Chapter Thirty-Two
We made it. Not all of us. But it fucking counts. It has to.
The thin gown covers about as much as Kristy’s fanny pack. I still reek of blood. A nurse offered me a shower. I said no. Haven’t even called anyone. My parents. Kristy’s roommate. Lana’s family. Eventually, they’ll find out. Might even make the news.
Amanda sits beside me in the waiting room, her ruined lace bodysuit swallowed by a borrowed EMT jacket. She hasn’t spoken much since we got here. Just stares at the vending machine.
A cop stands against the far wall, eyeing us warily. By now, they must’ve found all the bodies. Derek, Wesley, and Rachel at the gates. Kristy and Lana somewhere in the woods. The ones in the chapel.
We got out, and yet somehow, I’m still there—flinching at every sound, waiting to see who comes for me next.
More people showed up after Amanda. One of the hunters ripped off his Bane mask as soon as he saw Kade on the ground. He and another guy helped us lift Kade into my car.
We were in the backseat, Kade’s head in my lap. Every bump in the road made him groan—until he didn’t.
Me screaming at Amanda, white-knuckling the wheel. ‘We’re losing him. Step on it.’
The ER doors bursting open. A nurse taking one look at us—half-naked, streaked in blood. ‘GSW, possible hemothorax, move!’
Me, standing in the hallway, lost. A cop stepping toward me, notepad in hand.
‘Can it wait? Please?’
That was nearly four hours ago.
A door swings open. I jerk upright.
A surgeon in scrubs walks out, peeling off gloves. “Ms. Reed?”
I stand. “Is he alive?”
“Stable for now. The next twenty-four hours are critical. But he made it through surgery.”
I sway, fingers tightening on the armrest to steady myself.
The surgeon eyes me—the gown, the blood under my nails. “Are you family?”
“Yes.”
“His chart lists his mother as emergency contact. We called twice but—”
“He changed it.” My voice doesn’t waver. “Last week.”
The surgeon exhales. “Five minutes. And security will need to speak with you.”
He means the cops waiting downstairs. The ones who’ve been circling since we arrived.
“Wait here,” I tell Amanda.
She grabs my wrist. “What should I tell them?”
“The truth.”
I head into the ICU before she can see my tears welling.
But I hover in the doorway. The beep of the monitor. The smell of antiseptic.
Those tubes snaking from Kade’s arms, his stomach wrapped in enough gauze to mummify a lesser man.
I step inside.
It hurts to look at him.
I hold on to his hand. Let myself stare at the soft fall of his lashes. At the familiar crease between his brows.
His eyes flutter open.
“Payton.” His half-formed smile turns into a grimace. “You look like shit. That means I’m alive?”
A laugh scrapes out of me.
“Asshole,” I whisper, pressing my forehead to his hand. “You almost died.”
“Didn’t think I’d get to see you again.” He hums—barely audible. “Figured I’d go out with a better view.”
“You idiot. I almost lost you.”
His knuckles brush against my cheek. “You didn’t.”
His eyes lock on mine. Maybe it’s just the painkillers, but they soften, searching my face.
I drop my gaze first. Glance at the mess of his body again. There are too many tubes. Too many bandages. Too many things that could still go wrong in the next twenty-four hours.
“Rest. I’ll be here.”
“Yeah.” His words slur. “Always … watching me.”
The goddamn irony. I should snap back. Instead, my vision blurs.
Kade’s breathing evens out. The heart monitor keeps its steady chant.
I allow myself three deep sobs, forehead pressed to our joined hands.
Kristy’s laugh. Lana’s smirk. The things Kade and I did in that chapel—
“Ma’am?”
I flinch. Not letting go of his hand.
“Ma’am, I’m sorry. We need to clear the ICU.”
I blink up at the nurse. A blur in scrubs.
She doesn’t understand. I need to be with Kade. Make sure he’s okay.
She steps closer. “You can come back later—”
“I said I’d stay,” I croak, throat raw.
“And you will,” she says gently, like someone used to breaking hearts on a schedule. “But not right now.”
I look at Kade one more time. The monitors beep. The IV drips. His chest rises—barely.
I kiss his hand before leaving.
The waiting room is colder now. Amanda’s gone—probably getting grilled by a cop or hiding in a bathroom stall.
I drag myself to the nearest chair and sit. Just for a second.
“Hi, Payton?” Her voice is gentle, but there’s a cop’s edge beneath it. Badge, notepad, no smile. “I’m Detective Marquez. Just need a few details for the initial report. We can go somewhere quieter if you’re up for it.”
I’ll have to tell them about the chapel. The altar. The blood in the baptismal.
About the girls in the woods. The guys who didn’t make it.
The man with the antler in his throat.
Finally, I nod.
She leads me down a hallway. We pass a row of darkened exam rooms until we reach one left half-open. No table or machines. Only a single chair beside a sink and a box of tissues.
“Take a seat.”
The vinyl sticks to my thighs, tacky with disinfectant.
Detective Marquez clicks her pen. “Now, tell me what happened.”