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“I’m here.”
She gives my hand a soft squeeze, telling me she knows.
“You’ll be okay.” She’s got to be okay. The world would be lonely without her. Not only because she’s a gentle and caring soul, but imagine the broken teddies and dolls out there, and the children and adults who hold them dear. There would be a lot of broken hearts—none more so than mine.
“Let us take care of her now,” the doctor says when we arrive at the emergency room. “Please wait here.”
I kiss her forehead before my hands reluctantly let go, and the doors in front of me click shut.
“Rob!”
Just the voice I want to hear. Clay bands his arm around me—the comforting embrace of my sidekick brother. I don’t even try to be tough. I just lean on him, silently asking him to support me.
“How is she?” he asks in a whisper.
“She was still conscious when the medical team took her away.”
“She’ll be okay.”
I nod. She will—I believe in her.
Then I notice Clay’s companion. “What’s Bjork doing here?”
“I dropped by Newport, to make sure Matty and the others were okay. He was pretty upset about Amber, though. He insisted I bring Bjork here. He said the bear would make her feel better.”
Warmth rises within me. My little brother clearly put a lot of thought into this. The Amber effect lingers even when she’s not around him.
“He also wrote a card,” Clay adds. “I’ll show you later.”
Bless Matty. That boy has come a long way. When Amber-Rose was taken at our Beverly Hills home, he stood up like a man. In any other circumstances he would’ve panicked, I’m sure—but because he was with her, and she was in danger, he became the Matthew Hartley who shows fortitude.
“Let’s sit down.” I lead my brother into the seating area.
“I’ve got something for you, too.” He takes out a thermos from his bag. “Mama’s coffee.”
“Hallelujah!” I don’t wait a second to sip it as soon as Clay serves a cup. “How’s everyone else holding up?”
“They’re fine. No one has gone home yet. They’re still waiting at the factory.” Clay serves himself a cup. “What does Mama put in this? It’s so good.”
I cackle. “Amber-Rose says it’s cocaine.”
We let out a laugh.
“How did you get here?” I ask, remembering the possibility of our cars being unsafe.
“I’m driving Wyatt’s car, and Joe has been driving Rocky’s.”
I nod. “You did good, Clay. I couldn’t have done it without you.”
He pats my uninjured shoulder, Clay-style—firm, yet soothing.
The doctor approaches, nodding at me.
“I’ll be back,” I say to Clay and rush to the doctor. “How is she?”
“As we suspected, she has a collapsed lung—her left one, about thirty percent of it. But we’ve performed what we call a needle aspiration, and we’ve managed to inflate her lung and get it to work again. We’re putting her under observation to make sure it doesn’t reoccur.”
I huff a sigh of relief, while deep in my throat, I gulp my worries. “Can I see her?”
