FORTY-FOUR
The ICU was quieter than Kieran expected.
No chaos or rushing. Just the steady beep of monitors and the soft shuffle of nurses moving between rooms.
A nurse led them down the hall, Kieran and Samantha walking side by side, neither speaking. Kieran’s hands were shaking, so he shoved them in his pockets.
“He’s still pretty out of it,” the nurse said over her shoulder. “The anesthesia takes a while to wear off. And we’ve got him on pain medication, so he might be disoriented.”
“Okay,” Samantha said.
They stopped outside a room. The door was half-open. Kieran could see the edge of a bed. The glow of monitors.
“Five minutes,” the nurse said. “That’s all for now. He needs rest.”
Samantha nodded. Looked at Kieran.
Kieran took a breath. “Okay.”
They walked in. And there he was.
Rory.
Lying in the hospital bed, propped up at a slight angle.
Pale. So pale. His hair was still damp…they must have cleaned him up after surgery.
The cervical collar was bulky around his neck, keeping his head immobilized.
Tubes and wires ran from his arms to machines that beeped and hummed and monitored everything.
IV drip. Heart monitor. Oxygen sensor clipped to his finger.
He looked small. That was the thing that hit Kieran first. Rory, who was solid and strong and took up space, looked small in that bed. Fragile.
Kieran’s stomach dropped.
This was different from his mom. Different from sitting in those other hospital rooms, watching her fade over time.
This was sudden. Violent. A reminder that life could change in an instant.
But Rory was still here. Still breathing. Still alive.
Samantha moved first. Walked to the foot of the bed and gently touched Rory’s foot through the blanket.
“Rory,” she said softly. “It’s me. It’s Sam.”
Nothing. Just the beeping of machines.
Then Rory’s eyelids fluttered. Opened slowly. Unfocused at first. Blinking against the light.
“Hey,” Samantha said, her voice trembling. “Hey, you’re okay. You’re in the hospital. You had surgery.”
Rory’s eyes moved to her. Recognition flickered.
He tried to speak. His lips moved but nothing came out at first.
Then, a sound. Raspy. Rough. Like gravel scraping against pavement.
“Sam.”
It didn’t sound like him. Didn’t sound like Rory’s voice at all. The surgery. The intubation had left his throat raw.
Kieran’s chest twisted.
“I’m here,” Samantha said. “We’re both here.”
Rory’s eyes shifted. Found Kieran standing near the door.
Their eyes locked.
And the room went quiet except for the beeping.
Kieran stayed completely still, the ability to speak or move slipping entirely out of reach as he simply took it all in.
Broken. But alive. Here.
Samantha wiped at Rory’s forehead with her hand, brushing back his hair.
Rory’s eyes stayed on Kieran.
Then his mouth moved again. That same voice, barely above a whisper.
“Did I win?”
The question was so unexpected, so perfectly Rory, that a laugh burst out of Kieran. Sharp. Relieved.
“Yeah,” Kieran said, his voice cracking. “You totally won.”
Rory’s mouth twitched. Almost a smile.
The silence settled again. Heavy but not uncomfortable. Full of everything they couldn’t say yet. Everything they were trying to process.
Samantha glanced between them. Saw the whole conversation happening without words—the way Rory was still staring at Kieran, the way Kieran was rooted to the spot, unable to look away.
“I’m going to give you two a minute,” she said gently.
“You don’t have to,” Kieran started.
“Yes, I do.” She squeezed Rory’s foot gently. “I’ll be right outside.”
She left. The door closed softly behind her.
And then it was just them.
Kieran walked forward. Slowly. As if moving too fast might make Rory disappear.
He stopped beside the bed. Looked down at Rory. At his pale face. At the collar around his neck. At the tubes and wires that made him look less like a person and more like a science experiment.
Kieran reached out. Took Rory’s hand.
It was warm. That was good. That meant blood flow. That meant alive.
But it didn’t respond.
No grip back. No fingers curling around his. Nothing. Just Rory’s hand, limp in Kieran’s palm.
Kieran stared down at their hands. At the lack of movement. At what that meant. He should say something. Should tell Rory it was okay. That they’d figure it out. But his brain and mouth weren’t connecting and the words wouldn’t come.
Rory was looking at him. Kieran knew it. Could see it in his peripheral vision.
When Kieran finally looked up, he saw the tears.
Rory was crying. Silent tears sliding down his face. His expression barely moving, probably couldn’t move much with the collar, but the tears were there. Unmistakable.
“Please don’t cry,” Kieran said. His voice was steady. Strong. He’d cried enough today. Right now, Rory needed him to be strong. “Everything’s going to be okay.”
Rory’s raspy voice came again. Barely audible.
“You saved me.”
Kieran blinked. “No, I didn’t. The paramedics—the doctors—they did.”
Rory’s eyes held his. Intense. Certain.
“You...” He swallowed. It looked painful. “Saved me.”
Kieran’s chest tightened, too full. “Well,” he said, his mouth twitching into a small smile. “I mean, I did make you pretty amazing sandwiches this morning. So technically, I saved you from starvation.”
Rory’s face barely moved. His eyes were glassy, half-focused from the anesthesia, but somewhere behind the fog, they found Kieran.
And then he spoke again. His voice louder now. Clear.
“I love you, Kieran Doyle.”
Tears pricked at Kieran’s eyes but he didn’t let them fall. He held Rory’s hand. Even though there was no grip back. Even though Rory’s fingers stayed still. He held on anyway. Then he reached up with his free hand and wiped the tears from Rory’s cheeks.
“I love you,” Kieran said softly.
He leaned down. Pressed his lips to Rory’s forehead. Gentle. Lingering.
When he pulled back, Rory’s eyes were closed. But he was breathing. Steady. Even.