Chapter 51
Russ
The trauma bay is chaos when I hit it.
Voices.
Movement.
Blood.
“Clear the space!” someone shouts.
“Out of my way.”
The voice cuts through everything.
Sharp. Commanding.
Familiar.
Dr. Hannah Bowers.
She pushes straight through the medics—doesn’t slow, doesn’t hesitate.
Doesn’t look like she should even be standing.
Bruises darken one side of her face. Her lip is split. One arm is wrapped tight in a bloodstained bandage.
Doesn’t matter.
Not to her.
Her eyes lock on the table—
On Clay.
And something in her expression shifts.
Not fear.
Not panic.
Something harder.
“Move,” she snaps, already at his side.
No one argues.
Not even me.
Because the second she steps in—
She owns the room.
“What happened?” she demands.
“Blunt force trauma,” one of the medics says quickly. “Multiple hits to the vest. BP dropping—”
“Internal bleed,” she cuts in. “I don’t need a guess—I need numbers.”
They scramble.
Good.
I move in closer, taking up position near Clay’s shoulder. Close enough to act if needed.
Far enough to let her work.
Lucas is on the other side, jaw tight, eyes locked.
Miles hovers near the foot of the bed, pacing like a caged animal.
“He didn’t stop,” Lucas says, voice rough. “He just kept going.”
Hannah doesn’t look up.
“Of course he did,” she mutters.
There’s something under that.
Something personal.
“Scissors,” she snaps.
They’re in her hand instantly.
She cuts the vest free, ripping it open with zero hesitation—
And the bruising underneath blooms into view.
Dark. Deep. Spreading fast.
Her jaw tightens.
“Damn it, Clay,” she breathes.
Not clinical.
Not detached.
That’s not a doctor talking.
That’s something else.
“BP dropping!” a medic calls.
“I can see that,” she fires back. “Fluids—now. I want pressure stabilized five minutes ago.”
They move faster.
Because she doesn’t sound injured.
She sounds dangerous.
Clay shifts slightly under her hands.
Barely there.
“Hey,” she says, voice changing instantly.
Softer.
Focused.
Right at him.
“You don’t get to pass out on me now. You hear me?”
His lips part.
A weak breath.
“…kids…”
Even now.
I glance at Lucas.
He swallows hard.
“They’re safe,” Hannah tells Clay immediately. Firm. Certain. “You got them out. That’s done.”
Her hand presses lightly—but deliberately—against his chest.
“Stay with me.”
His brow tightens.
Like he hears her.
Good.
“Pressure’s unstable!” the medic says again.
“I know!” she snaps. “We’re not losing him—so figure it out!”
The room tightens.
No one questions her.
No one slows down.
Because this isn’t just a patient to her.
That much is clear.
Miles runs a hand through his hair. “He said he was fine…”
I don’t look at him.
“He lied.”
Flat.
Truth.
“That’s what we do.”
Silence hits for a second.
Then—
“Hannah.”
Lucas.
Low.
I glance over.
“Don’t let him die,” he says.
Not a request.
Not really.
She nods once.
Then I look back at the table.
At Clay.
At Hannah.
She’s leaning in close now, eyes locked on Clay like she’s daring him to give up.
“Listen to me,” she says, low and fierce. “You don’t get to quit after dragging us all out of hell. That’s not how this works.”
Her hand tightens slightly.
“You fight.”
Something flickers across Clay’s face.
Faint.
But there.
“Good,” she murmurs. “There you are.”
“BP’s still dropping—”
“Then we adjust!” she snaps. “Get me another line—move!”
Everything accelerates again.
Controlled chaos.
Exactly how it needs to be.
I stay where I am.
Watching.
Ready.
Because this—
This is her fight now.
And I trust her to win it.
But if she doesn’t—
If this goes sideways—
I step in.
No hesitation.
No second chances.
Hannah exhales slowly, steadying herself for half a second—
Then goes right back to work.
Like the pain she’s in doesn’t exist.
Like the bruises don’t matter.
Like nothing matters—
Except him.