Page 12 of Life Or Death

Tori’s eyes flick to mine, and for a moment I think she may tell me to fuck off, but the girl surprises me when she says, “Twelve.”

I stare at her.

“You had her young then.”

Something defensive flares behind her eyes. “Not that it’s any of your business, but yes. I was fifteen.”

Fifteen. I turn the number over in my mind, and it lands heavy in my gut. I think about my own childhood—the violence, the neglect, the way I had to grow up fast just to survive.

“You should go to her,” I say. “It might be another couple of hours. I will call you when I know something.”

Tori arches a brow. “You don’t have my number.”

“We should probably fix that then, considering we’re going to be in constant contact with one another.”

She rolls her eyes. “Don’t remind me.”

But she hands me her phone anyway, unlocked and open to the contacts screen. I plug in my number, then call myself from her phone so I have hers too before handing it back to her. She takes it, tucking it back into her purse without looking at it.

“I’m not leaving until they tell us she’s okay. Then I’ll go pick up Poppy and take her home. I’m going to have to figure out a schedule, but I’ll be back tomorrow at some point.”

“I will stay with her until then.”

She cocks her head to the side, studying me with those sharp, discerning eyes. “Don’t you have something to do? Laws to break? More lives to ruin?”

I bite the inside of my cheek hard enough to taste copper, but before I can fire off a smart reply, the double doors swing open, and the surgeon emerges still dressed in his scrubs.

I’m on my feet in a flash, advancing toward him.

“Talk,” I demand.

He clears his throat and adjusts his glasses. “The surgery is complete, and everything went as planned. We removed the affected area of skin and were able to achieve healthy margins.”

“Margins?” Tori asks before I can.

“Healthy tissue,” he clarifies, his gaze shifting to her. “We need to remove all the dead and damaged skin so the graft has a clean base to adhere to. We were successful in that regard.”

I cross my arms over my chest, and the surgeon adjusts his glasses again.

“After that, we placed the skin graft over the wound and secured it in position with dressings. The graft we placed is from a donor site on her hip. It’s a large graft, and there’s always a risk that part or all of the graft may not take. If the blood supply doesn’t establish itself, the tissue can die, and we’d have to go back in and repeat the procedure.”

“Is she still in a coma?” Tori asks.

The surgeon nods. “Given her overall condition, we’re keeping her under. Her body needs time to heal without the added stress of consciousness. The burns are extensive, and the pain would be—” He pauses, choosing his next words carefully. “Significant. The sedation gives her the best chance at recovery.”

“Where is she now?” Tori asks.

“She’ll be in recovery for at least an hour, then they will return her to the intensive care unit,” he replies. “The ICU team will continue monitoring her very closely. Right now, our priorities are supporting her heart and lungs, preventing infection, managing pain and sedation, and watching the graft and the surgical site carefully.” He pauses, then adds, “The first forty-eight hours post-op are the most critical for the graft. We’ll be checking it every few hours to assess the blood flow. If there are any changes, we’ll address them immediately.”

“When can we see her?” I ask.

“Once she’s back in the ICU, one of you may sit with her. Considering how long you’ve already been here, it wouldn’t be a big deal if you both decided to go home. I gather the nursing staff has your contact information, Mr. Holland. If there are any developments, someone will reach out to you.”

Fuck that. “I’m staying.”

Tori’s head snaps in my direction, but my gaze remains locked on the surgeon.

“I’ll let the charge nurse know.” He hesitates, then adds, “Mr. Holland, I know this has been difficult, but your wife is in good hands. My team and I will do everything we can.”