His life will go back to normal.
“Not Simon’s house.” Nick’s voice is quiet and tired. “He’s on staff at General. He’s meeting us there.”
Angels General Hospital is crowded. Crowded, busy, underfunded, and understaffed. In other words, perfect for people who can’t risk questions.
With effort, I push thoughts of Isaiah and his death from my mind. “How will this work?”
“Bypass the ER. Surgery’s on the fifth floor. Tish will meet us at the south employee entrance.” Constantine swerves around another car.
“Hopefully she’ll have a wheelchair,” I mutter. Nick shouldn’t even try to walk on his leg. It’ll only make everything worse.
“With a wheelchair,” Constantine agrees. “She gets us up to surgery, Simon goes in and stitches Nick up, we get him home.”
“Cass takes me home.”
Constantine risks a glance over his shoulder. “She’s not strong enough to—”
“I’m strong enough, thank you,” I interrupt. “I can get us home.” I have no idea how he’ll get up the stairs, and he needs to spend at least the first night in an actual bed. “You won’t be staying overnight in the hospital?”
“We can commandeer an operating room for a couple of hours, and it won’t cause too much of a hassle. Can’t do the same with a hospital bed.” Nick tips his head onto the seat back and shuts his eyes. His skin looks sickly in the passing flashes from the streetlights, and I bend over to check the wound again. I can’t tell if it’s bleeding as much as it was or if it’s slowed.
He taps my hand. “I’m okay,” he murmurs.
I lift my head and stare at him. “No. You’re not.”
“Listen to your girlfriend, Dom.” Constantine takes a corner too fast, and I fall into Nick’s side, my blood-covered hand smacking into the center of his bare chest.
“You’re not okay. And no offense, Cass, but Dom will need help getting around immediately after the surgery. Let me take you guys back to wherever you’re staying.”
So Nick’s cousin doesn’t know where we are? Interesting. I lean in and place my lips next to his ear. “Why can’t he drive us home?” I whisper.
Nick’s hand comes up to cover mine, and too late, I try to jerk it away. All that blood, that symbol of my failure, tainting Nick. “He agrees with my dad and his,” he whispers back. “I don’t trust him not to rat us out, and the last thing I need is someone taking you from me.” He manages a smile. “Besides, he’s a motherfucking asshole at launch time.”
“I heard that.” Constantine scowls at Nick in the rearview. “You want your privacy, I’ll give it to you.”
“You said that the last time. Then you woke me three times in the middle of the night, every night, for a solid week before the last launch. I’m not out of touch, Con. Just need to ensure some space.”
Constantine grumbles and turns another corner.
She’s costing us money.
She could get you killed.
I figured Nick’s trust in his cousin was absolute. The chink is unexpected, and I’m not sure what to do about it.
I pull my hand away from his chest as the hospital looms into view, the sprawling complex lit with spotlights. We bypass the emergency room, and Constantine screeches to a halt outside an unmarked door. Tish, the blonde from Simon’s house, is waiting beside a wheelchair. She jerks the car door open, and Nick struggles to push himself out and into the chair.
I get out of the car and hurry around to the other side. I slip under one of his arms to support his weight. We manage to get him into the chair. Tish starts for the hospital door, and I check the back seat to make sure we have everything. We barely managed to grab Nick’s laptop, the surveillance equipment, and my water bottle before the first cop car showed up. I’m paranoid we forgot something.
Before I can shut the door, Constantine says my name. “I need to call his father. Fair warning. Andreas will come.”
Great.
Constantine drives off, and I run to the door, catching it before it can close completely. I follow Tish to a bank of elevators and get my first good look at Nick since he was shot.
I was right. His skin is sickly, practically gray, his mouth tight with pain, a frown line digging deep between his brows. My rusty handprint is dead center of his chest, a grotesque reminder of the night. More blood spatter dots his abdomen and forearms, and the right leg of his jeans is stained dark with blood from hip to knee. The shirt is soaked through where it’s pressed to the wound, the edges still the faded blue the fabric was before it became a tourniquet.
The elevator arrives, and it’s thankfully empty. Tish pushes Nick in first, hits the button for the fifth floor.
“Constantine was going to call your father. He seemed certain Andreas would come.”
Nick laughs weakly. “He will. He’ll sit in the waiting area, not saying a word, and when Simon comes out, he’ll tell him that in no uncertain terms am I to die.” He takes my hand, and I stare down at his large one dwarfing mine.
When Simon stitched me up, Nick stayed by my side the entire time. “Will Simon let me in the operating room?” I ask Tish.
She shakes her head and pushes the chair through the doors. “There are some rules he’s willing to bend in this hospital. That’s not one of them. No unauthorized personnel in the operating suite.”
I don’t want to let go of his hand. It’s awkward, walking alongside the wheelchair and trying not to trip, but dread creeps in with every step toward Simon. He’s clad in blue scrubs and waiting at a set of swinging double doors.
He acknowledges me with a dip of his head and points to the right. “Restroom three doors down. Cafeteria’s on the second floor.” He turns to push through the doors.
“Wait.” What if I never see Nick again? What if he doesn’t wake up? Panic whips through me, clearing away the numbness. I’ve lost too many people. I can’t lose him.
Nick’s hand flexes in mine. “There’s an observation room, isn’t there? She can watch there.”
“That room is for medical students, here to learn,” Simon argues. “Friends and family stay in the waiting area. No exceptions.”
Incredibly, Nick straightens, power rolling off him even as he sits bleeding from the leg and in obvious pain. “Make one.”
Simon’s expression freezes into stone. “Dominic—”
“Make. One.”
They glare at one another, each beat of Nick’s heart pumping more blood out through his wound. I’m about to let go of his hand and back off when Simon jerks around and pushes through the doors, waving his hand for me to follow.
“Bathroom.” He points to a door as he passes. “Wash your hands. I’ll have a nurse bring you a set of scrubs to change into. She’ll show you to the observation room.”
Tish pauses long enough for me to kiss Nick good-bye, and then he’s rolling down the hall. Away from me.
Half an hour later, hands washed, clad in clean scrubs, I stand at the window of the observation room watching as they bring Nick