Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 67975 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67975 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
Alarick looks rugged, and tired, and his hands are bruised and battered. I don’t even want to ask, but I can only guess that he found the guy who shot Mykel, and he made sure he wasn’t going to hurt anyone again. I’m not going to go there, I’m just so damned glad to see him right now.
He walks over to where we’re sitting and looks down at me. His hand comes out and gently he runs a thumb under my chin, holding my eyes for a moment, and then he murmurs in a low voice, “You okay, honey?”
God damn.
This man makes me fall in love with him even more, every single day.
I nod, and then say in a soft voice, “I haven’t heard anything.”
As if reading my mind, the door opens and a doctor walks in. He’s wearing scrubs and he looks tired, but he walks over to us and asks, “Are you Mykel’s family?”
We all nod, because, well, we are.
Mykel has family, of course, but they haven’t been called yet. Why would they be? They haven’t spoken to their son in years. Because of the club. Because of who he chose to be. No, Mykel doesn’t have family that need to know what he’s going through right now.
“We’ve managed to get Mykel stable. I’m not going to lie to you, the next twenty-four hours will make or break this. Either he’s going to come out of it alive and well, or he’s not going to make it. We’re fully supporting his body right now—he’s not even breathing on his own. That doesn’t mean he can’t, we just want his body to have every chance to recover from this trauma. There was a lot of internal bleeding and damage we had to fix. I honestly don’t know how they got him here alive ...”
Oh, god.
This doesn’t sound good, at all.
“Do you think he’s going to make it, honestly?” Alarick asks, his voice rough and tired.
“I can’t answer that honestly. As I said, the next twenty-four hours are crucial. If he stays stable, it’ll be a lot better odds for him. If he crashes, there is a good chance he’s not going to make it out.”
I swallow, and it feels like I’m going to lose it.
Everything in my body is trembling, everything inside me is threatening to just erupt.
“Can we see him?” Samson asks.
“One at a time, you may see him briefly. But he’s not awake and is unresponsive at this time.”
Samson nods, and looks to Alarick. “I’ll go first.”
With that, him and the doctor leave.
I turn to Alarick, and the moment I see his face, my bottom lip trembles and I start to cry. Big heavy tears roll down my face, and I can’t keep it in anymore. A huge sob rips from my throat, and Alarick has me in his arms in a split second, holding me tightly, murmuring over and over that it’s going to be okay.
Is it though?
Is it going to be okay?
Because it sure as hell doesn’t feel like it.
THE TWENTY-FOUR HOURS we had to wait were hell on earth.
Not hearing from any doctors.
Wondering if he was going to make it out alive.
Wondering if he was crashing and we didn’t know.
When the doctor came out, about thirty hours later, and told us that Mykel had made it through the night and was now awake, I could have screamed with pure joy.
I was so happy that Alarick told me to go in first.
I’ll be forever grateful to him for that. Forever.
Following the doctor down the halls feels like eternity, and when we finally reach Mykel’s room and he lets me in, I practically barge past him.
I step in and what I see isn’t what I expected.
Mykel is awake, but the tubes coming out of him I wasn’t prepared for.
There are so many—his arms, his chest, his face.
He looks over at me, and the only thing there isn’t a huge tube coming out of is his mouth.
“Oh,” I say, and the tears spring forth again.
I rush over and then gently lift his hand, placing it in mine. He looks up at me, and god, he looks so bad. He looks like he’s risen from the dead.
“Hey,” he croaks, his voice hoarse and raspy. “Stop cryin’.”
I shake my head and lean down, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “I can’t,” I say. “I can’t because I thought you were gone.”
I push back up and look at him, swiping my tears. “You scared me.”
“Yeah,” he says. “Me, too.”
I squeeze his hand. “Dare I ask how you’re feeling?”
He gives me a weak smile. “I’m alive.”
“Yeah, you are. You’re a fighter, the doctors are impressed.”
“They should be.”
I laugh, and then swipe my tears again. “I never want to go through something like that again. Seeing you like that ...”
“It’s finished,” he rasps, squeezing my hand. “I’m here. Don’t think about it.”