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It doesn’t even register with me when we finally arrive at the clinic. That’s how obsessed I’ve become with being close to her.
She parks the bike, and I get off so I can hand her my helmet, but she throws them to the side and grabs my hand, dragging me along. “Where is he?”
“I don’t know.”
When I see Nathan in the hallway, I run over to him. “Is he alive?”
“He’s in the recovery room,” Nathan says, his eyes red and his face twisted with emotions. “He’s alive, but no thanks to you.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, shaking my head.
“You weren’t fucking there! I was the one who found him!” Nathan yells, shoving me away. “I called you, and you didn’t fucking pick up!”
“That’s my fault. He was with me,” Lana says.
Nathan aims his ire at her. “Five fucking gunshots. FIVE!”
Despite his flaming rage, she pulls him in for a hug, tightening her grip around him while he fights her every step of the way until he finally caves in and grieves against her, wrapping his arms around her.
“I almost lost him,” he mutters. “I almost lost Milo.”
She blinks and glances my way before patting Nathan on the back. “It’s going to be okay. He’s strong. He can survive this.”
“God, I wish I could’ve been there,” Nathan says.
“What happened?” she asks.
“He tried to give me time off and took Rory to the playground when some fuckers ambushed him,” he says, leaning away to look at me. “They took Rory.”
My eyes widen. “Fuck.”
Suddenly, a doctor comes into the waiting area. “Nathan Reed?”
“Yes!” Nathan turns around, all frazzled and running his fingers through his hair. “Is he awake?”
“Yes, you’re free to visit him if you want. He’s in room 15.”
Nathan shoots past the doctor, racing up the stairs instead of taking the elevator, and we follow suit. He bursts into Milo’s room, but the beeping machine immediately stops him.
“Milo …” Nathan mutters as he sinks into his bed and grips his hand. “I’m here.”
Milo’s eyes flutter open, and he coughs. “Hi …” His voice is all crackled from the tubes.
Lana approaches his bed too from the other side and grabs his hand to squeeze. “Hi, Milo.”
“Am I dreaming?” Milo muses. “Or am I seeing angels now?”
She grins. “Still got your charms, I see.”
“How are you feeling?” I ask.
“Well, for someone who just got shot five times … pretty good.”
Both Lana and I snort from his comment. Always the jokester, even when he’s on the brink of death.
“They sutured me up?” he asks, looking at the bandages.
“The doc said you were quite a mess to fix,” Nathan says, pushing some of the bloodied hairs off Milo’s face. “But he did a good job.”
