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“A creepy feeling?” Rico presses, his scowl deep enough for him and Dallas both.
I shrug noncommittally. “Like someone was watching me.”
“Was that before or after you saw your tires? Did you see anything else out of the ordinary?”
“No, and it was before we saw the tires.”
“But you didn’t see anyone you thought might be suspicious?” Rico insists, his gaze intent.
I shake my head. “Sorry.”
“Who are these assholes?” Knuckles growls.
“You weren’t able to see any of your attackers’ faces?” Starla asks with a hint of surprise.
The three boys share a glance, silently communicating something before they all shake their heads no. My suspicions are instantly raised.What aren’t they telling us?
“Knuckles,” Starla says with a warning tone.
From the look of guilt on his face, I can tell she was right to target him for information. The other two glare at him, silently telling him to keep his mouth shut.
“Who’s hungry? No one? I think I’ll go find a snack.” Before anyone has time to say another thing, Knuckles turns and bolts through the door.
Mine and Starla’s eyes follow him as he flees.
“Well, he seems to have faired far better than the rest of you,” Starla observes ironically.
Dallas chuckles darkly, then blanches as he wraps a protective arm around his ribs. “Fuck,” he hisses before explaining. “He’s definitely the best when it comes to every range of fighting. Plus, he and Rico came through the door after Gabe and me.”
“Yeah, we had time to prepare before we came to help.”
“Prepare?” I ask, cocking an eyebrow.
It’s Rico’s turn to shrug. Surreptitiously, he withdraws a set of brass knuckles from his pocket. He quickly shoves them back into their hiding spot as the hospital door clicks open, and a white-lab-coated doctor steps inside.
“How is he?” Dallas demands, cluing me in that this must be Gabe’s doctor.
He sighs, his expression grave, and my stomach turns violently. I press a hand to my mouth as I try I fight the urge to heave.Oh, God, please don’t tell me he’s dead,I think.
“He hasn’t regained consciousness. It’ll be touch and go until he does. Until then, we won’t be able to fully assess his mental capacity. He suffered multiple displaced rib fractures which led to pneumothorax and required emergency surgery.”
“Wait, what is that?” I demand.
The doctor’s grave eyes turn toward me, and he combs his shock of black hair back out of his face. “One of his fractured ribs punctured his lung, causing it to collapse.”
My breaths come rapidly as I struggle to keep my anxiety under control, and Starla’s reassuring hand grips my arm.
“Is he going to be okay?” she asks earnestly.
“The surgery was successful,” the doctor confirms. “But he also experienced multiple severe head injuries. As of now, his brain has not swollen to the point of immediate concern, but he’s not out of the woods yet.”
“Can I see him?” I ask. My voice sounds tiny.
The doctor nods. “But like I said, he’s still unconscious, so don’t expect much.”
Rising from my chair, I’m ready to follow him immediately.
“Do you want me to join you?” Starla offers, her tone filled with compassion.
