28. Chapter 28
Five days later
Heath stepped into the ICU room, exhaling slowly as he took in the sight before him.
Chris Rawlings—one of the toughest bastards he knew—was finally sitting up in bed, looking a little less like he’d spent the past week fighting death itself.
The guy had color in his face again. He still looked like hell, but at least he wasn’t hooked up to every machine in the goddamn ward anymore.
Rawlings’ gaze flicked up, and his face split into a slow, crooked grin. “About time, Senior.” His voice was hoarse, scratchy from the days spent on a ventilator, but the smirk was there—the same one he always had after dragging himself out of a bad situation.
Heath pulled up a chair and dropped into it with a grunt. “Thought I’d give you some space, let you get all the beauty sleep you clearly needed.”
Rawlings let out a short, rough laugh, wincing slightly as he shifted. “Yeah, well, turns out trying to die is exhausting.”
“You were always one for the dramatics,” a voice drawled from the doorway.
Zach Reed stepped inside, his usual easy swagger dialed down, but his presence still carrying that laid-back, reckless energy.
He moved toward the foot of the bed, resting a hand on the rail.
“Damn good to see you vertical, man. We were starting to think we’d have to start picking out flowers for your funeral. ”
Rawlings snorted. “Pick something ugly. I’d want people to suffer.”
Zach let out a low chuckle, but Heath caught something else in his expression. A deeper relief. One that only SEALs knew—the kind that came from watching a teammate crawl back from the brink.
Rawlings shifted again, wincing, his breathing a little tight, and Heath’s instincts kicked in. “Easy,” he muttered. “You’ve still got enough hardware in you to set off airport security from a mile away.”
Rawlings huffed. “Yeah, yeah. Nurses already threatened to strap me down if I try to move too much. But you know, can’t help but notice…” He gestured vaguely toward Heath. “You’ve been here the whole damn time, haven’t you?”
Heath was quiet for a beat, then shrugged. “You owe these doctors and nurses more than me.”
Rawlings gave him a look—one that said cut the bullshit. His fingers curled slightly around the blanket. “I know. But also… you.” His voice dropped, something raw settling in. “Brother.”
Heath felt it. That familiar, unspoken weight of shared survival. They’d all been through too much to ignore what this meant.
Rawlings swallowed hard, shaking his head slightly, as if trying to find words. “I don’t know how to—”
“You don’t have to,” Heath cut in, keeping his voice level. He wasn’t about to make the guy spell it out.
The silence between them stretched for a moment, filled with the quiet beeping of the monitors.
And then Zach, because he couldn’t let anything be too sentimental for too long, smirked. “Damn, this is beautiful. Should I get the tissues?”
Heath rolled his eyes, but Rawlings shot him a middle finger, his first real sign of life since waking up.
Zach chuckled, but then his smirk faded into something more serious. He rubbed a hand along the back of his neck, eyes flicking between Heath and Rawlings. “Speaking of bullshit,” he muttered, then sighed. “I stopped drinking.”
Heath’s gaze snapped up, sharp and assessing.
Zach shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal. “Figured you should know. And, uh… thanks. For letting me handle things.” His voice was gruffer than usual, like he didn’t quite know how to say the words. “I’m back in the water. Diving again. I’m good.”
Heath studied him, reading between the lines. Zach looked better. More solid. The reckless edge wasn’t completely gone, but there was something steadier underneath it now.
Heath nodded once. “Good. Proud of you.”
Zach exhaled, shaking his head. “Jesus, Carrington, don’t get all mushy on me now.”
Rawlings snorted. “Yeah, wouldn’t want to ruin your lifestyle brand.”
Zach shot him a lazy grin. “Damn straight.”
Heath let the moment settle, a rare kind of quiet camaraderie hanging between them. Three SEALs, battered but standing.
The air in the room had settled into something easier—Zach lounging in the chair beside Rawlings’ bed, tossing a stress ball between his hands like he wasn’t the most restless bastard in the room.
Rawlings was propped up against the pillows, looking better than he had in days, though still pale and worn.
Heath was still in his chair, arms crossed, tracking the monitors out of habit.
Then the door opened, and Heath didn’t need to look to know who had walked in.
“Gentlemen.” Maddie’s voice was smooth, clipped, professional, but Heath caught the flicker of something else underneath.
His gaze lifted.
She was in scrubs, her blonde hair pulled back in that no-nonsense way she did when she meant business. A clipboard in hand, glancing over Rawlings’ chart with sharp, precise focus.
And the bruises—still visible along her neck. Healing, but not fast enough.
Heath clenched his jaw, forcing himself to exhale through his nose. He had to remind himself that David was behind bars. That Maddie was here, in front of him, on her feet, working. That she had fought like hell to get back to this exact moment.
“Dr. McAuley,” Rawlings greeted, voice still a little rough. “Here to tell me I’m getting discharged?”
She glanced at him over the clipboard. “Here to tell you if you don’t stop being stubborn about your fluid intake, you’ll be staying here through Christmas.”
Rawlings groaned. “Figures.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Maddie flipped a page, scanning vitals. “Fever’s down, white blood cell count’s stabilizing… renal function still borderline, but improving.”
“Lungs?” Heath asked, watching the way she moved, the way she worked.
“Still dependent on oxygen, but we’re weaning him off gradually,” Maddie answered, sliding the clipboard under her arm. “We’ll reassess in the morning. But so far, he’s progressing.”
Rawlings groaned again, throwing an arm over his face. “So basically, I’m alive, but not getting out of here yet.”
Maddie gave him a dry look. “You had a fight with sepsis, not a bar brawl. You’re lucky you still have working organs.”
Zach smirked. “Wouldn’t call them working yet.”
Rawlings flipped him off.
Maddie sighed dramatically. “Men. Absolute babies when they’re recovering.”
Heath smirked. “Says the woman who tried to come back to work five days after nearly getting murdered.”
Maddie’s lips pressed together, eyes narrowing just slightly. “I didn’t try. I did come back to work. I’m here, aren’t I?”
Zach let out a low whistle. “And you two are what, professionally bickering now? It’s like foreplay with medical terminology.”
Maddie didn’t miss a beat. “You should hear us argue about post-op recovery plans.”
Heath grinned. “Hell of a woman.”
Zach lifted a brow. “That mean you’re actually admitting she’s yours?”
Maddie glanced at Heath, arching a brow herself, but Heath didn’t hesitate.
He leaned back in his chair, tilting his head toward her, voice low but firm. “Yeah. She’s my girlfriend.”
A flicker of something crossed Maddie’s face—surprise, maybe, or something deeper. But it settled into a small, knowing smirk as she looked back down at Rawlings’ chart.
Zach let out a low chuckle. “Damn. Thought I’d have to pry that one out of you.”
Rawlings huffed. “I just want to know how much of my medical care is about to become personal for Senior Chief Carrington.”
Maddie hummed, tapping her pen against the clipboard. “Oh, don’t worry. I always keep it professional.”
Heath just grinned. “Mostly.”
She turned to go, heels of her sneakers squeaking on the tile.
Heath watched her, his chest tight.
Not because she was fragile.
But because she was still here. Still his.
And that felt like a goddamn miracle.