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The words became background noise, and training took over.

“Trauma room two,” I called. The team moved instantly. The wheels rattled against the floor as the team rushed him through the doors.

My stomach dropped when he came into view. Every clinical instinct inside me collided with something far more human. Lane’s eyes were closed. His hands rested at his sides, the same hands that had held mine like I was something worth protecting. Blood matted the hair above his right ear and streaked down the side of his neck. The oxygen mask obscured part of his face, but it didn’t hide how unnaturally pale he was. For one terrifying second, everything froze. Lane. The man who convinced everyone he needed nothing while quietly carrying everything. The man who had kissed every one of my fingers less than twenty-four hours ago.

“Vitals?” I asked.

My voice stayed steady while every instinct in me screamed.

“Eighty-eight pulse ox on arrival but improving with oxygen.”

“Get him on the monitor,” I directed. The room exploded into motion. Electrodes. IV access. Blood draws. Questions. Machines. I stepped to the head of the bed, desperate to hear his voice.

“Lane?” His brow twitched. A tiny movement but enough to remind my lungs how to work.

I swallowed.

The doors opened as Dr. Wrosch burst into the room, still buttoning her coat.

Her eyes found me first, then moved to Lane, assessing the situation immediately.

“I’ve got him,” she said with firm confidence.

I nodded, but I didn’t move. My feet stayed planted beside the bed even after my brain told them to step away.

“Reactive pupils,” I reported automatically. “Loss of consciousness at the scene.”

Dr. Wrosch studied me for a moment.

“Good work, Cali. I’ll take it from here.” Her warm brown eyes reassured me that she had handled cases like this, and I knew Lane was in good hands. She wasn’t just speaking as a physician. She was speaking as someone who knew what it felt like to love someone on the other side of the bed.

The composure I’d built inside the trauma bay slipped the second I no longer had a job to do. I moved toward the corner of the room. Far enough away not to interfere, but close enough to see his chest rise and fall. A nurse began cleaning the blood from his face so that Dr. Wrosch could get a better look at the damage. The sight almost undid me. Blood wasn’t new. I had seen more of it than most people saw in a lifetime. I knew how to separate the wound from the person attached to it. Except this time, I couldn’t.

Because it was his, and that changed everything.

Lacy appeared beside me, a steady presence who didn’t need me to explain how scared I was. She should’ve already been gone because her shift was over, but she was the kind of person who didn’t abandon you in the storm. She handed me a cup of water. My hands were trembling too hard to drink it, but I attempted to before she took the cup and set it to the side.

A few minutes later, they wheeled Lane toward Radiology to get a CT. As the gurney passed, his eyes cracked open, heavy, confused, and searching until they landed on me.

“Cali?” My name sounded like a lifeline in the darkness. Even injured and confused, his first instinct wasn’t fear. It was finding me. The words were rough and slurred. And every piece of control I had left was shattered.

I moved immediately to his side and wrapped his calloused hand in both of mine. His fingers weakly squeezed mine.

“I’m here.”

His gaze struggled to focus, but his brows drew together in concern.

“You okay?”

A wet, broken laugh escaped me before I could stop it. Of course he asked that. He was the one on a gurney, and he was asking if I was okay. I squeezed his hand.

“I’m okay as long as you’re okay,” I said.

A tiny smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, his eyes drifted shut again. The transporter began rolling him toward imaging, and I let go slowly. Like if I held on hard enough, none of this would be happening.

Dr. Wrosch paused beside me, her gray curls framing her face.

“The fact that he’s waking up and responding is encouraging.”