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“No, I think I’d like a minute alone with him if you don’t mind.” I give her hand a squeeze. “I’m glad you boys are okay,” I add before following the doctor out the door.
He brings me down another hallway into a separate area of the hospital, then opens the door before silently gesturing me inside.
“Thank you, Doctor,” I whisper.
Gabe’s room is dimly lit. The beep of a heart monitor measures the stable beat, and my heart squeezes to hear it sound so steady. As my eyes land upon Gabe lying so still and silent in his hospital bed, IVs poking from his arms, another wave of anxiety washes over me, and tears spring to my eyes.
Stepping up to his bedside, I take in his poor broken face. While he’s not so severely covered in bruises as Dallas, I can tell by the black color bleeding around his left brow and cheek, along with the bandages wrapped around his head, that his injuries must be severe. I can’t imagine how badly injured he must be under there. His lip is cracked and swollen, and his forearms are covered in deep purple splotches, revealing to me how he tried to defend himself against someone’s steel pole or other forms of blows.
My heart breaks at the bruised and beaten sight of him, so vulnerable in his unconscious state. I’ve never seen him this bad before. Sure, he’s been in a few scuffles since we met, but nothing compares to this.
“Oh, Gabe,” I breathe as tears spill down my cheeks. I’m terrified he won’t make it. The doctor didn’t sound confident by any means. And while the bandages from his surgery are hidden by a hospital gown, I know his torso must look as bad as his arms and face.
I gently grip his hand, feeling his warm, coarse fingertips against mine, reassuring even now. “I love you so much,” I sob. “Please, please don’t die on me,” I beg. I feel as though I might rip in two with the thought of losing Gabe, like I might just bleed out right here at his side if he were to slip away in his sleep. Never have I felt the fear of loss so deeply, and I’m consumed by overwhelming anxiety.
Kneeling on the floor beside him, I press my lips to the back of his hand as sobs rack my body.
“Please, Gabe, come back to me. I don’t think I can do this life without you. Please.”
I collapse against the edge of the bed, openly weeping with a desperation I’ve never known before. I’m so lost in my fear and sadness that I don’t hear the quiet click of the hospital door opening. And when a strong hand rests against my shoulder, I don’t even look up.
“He’ll pull through,” Rico murmurs, his fingers giving my shoulder a squeeze.
“How can you be so sure?” I stutter through my ragged sobs.
“It’s Gabe,” he says simply.
I nod numbly, but still, I’m consumed by a horrible sense of foreboding. All I can do is pray Rico’s right, and Gabe will be okay.
14
Winter
Gabriel doesn’t wakefor two more days, and while the doctor says that all we can do is wait and hope he will, I feel as though my heart might not make it if I have to wait much longer. Someone is by his bedside, day and night, and while I would love nothing more than to be there all day, every day, I know it’s not healthy for the baby if I sleep upright in a chair, slumped on top of her as I nod off.
Rico and Knuckles are dedicated to ensuring no one threatens Gabe in the hospital. When I need to go home and rest, Starla promises to watch over him for me as well. Thankfully, Dallas is released from the hospital by the end of the first day, but the clubhouse is the last place he needs to be right now. Starla agrees, and rather than letting him stay in the newly renovated space that currently holds a dark cloud of violence and danger over it, we put him in the spare bedroom at mine and Gabe’s house.
For Starla, we blow up the air mattress and put her in the nursery, which she insists is where she would prefer to be. And while I would like to insist otherwise, I don’t have the energy to argue with her. Not with Gabriel lying unconscious in the hospital and his best friend struggling to move around the house between his broken wrist and cracked ribs. It somehow feels wrong to be grateful that Rico’s the only one who required stitches for the cut on his thigh, which he refused to let anyone care for until everyone was fully settled and waiting for Gabriel to wake.
Early in the morning on the third day at the hospital, I doze lightly in the chair beside Gabriel, my hand resting lightly in his, when a rasping groan startles me into full consciousness. My eyes snap open as Gabriel’s strong fingers tighten around mine.
“Winter?” His throat sounds raw and dry, not a surprise considering he hasn’t drank anything in days. All his hydration has come through an IV directly into his arm.
“Gabriel,” I gasp, my fingers closing around his hand as I rise out of my chair to press a desperate kiss to his lips. “You’re awake.” I sound silly pointing out the obvious, but the tears that spring from my eyes reflect my intense relief.
Gabriel’s hand tries to rise to cup my cheek, but a hiss of pain escapes his lips, and he flinches visibly.
“Try not to move around too much. You were beaten nearly half to death,” I insist. Taking his hand once more and guiding it back onto the bed.
“How long was I out?” he asks, glancing around the room as if searching for some indication of the time.
“Two days.” I can’t stop myself from gently pressing kisses to the right side of his face, where the minor bruising has already started to fade. My fingers gently stroke his chin as I prove to myself that he’s real. This isn’t one of my very vivid, wishful dreams.
“Two days?” he demands, his voice rising as he starts to sit up in bed.
“Gabriel Martinez, you lie back in bed this instant,” I command, leaning back so I can get a good look at him.
Surprise registers on his face before he slowly sinks back against his pillows.
