30. July 5th

30

July 5th

T he hospital smells of death, decay, and bleach. My nose wrinkles as the doors shut behind us with a snap. We walk in, and I find myself pointedly ignoring the full waiting room.

I am suddenly aware of how little contact I have had with the outside world, and the loud room is off-putting.

"Come on," Darius coaxes me with his soft calm voice. He's back to being my friend and I appreciate it. He seems to already know where we are going and leads me up an elevator, through several hallways, until we make it to the outside of a door to a hospital room.

He turns to me.

"He's going to look worse than it is, okay? And I need you to remember that no matter what happened, it isn't your fault."

"Whose fault is it then?" My voice breaks as it weakly leaves my lips.

Darius's eyes find mine. I try to look away, but his large hand reaches up, he pinches my chin between his thumb and finger. "It is the men who hurt him. It is the Thornes, their lackeys, and every other person that was involved. You were not the cause. This was inevitable. They just chose to act because he was there."

Anxiety flushes through me. It has the weight of a thousand cars. The depth of an endless chasm. The feel of being shaken in a barrel, unable to move.

What? The last thought feels too real.

Why does everything hurt so much?

I don't realize I'm trembling until Darius reaches forward and pulls me into his chest.

"It's okay, everything is going to be alright." The words don't soothe me, but his voice does.

Embarrassment heats my cheeks at my public display, I look up from his shoulder, but the hallway we are standing in is empty. I extract myself from his refuge.

"I'm ready."

I can tell he doesn't believe me, but he opens the door nonetheless.

I'm not ready.

My gasp is inaudible over the noise of the hospital equipment.

Grayson isn't okay. Grayson is wrapped from head to toe in something or another.

He isn't awake. He's hooked up to a ventilator. The steady beep strums at my nerves and each time, it pierces a bit further into my heart.

Grayson was the O'Brien I looked up to. The one I thought no harm could come to. The one that was there when I needed him the most. He was indestructible.

Except he's not.

Everyone I care about is going to leave me. Or die.

This time I can't help the flood of tears. I am so incredibly overwhelmed by the sight that I don't see Axel until he is standing up from a chair next to Grayson's side.

"I told you not to bring her," Axel grunts out harshly to Darius, before taking me in his arms. "Come here, I've got you, Little Lamb. That's a good Sunday, come here and breathe." He resituates us in the chair, placing me in his lap.

This close I can see the rise and fall of Grayson's chest. The only physical indicator that the man is still alive. That the world hasn't lost another O'Brien.

"Did you call your mom?" I'm not sure why that is the question I decide to ask, but I wish I can take it back when Axel stiffens underneath me.

"The oven doesn't need to know. We have each other. I doubt she would come anyway," Axel rumbles the words into my ear. He tickles the skin and I involuntarily shiver.

My hand carefully moves forward. The blanket covers most of Grayson, but his hand closest to us is exposed. I reach for it.

The size difference is almost comical as I place mine in his, squeezing.

I want to pretend I feel his hand move, but I don't.

"What if he doesn't wake up?" This time when the words slip out it's me stiffening.

Axel doesn't even react.

Darius drags a chair up next to us sitting down. "He will." Darius sounds surer than he has any right to.

"How do you know?" I wish I could shut up, but I can't.

Axel chuckles in my ear. "Because how will he chew us all out if he doesn't wake up? He knew what going there meant."

"How did he end up here, in the hospital?"

The room's door opens again and I jerk my attention to it, dropping Grayson's hand.

"That would be me."