,” Constantine finished for me while freeing a cup from the tray for himself.
“I’ll take these two over to Mom and Uncle E.” Colin, who was practically a copy-and-paste version of his dad, gave me a tight smile, then took off.
With one hand, Constantine pushed the stroller back and forth, just enough to keep his daughter asleep, while sipping his coffee. “Easton’s never going to forgive himself for this.”
“It wasn’t his fault. He couldn’t make a controlled landing in the middle of the forest after taking a direct hit, and—”
“His skill is the only reason they didn’t die on impact,” he cut me off, setting his coffee in the stroller’s cupholder. “But he’s not going to listen, not with Gwen in that room fighting for her life.”
Those last words burrowed under my skin like an itch I couldn’t scratch. Fighting for her life. I barely knew her, but the thought of losing her hit harder than I expected.
“Juliette’s got everyone she knows all over the world praying for her. She’ll make it out okay. She has to,” he said with conviction.
I focused on Easton with his sister and nephew. Juliette was clearly trying to calm Easton down and reassure him everything would be okay and that this wasn’t his fault. He should’ve been in bed, but he’d ignored the doctors to be out there waiting by Gwen’s room.
“Is Carter almost here with Wyatt and the others?” I asked.
Carter, Jesse, and Griffin had gone to the airport to pick everyone up. I wasn’t sure who was on the plane with Wyatt, but I had a feeling quite a few worried people had traveled with him.
“Yeah,” he breathed out. “And I have a feeling Wyatt’s going to misplace his anger on someone the second he gets here.”
Easton. I finally remembered to take a sip of the shitty hospital coffee, and quickly confirmed it was, in fact, shit. “If anything, it’s my team’s fault we let Cassian’s father escape to send off that RP—”
“Don’t.” He killed that line of thought fast.
Needing a reprieve from my dark thoughts, I glanced at Illiana. Her dark lashes fluttered, and I expected her to open her eyes, but she must’ve only been dreaming.
Constantine lifted up a shade to block the harsh overhead lights from hitting her face.
“Should’ve done that before,” he grumbled, probably still getting the hang of being a dad to a newborn, since he hadn’t been in Colin’s life until recently. Hell, he hadn’t even known he had a son until not that long ago.
I opened my mouth, about to say something—no idea what—when I stopped myself at the realization the hall was even more crowded.
A terrified father stood at the center of a group; he was holding his chest as he slowly started down the hall.
I twisted around, catching sight of Easton using his crutches to turn in Wyatt’s direction.
Wyatt’s wife, Natasha, was at his side, holding their youngest daughter, Emory, in her arms. His brother-in-law, Gray Chandler, who co-ran Falcon Falls, was at his left with his daughter in his arms. Gray’s wife, Tessa—Trevor’s cousin—was there as well.
Carter, Jesse, and the others were just behind them.
The group moved as one, their silence heavier than the air. It looked less like a family arriving at a hospital and more like mourners walking behind a coffin.
Not a visual I wanted right now.
But Gwen’s not gone, and she’ll be okay. I’d glass-half-full my way through this if I had to.
Wyatt broke away from his wife and the others and headed for his target: his daughter’s room. His body was stiff, face unreadable, as he passed by Easton without a word or even a passing glance.
Natasha nodded a quiet hello to the two of us as Emory held out her little hand and palmed my cheek. I forced myself to smile and then waited to exhale until they were out of sight.
Natasha kept hold of Emory, leaned in, and rested her forehead on Easton’s shoulder for a brief moment. I couldn’t read her lips, but she said something before joining her husband in Gwen’s room. While Gwen wasn’t Natasha’s daughter, I knew she loved her like one.
Easton didn’t look around at anyone else after that, just wordlessly started toward his room on his crutches, and Juliette and Colin trailed after him.
“Any updates?” Carter asked, joining us as the others filtered into one of the nearby waiting rooms reserved for our people.
Constantine gave Carter a grim expression while shaking his head.
Carter stole a look around the shade at Illiana, then rested his hand against the wall and hung his head. “Diana and my son are on their way. I’m sure she’d like to see your family when she gets here with Matteo.”
Constantine nodded, slapped a hand on his shoulder twice, then let us know he was going to check on his family, leaving the two of us out there.
Helpless wasn’t a feeling I knew how to wear. I cleared my throat, searching for the right words. “All loose ends tied up at the compound?”
