Total pages in book: 35
Estimated words: 32280 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 161(@200wpm)___ 129(@250wpm)___ 108(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 32280 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 161(@200wpm)___ 129(@250wpm)___ 108(@300wpm)
He waited until I was sitting before he began speaking. “She’s alive,” he started. I scrubbed my hands down my face, relief flooding my veins. My shoulders sagged like a trillion-ton weight had been lifted off. “Her recovery is going to be rough, Johnston. She took a bullet and managed to survive a shot that would have usually killed anyone else. Blayke is the only reason she’s alive because he was able to plug that wound.” Perks of his combat medic training, no doubt. “I’m going to keep her here for a while, if you’re comfortable footing that bill.”
I nodded—no hesitation on my part. “I don’t give a damn about the bill. It’ll be paid.” And that was the truth. I’d pay any cost to keep her alive, to save her life.
He nodded once. “Didn’t think you would. She’s undergoing a blood transfusion at the moment. She lost a shit ton of blood. Medication is going into her bloodstream through an IV to help prevent infections while she’s healing and to help reduce her pain levels. She is, thankfully, breathing on her own. The nasogastric tube should come out in a day or two. I just want to make sure we get everything out of her stomach—blood, air.”
I nodded, swallowing thickly. “When can I see her?” I was damn desperate at this point. Though he’d assured me she was alive, I needed to see her breathing for myself. It was the only way I’d completely calm the hell down.
Aaliyah was the only person—only thing—in this world capable of keeping me completely sane. Even weed didn’t have that calming effect on me that she did.
He checked his watch. “I can take you to the recovery area now, and I’ll let the nurse know not to bother you until she’s being moved to a room where she’ll finish her recovery. Not our normal protocol, but with the amount of money you donate to this hospital every year, we can make some exceptions.”
At least all that money I put into this place was good for something. I’d selfishly done it to keep some big corporation from buying it up and making it hard for the employees to turn a blind eye to us when we came in bloody, beaten, and shot. Good to know my selfishness finally went to something good.
He stood, and I followed him out of the room. We went down a few halls, and then he opened a door before leading me over to Aaliyah’s hospital bed.
Her face was extremely pale, and she was lying deathly still. Honestly, if her chest wasn’t slowly rising and falling, I’d have thought she was dead. Her red hair was a dirty, tangled mess. Pain lanced through my chest, and I clenched my jaw, reaching forward to grab her hand in mine. It was cool to the touch, but the steady and slow rise and fall of her chest let me know she was still alive.
She hadn’t left me.
“He goes where she goes,” the surgeon quietly told the nurse sitting there, monitoring Aaliyah’s vitals.
She nodded. “Understood, Dr. Quin.”
Dr. Quin held his hand out to me, and I quickly shook it with my free hand, not even giving a shit that it wasn’t my right hand like it was supposed to be. We all knew I wasn’t an upstanding citizen. Couldn’t expect my handshake to be much better.
His lips quirked in amusement. “Thank you for everything you did for her,” I quietly told him.
He nodded. “She’s a trooper—that one. Keep her around.”
With that, he left the large room, more than likely going to rescue someone else’s day like he’d just rescued Red’s.
I looked down at Aaliyah and brushed my thumb over the back of her hand.
“I’m so sorry, Red,” I whispered.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Aaliyah
I stared up at the bright ceiling, the light burning my tired eyes. I never understood why hospitals kept the lights so bright. Surely, they knew it was uncomfortable for patients who just woke up, right?
Lowering my lids so I was squinting, a frown pulled at my lips. A dull throb was pulsing through my abdomen, making it a bit uncomfortable to breathe. I was sluggish and weak, exhaustion pulling at my extremities and making it hard to focus my brain on any one particular thing for very long.
Once my eyes adjusted, I slowly turned my head, surprised to find Johnston sitting in a chair beside my bed. His chin was resting on his chest, and his arms were crossed, his eyes closed. He was more than likely asleep, and it didn’t look comfortable at all.
How long had he been there? How long was I out?
I was honestly surprised to see him sitting there at all, really. We’d had sex once, and I’d never expected anything, especially after Wendy came ranting and raving—
Wendy.
She fucking shot me. Was that why he was here? Was here to make sure I didn’t press some kind of charges? Was he here to apologize?