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From the moment I woke up in the hospital, all I cared about was knowing that Teigan was safe and uninjured. Seeing her beautiful grey eyes looking at me as she walked into the room, was like stepping into a fucking dream, and for just a moment, I genuinely wondered if I’d died and gone to heaven. I know it’s a fucking cliche thing to say, but I was high as a kite on pain meds, and she really is that amazing.
Things went downhill pretty quickly afterwards. When I learnt about Liam, my heart stopped. He’s my baby brother, and I’m supposed to protect him. I’m supposed to put myself between him and a bullet, the same way I would with any of my siblings.
I don’t regret Teigan being my priority. It would have hurt me so much more had I not pushed her out of the way and taken thebullet meant for her. I guess I wish I could have saved both her and Liam.
Trust him to be a pain in my ass, even when he’s on fucking death’s door. I come around from the surgery just fine, but Liam? No, he has to go and be put into a fucking medical coma, and we all have to sit around and wait for his lazy ass to heal enough to wake up.
I managed to stay in my own hospital bed for around six hours before I created enough chaos that they agreed to let me see my brother.
After my nurse realised that I would go and see him on my own, without any help, most likely to the detriment of my recovery, she quickly agreed to put me in a wheelchair and push me into his room. But not until I passed a bunch of her tests to prove I was well enough.
Even my mum stomped into the room at one point, lecturing me about how I needed to take time to look after myself. She actually threatened me in her best Mum voice, the way she used to do when I was a kid, and for a few minutes, it genuinely worked. I was fucking terrified, but then the fear in my brain won over.
What if Liam dies and I haven’t been able to say goodbye to him?
I can’t remember the last thing I ever said to him, but I’m guessing it was something offensive, knowing me. I can’t live with not knowing. I want to be able to say something to him, just in case.
More than anything, I want all of this to be all for fucking nothing when he wakes up, looking at us like we’re crazy for thinking he might die. I can even imagine his blunt tone telling me that Doughty men go out when they’re ready and not before.
I mean, I want to say he’s not wrong, but Doughtys on the whole get shot at far more often than most members of society, so it kinda makes sense that this is how it ends for us.
I’m only a couple of rooms down the hall from Liam’s, but the journey in the wheelchair seems to take for-fucking-ever. And each time the wheels go over a slight bump, I have to bite the inside of my lip to keep from crying out with the pain.
My pain relief pump had to be disconnected temporarily and left in the room—one of the many things the nurse told me about before she got me ready to leave.
I thought I’d be fine without the painkillers for a short space of time, but as beads of sweat gather on my forehead, from the amount of exertion needed just to push past the pain, I know how fucking wrong I was.
I’ll be glad to get back to it, but I need to do this first.
As soon as the door opens, I’m not surprised to see Bree curled up in an armchair beside Liam’s bed. Although her body is curled into a ball on the chair, her head is resting on his bed, and she’s clutching his hand like a lifeline.
Her bright red hair fans out over the bed, and her creamy skin looks even paler than normal. Although she’s snoring softly and looks peaceful, I can tell by the way her features are scrunched, even in sleep, she’s on edge.
As soon as she hears the creaking of my wheelchair, her eyes spring open and she sits bolt upright. I watch as the hand that isn’t holding Liam’s moves towards her ankle, and I know she’s reaching for the blade she keeps hidden there.
“Woah, Bree. It’s me, Evan,” I say quickly, holding my hands out in front of me, so she can see I’m not a threat.
She blinks a few times, trying to clear the sleep—and no doubt tears—from her eyes. When it registers in her brain that it’s me, she moves her hand from her leg and lets out a sigh. As she wipesthe sleep from her eyes, she looks up at the nurse behind me, who appears to be frozen.
I don’t need to turn around to know she’s terrified. Even though Bree didn’t pull the blade out of her ankle holder, she will have seen the glint of the metal, and apparently, that’s enough to have scared her into a statue.
Bree holds her hand up, not letting go of Liam with the other, and she gives her a small, non-threatening smile. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Y-you have a weapon? I mean… You can’t have one in here,” she mutters, her voice more high pitched than it was before.
“I didn’t mean to scare you. If you talk to your supervisor, Nurse Blanche, about the situation, she will fill you in. You can leave Evan here, and we will call you when he’s ready to go back to his room,” Bree states, using the professional tone she dons on us all the time. There’s an air of authority that nobody questions.
At Bree’s mention of me, the nurse snaps out of it and moves to stand in front of me. She checks me over, looking at the numbers on the portable monitor she insisted I had to bring. We agreed that if it alarms at any point, I have to go back to my room straight away.
Although I can hear my heart rate beating steadily, I also noticed the beeping increases whenever the pain gets too much, so I know she’s monitoring me properly. The nurse drags her gaze over me, looking down at the way my arm is protectively draped over my abdominal wound.
I can’t explain why, but it helps with the pain, if I’m holding the wound just slightly. I don’t put any pressure on it, as that hurts like a motherfucker, but just having my arm draped over it protectively seems to reassure me that I can’t do any further damage.
“Are you sure you’re okay? You look like you’re in a lot of pain,” the nurse states, no doubt after seeing my clammy, pale skin.
“I will be fine.” I wave her off with my other arm, trying my best not to wince from even the slightest of movements.
It turns into more of a grimace, and the nurse actually rolls her eyes. “What is it with men trying to be tough? Look, you have five minutes, like we agreed, and then I’m taking you back to your bed. Where you will remain for a minimum of twenty-four hours, without giving me or my colleagues any hassle. That was the deal, yes?”