“It’s as if nothing ever happened,” Carter confirmed. “Everything’s been cleaned up per Secretary Chandler and the prime minister’s orders.”
“Learn anything new before you picked them up from the airport?”
“Just that we were right. Cassian, Orson, Waylen, and their father were the architects behind the betrayal,” he said flatly.
Their father was the bastard who took down the helo, vengeance for killing his sons, and Ryder hadn’t hesitated and put two in his head right after.
“What else did Gideon’s protector have to say? How’d Rowan wind up undercover in the first place? Why not give Gideon a heads-up beforehand?” I couldn’t help but ask.
“Rowan’s cousin called and told him to bail on the training plans because he needed help in Rome. Rowan already knew Kylo had gone there for Hollis, so he assumed it was about her. When he showed up, his cousin gave him a choice the night of the rave. Pick a side.”
At least his story tracked with his brother’s.
“Orson had already drugged Gideon at that point, stealing his memories. So Rowan did what he could to protect Gideon by agreeing to his cousin’s plans.
” Carter pushed away from the wall. “Gideon was brainwashed with that mind control shit, making him believe he was protecting his sister in trouble when he drugged her.”
“Tell me you destroyed all the research related to those drugs.”
He slowly looked up at me. “I watched Tristan do it myself,” he said firmly. “Aside from the antidotes, at least.”
“Any chance your wife can turn that antidote into a cure for anyone with memory loss issues?”
“Maybe. Probably take some time. But between her and Tristan, it’s possible.
Maybe one day.” He nodded, letting a few quiet moments pass before he changed gears.
“It looks like the only thing we didn’t see coming was Lyra.
Hollis’s cousins and everyone else in her family were cleared.
No idea how they’ll forgive her after what she did. ”
The idea of forgiveness sat like glass in my throat, jagged and slicing when I tried to swallow.
“Gideon and Sebastian brought Lyra to a mental health facility in Dublin. It’ll be up to her family to decide how long to keep her there.
” I barely had a chance to absorb that news before he shared, “I have to head back to the airport and pick up my wife and son.” He gestured down the hall, and for a split second, I caught the strain in his jawline, the exhaustion riding his shoulders.
I turned to see the woman I had no idea how I’d live without on her way over.
“Reach out if Gwen wakes up before I’m back,” he said before parting ways.
I tossed my coffee in the trash as Hollis joined me. “You okay?”
She lifted one shoulder. “My brothers told me about Lyra and where she’s at. I, um, just . . .” Her voice cracked. “I can’t help but blame her for what happened to Gwen, even if it’s not directly her fault.”
Understandable.
“I was wondering if you’d come somewhere with me?”
I held her hand, drawing her knuckles to my mouth, kissing them. “Anywhere.”
She quietly led the way down the hall, into the elevator, and all the way outside the doors of a chapel.
I froze, boots rooted in place, my palm slipping against hers as my heart rate spiked. “I actually haven’t been back . . . well, since that day.”
Reasons why I didn’t belong here rose, pulling me under like quicksand. The enemy’s voice slithered in, whispering I’d never be good enough, never live up to the expectations of—
“I thought we could pray for Gwen.” Her words pierced the noise in my head. “Juliette seems to think it’ll help.”
Chills rushed beneath my clothes, goose bumps standing sharp on my arms, and the hair at the nape of my neck lifted. Something unseen pulled me forward. So I did it. Took one step. Then another. With this woman at my side, I crossed the threshold.
It was empty. A nondenominational space, welcoming all faiths to worship, hushed and still. The faint smell of candle wax lingered with the sterile tang of disinfectant, a strange mix of holy and hospital.
We walked down the narrow aisle to the front.
She kept hold of my hand as she lowered to her knees, and with my free hand, I removed my hat and mirrored her.
The last time I’d been in this position, I’d been braced in battle, rifle in hand, ending lives.
Now here I was, about to make a plea to save one.
I bowed my head, forced the images of war from my mind, and closed my eyes. A deep, shaky breath left my mouth.
Hollis tightened her grip on my hand and began to pray, voice soft, almost hesitant at first. Then steadier, like muscle memory carried her through. Each word echoed faintly off the chapel walls, finding me in the quiet.
And with every syllable she whispered, the vise around my chest loosened. My fists unclenched. My jaw softened. A lifetime of trauma I hadn’t realized I still carried began to slide free.
It was in that moment that I knew something had shifted, and I’d truly never be the same again.