Then to the doctors working around her, to the nurses moving from one side of the bed to the other.
Another member of staff attempts to usher me out, and this time, I allow it.
I take a step backwards, and then another.
The moment I’m in the corridor, the door swings shut in my face.
Fuck.
I start pacing.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
Every second feels like hours.
I have no idea how much time passes before a nurse approaches from the far end of the corridor.
“Sir, come with me. Let me take a look at those wounds.”
“No.”
“Sir—”
“I said no.”
She flinches.
I drag a hand through my hair before looking down at myself.
My hands are covered in blood, my shirt is stained with it too.
But none of it is mine, and how I wish it were.
Because then Piper wouldn’t be the one lying behind those doors fighting for her life.
I’ve made a mistake of catastrophic proportions.
Several, if I’m being honest.
But I’ll fix it.
I’ll fix every last part of this mess, and when Piper wakes up, I’ll make certain she never has to face any of it alone again.
I don’t deserve her.
But I’m going to have her nonetheless.
I’ve spent years convinced that I’m incapable of love, yet the older I get, the more I suspect the word itself is the problem, because whatever this thing is that I feel for her has long since outgrown something as small and inadequate as love.
I’d give her my next breath if she needed it.
I’d trade places with her without a second thought.
And every time I see her hurt, crying or frightened, it feels as if someone is slowly driving a blade between my ribs.
I want her safe, I want her happy.
