Chapter 39
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Her blood streaks down my arm as I carry her through the emergency room doors, and for the first time in years, I don’t feel in control of a damn thing. Voices hit us immediately.
“Sir–”
“What happened–”
“Put her here–”
Hands reach for her, but I don’t let go.
“She needs a trauma bay,” someone says, urgency rising. “Now.”
“She’s not going anywhere without me,” I bite out.
A nurse moves faster than the rest, her voice steady. “You can come with us, but I need you to put her down.”
My grip tightens before I force myself to lower her onto a gurney. The second my hands leave her, something in my chest drops. Her head rolls to the side, eyes closed and lips parted.
They move fast. Questions fire. Lights flare down as they wheel her away and I keep up beside them, my fingers brushing her arm like that alone might keep her here.
Stay.
“Name?” someone asks.
I don’t answer. They’re already moving her down the hall, fluorescent lights flashing over her face in broken intervals. Her skin is too pale underneath the blood. Too still.
“Sir, her name–”
“Ashlynn Steele,” Maverick cuts in from somewhere behind me. His voice steady and controlled.
“Date of birth?”
Jeremy answers that one.
“What happened?”
“She was attacked,” Maverick answers.
“Any known medical conditions or allergies to medications?”
“No,” Jeremy adds.
The questions keep coming, voices overlapping, but they don’t reach me.
None of it does. All I see is her. Small, broken and bloodied on the white sheet.
My brain can’t process the contrast. Her hand slips from the edge of the gurney as they turn the corner into the trauma bay and I catch it before it can fall.
Cold. Not lifeless. Just cold.
Stay.
“Sir, we need you to wait here,” a nurse says, her hand pressing against my chest as they wheel her through the double doors. I don’t move.
“Karson.” Maverick’s voice lands closer now, quieter. “They’ve got her.”
I watch as the doors slowly swing closed, willing them to stay open so I don’t lose sight of her again.
Maverick’s hand lands on my shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze before he leads me over to the waiting area outside the trauma unit.
He and Jeremy sit, but I remain rooted in place looking down at my hands.
The blood is already starting to dry. It’s dark now, sticky where it settled into the lines of my palms, under my nails and along the edge of my wrist where her head rested while I carried her in.
I don’t remember handing her off. I just remember the weight of her in my arms and how light she felt.
Too light. My hands flex. I can still feel her there.
I begin to pace. Three steps. Turn. Three steps back.
The waiting room hums with quiet noise–muted television, vending machines and distant voices. The doors slide open and Parker rushes in. Her eyes land on me first, then my hands. She stops.
“Karson,” she breathes.
I don’t answer. I don’t know how. She moves closer, slower now, as if she’s approaching a wounded animal.
“Where is she?” she asks.
“They took her straight into trauma,” Maverick answers gently behind her.
Parker nods once, sharp and controlled but her eyes flick back to my hands. Her throat moves as she swallows.
“You carried her,” she whispers. It’s not a question. My jaw tightens.
I look down at my hands again, at the proof that I was too late.
My throat burns.
“I left her,” I say, the words rough and low. Parker steps closer. Her hand hovers for a second before resting lightly on my forearm–-careful. Grounding.
“You didn’t leave her,” she says softly. “You came back.”
I don’t look at her. I can’t. I lift my head to look at the ceiling, and squeeze my eyes shut. All I see is Ashlynn on the ground, not moving.
“I need to wash my hands,” I rush out and walk to the bathroom across the hall.
Shoving the door open, I step to a sink and turn the faucet on hot.
Small puffs of steam float up as I pump some soap into my palms, and I scrub.
I scrub until the skin is raw. Pink swirls in the white porcelain, washing away the evidence of me carrying her, but I can still feel it.
Getting off as much as I can, I dry my hands on my shirt and look at my reflection.
Her blood soaks into the fabric of my clothes, making sure I don’t forget that I left her. That I let this happen.
Coming back into the waiting room, Parker sits between Mav and Jeremy. She listens as Jeremy fills her in on what he saw on the cameras, and how he found her. He tried telling me on the ride over here, but I didn’t hear any of it.
The door swings open again that leads into the trauma area. This time it isn’t chaos, it’s a doctor. Mid-forties. Calm. Efficient. The kind of calm that only exists in people who see the worst every day. He scans the room.
“Family of Ashlynn Steele.”
My head snaps up before anyone else can move.
“I’m here.”
His gaze drops briefly to my blood-soaked shirt before returning to my face.
“She’s stable,” he says as everyone else stands behind me. Parker’s hand rests gently on my arm.
The words don’t bring relief. Not yet.
“She sustained multiple blunt force injuries. Significant bruising and swelling to her face. Three fractured ribs, and a concussion. She had a significant laceration to the back of her skull, so we placed four staples. There’s no internal bleeding that we can see right now, but we’ll continue to monitor for swelling. ”
Each word hits like a hammer. Stable. Bruised. Fractured. Concussion.
“She’ll be kept overnight for observation,” he continues. “We’ve sedated her for now. She’s resting.”
I nod once. “Can I see her?”
“Soon,” he says. “We’re taking her up for some more imaging. You can come back when she’s done.”
He pauses. “Whoever did this intended to hurt her.”
My molars grind. The doctor gives one final nod, but before he can step away, I ask him to run an additional test. His puzzled eyes meet mine. I don’t explain, but he nods in agreement before giving me his back and disappearing through the double doors. I’m done not knowing.
Silence settles again. Maverick leads Parker back to a row of seats. They sit and she rests her head on his shoulder, silently wiping tears from her cheeks.
Jeremy moves closer, his expression tight.
“Karson,” he says quietly. I look up. He doesn’t say it right away, his eyes flicking briefly toward Maverick…then Parker…then back to me.
“I ran out of the booth when I saw what was happening. Slater just texted me,” he pauses. “He pulled the footage from the courtyard.”
Cold spreads through my chest. “And?”
He swallows once. “It was one person.”
Good. That makes this simpler.
“He knew where to wait,” Jeremy adds. My jaw ticks once, wishing he would just spit it the fuck out so I know who I’m going to fucking slaughter.
“And?” I ask impatiently.
Jeremy’s voice drops.
“It was Owen.”
For a second, nothing happens. No anger or disbelief. Just silence. Because my brain doesn’t reject it. It accepts it. My gaze drifts past Jeremy. Past Mav. Past Parker. Somewhere deep in my chest, something settles into place. Recognition.
I nod once.
“Okay.”
Jeremy frowns slightly, like he expected something louder. I don’t give it to him. I’ll save that for Owen.
And his clock is ticking.