23. Chapter 23 #2
“Please,” she whispered. “Please, Senior Chief.”
Fuck.
That? That was his breaking point.
He slammed into her, hard enough to knock the air from her lungs, her head tipping back with a gasping moan.
“That’s right,” he growled, bracing himself, his forearm locking around her waist as he set a punishing rhythm, driving into her, making her take it.
Her fingers dug into his back, her legs squeezing tight around his waist, dragging him deeper, harder.
Her head snapped up, eyes locking onto his, wild, desperate.
“More,” she choked out. “Don’t hold back.”
Heath snarled.
“You wanna be wrecked?” His voice was low, dark. Threatening.
Maddie nodded frantically, her body tightening around him.
He pressed his forehead to hers, his breaths sharp, controlled, his hands everywhere—one wrapped around her throat, the other gripping her hip, holding her steady.
“You take everything I give you,” he growled.
“Yes,” she gasped.
“You fucking take it,” he bit out, slamming into her.
She cried out, her nails dragging down his back, her body locking up tight, too tight.
He could feel it.
She was close.
He dropped his mouth to her ear, voice a deadly rasp.
“Come on, baby. Give it to me.”
Her entire body shattered beneath him, breaking apart with a sharp, desperate scream.
Her nails ripped down his back, her body shaking, clenching tight—so fucking tight he almost blacked out.
And then he was gone too, losing himself inside her, his entire body locking up as a ragged, animalistic groan tore from his throat.
His vision blurred, his grip on her tightening, his mind going completely blank except for her.
Her body against his.
Her name on his lips.
Her breath, soft and wrecked, against his throat as he buried himself one last time, shaking from the force of it.
His arms buckled, and he caught himself, collapsing onto his forearms, his chest pressing into hers, his lips brushing against her damp, heated skin.
They stayed like that, wrecked, panting, bodies tangled in sweat and heat and exhaustion.
Then—
Maddie let out a breathless, shattered laugh, fingers drifting up to tangle in his hair.
“Yeah,” she murmured, voice wrecked and satisfied. “I felt that.”
Heath grinned, dropping his forehead to hers.
“Fucking better have,” he muttered.
Then he kissed her. Deep. Slow. Lazy.
Like he had all night to do it again.
Heath was still kissing her when his phone vibrated on the nightstand. He looked over. That was his work phone.
Maddie groaned, half-asleep already, stretching against him. “Don’t you dare answer that.”
“It’s work. I have to.” He grabbed the phone, swiping it off the table.
Ellis.
Shit.
That meant it was bad.
He hit accept, his voice still rough. “Yeah?”
Ellis’s voice was clipped, sharp. “Rawlings took a turn. I need you there.”
Heath sat straight up, and got out of bed.
Maddie blinked at him in confusion, watching him closely.
“What happened?” Heath demanded, marching to the bathroom.
“Post-surgical infection.” Ellis didn’t waste time. “Woke up tachy, fever over 104, BP crashing. The docs are throwing everything at him, but his body’s shutting down.”
Fuck.
It had been almost seven days since the surgery. He’d stabilized, was in recovery, but infections in post-op patients could turn ugly fast—especially in someone who’d been through what Rawlings had.
“What’s his white count?” Heath asked, rolling on deodorant, running water through his fucked up hair.
“Spiked hard this afternoon. They pushed IV antibiotics immediately, but he’s still tanking.” Ellis exhaled sharply. “I don’t know if he’s making it through the night, Senior.”
A cold, sharp weight settled in Heath’s chest. “Fuck. I’m on my way.”
“Good. He’s still in the ICU. Dr. Zaire and his team are on him now.”
“I’ll be there ASAP.”
Heath hung up, already dragging his uniform out of his closet, throwing it on the bed.
Maddie was sitting up now, her expression shifting from confusion to full alertness.
“What happened?” she asked.
“Rawlings,” Heath muttered. “Post-op infection. It’s bad.”
Maddie’s brows furrowed. “He had no warning signs?”
“Not until it was too late.” Heath jammed his feet into his pants. “They pushed broad-spectrum antibiotics at the first sign of trouble, but he’s crashing anyway.”
Maddie went still. Her lips parted slightly, her gaze sharp, calculating. She was already running through scenarios in her head.
It hit Heath right then—this wasn’t just any post-op patient to her.
She had been one of the surgeons.
She had been inside Rawlings’ body, working to keep him alive, ensuring that this exact situation didn’t happen.
And now?
Now, his life was slipping through their fingers.
Heath exhaled, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “I have to go.”
Maddie nodded, but didn’t say a word.
For a second, neither of them moved.
Then she swallowed, pushing her shoulders back, her jaw tightening. “Go,” she said softly.
Heath nodded, pulling on fresh socks. Running a hand through his hair one more time, he turned to leave—
But he hesitated.
Something about the way she was looking at him.
Like she wanted to say something.
Like this wasn’t just about Rawlings.
Like this was about her.
She’d fought for that man’s life in the OR.
And now?
Now, there was nothing either of them could do.
“Stay here. There’s a spare key in the kitchen drawer under the coffee.” His fingers flexed on the doorframe. “I’ll call you when I know more.”
Maddie nodded, but her eyes stayed locked on him, dark, unreadable.
“Go back to sleep, babe,” he assured her. “You’re safe here.”
Then—he was gone.
Striding out into the night, heading to Balboa, the words if he survives the night pounding in his skull.