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She had coughed up a mouthful of water, he realized. That was water dribbling down the sides of her face.
What the fuck.
Carefully, Darien wiped it away, not knowing what this meant, what to do, how to feel. But—
She was still breathing. It was enough—for now.
Darien fell back on the cement, bracing a hand behind him, his own breathing shallow and rapid. He tipped his head back, gulping down air, not able to get enough.
He felt like he was drowning.
“Fuck.” He was this close to breaking, but he would bend right in half before he let himself snap.
Night number fucking one, and they were already down to seven syringes.
“You suspected something was going wrong with her when I checked in with you,” Darien said, speaking quietly. “Didn’t you?”
He stood behind the truck with Doctor Atlas, out of earshot of the others. He hadn’t planned on berating Joyce for failing to act quicker, but once the fear of losing Loren tonight had subsided, Darien had recalled her behavior while they’d charged the cars.
Joyce had told him that everything was good, but she’d lied—he could see that now. For whatever reason, she’d withheld the truth, and it had almost cost Loren her life.
“I thought everything was fine,” Joyce whispered.
“But it wasn’t.” Rage began to simmer below Darien’s skin, and he fought the heat. “It wasn’t fine, and you didn’t tell me.”
She swallowed. “I didn’t want to concern you, Darien. You’re under a lot of stress—”
“She is my concern,” he said, pointing at the truck. “She is my concern,” he repeated. “The next time anything happens, I don’t care how minor you think it is, I want you to tell me. Even if I’m busy, even if I’m fighting a goddamn Veil monster, I need you to come and get me. Can you do that, Joyce?”
Another swallow, her gray eyes shining in the street lights. “Yes.”
“I’m grateful that you’re here,” he said, softening his tone, “but I need you to do your job.”
“With all due respect, Darien,” she hissed, “my job usually involves a team of hospital support staff and equipment designed to keep people alive.”
“I understand and respect that. I’m not asking you to work miracles, Joyce, I’m asking you to tell me when something’s going wrong, so that I can help you.” The edge in his voice was back, and he worked at softening it again. “So I can help you help her.” He pointed at the truck again. “I need you to communicate with me, and I need you to act quicker when something doesn’t feel right. Does that make sense?”
Her swallow was audible. “Yes.”
“Can you do this?”
It took her a minute, but she finally looked him in the eye. “Yes,” she said. “I can.”
“Thank you.”
He turned and joined the others. They were gathered around the vehicles, catching their breath and bandaging wounds. “Everyone good to keep going?” he asked them.
“Fine with me,” Tanner said as he pulled a clean shirt over his head. His eyes flicked between his mom and Darien as he smoothed the hem. “Everything good?”
“Fine,” Darien said.
Tanner’s mouth shifted into a thoughtful frown, his attention shifting back to Joyce. “Mom?”
“We’re all good, Tanner,” Joyce assured him. She breezed passed Darien, heading for the truck. “All good and ready to roll.” She swung open the back door. Darien had placed Loren inside after monitoring her for several minutes, ensuring she was stable. No more inexplicable water coming out of her lungs.
He watched her now, making sure her chest was rising with even breaths.
It was.
