Chapter 30

As far as rough mornings go, it's been a while since I've had one this bad. I'm great at handling a hangover, but even I can admit that this one is much more intense.

I pull myself up off the floor, ending my worship of the porcelain god, and shuffle to the living room.

"Need Gatorade. And toast."

For whatever reason, I actually have both right now, and I take the next few minutes to slowly get them down. When I do, I feel much more like a human being.

I just lay back on the couch again when my phone rings.

"Ugh, fuck. Okay, I'm coming."

Sitting up, I snag it from the coffee table and swipe open the call.

"Hello?"

"Mr. Luke Shaw?"

I don't recognize the voice, but it has a seriousness to it that gets me jolting straight up, my pulse quickening.

"Yes. How can I help you?"

"Hello, this is security at Lakeshore Valley Hospital. We have a Dr. Stewart here that?—"

"What happened?" I bite out, my heart fully in my throat at this point.

"There was an incident at the hospital. She's unharmed, but if you?—"

"I'll be right there."

I don't waste time listening to the rest. I hang up and head straight for my shoes and jacket.

Throwing them on over my stocking feet and tee, I grab my keys and practically sprint down to the garage.

You were supposed to be there. You were supposed to drop her off. You could have noticed something. You always check the place out before leaving.

The mad swirl of my thoughts doesn't let up the entire drive to the hospital.

I get there in record time, and when the guy at the main desk finally lets me through, I rush up to the fourth floor where they've got Clara.

"Clara!"

The hallway blurs past as I run, and then I hear her.

"Luke. I'm right here."

Skidding to a stop, I turn and look behind the nurse's station, where Clara is sitting on a rolling desk chair.

"Oh my God." I shove back there, not caring if I'm not technically allowed. "You're okay. When they called, I thought?—"

"He was here, Luke." She shakes her head, her eyes glossy with tears and her face stained from them. "He put a knife to my face. He…"

Her eyes flare wide before a terrible sob racks her entire body, and I pull her into my arms.

"She…she…"

"Hey, now. Try to breathe, doc. You're okay."

Clara shakes against me, pulling herself back. The pain on her face cuts to my core, making my chest ache.

"He killed her. That monster killed…" Her voice is loud, but she doesn't finish the sentence.

I'm left looking around at the people near us as Clara cries. An older woman, a nurse I recognize from drop-offs and my brief stay here, approaches.

"The guy ran off down the hall. Security couldn't catch him." She hangs her head for a moment. "He stabbed Dr. Carter on his way out. She didn't make it."

My mouth falls open. I've heard Clara talk about her. Dr. Carter was her mentor, her closest friend, from what I understand.

"Oh, fuck." I'm still holding Clara in my arms, and I squeeze tighter. "Babe, I'm so sorry."

She's shaking against me, shaking so damn hard.

This is wrong. This is my fucking fault. If I had been here to check things out. Dammit!

My gut is churning, and it has nothing to do with my hangover at this point. Guilt and pain and regret swirl in my blood, eating through me like acid.

I always check the hospital before I leave. I haven't told Clara about it, but I never just drop her off.

And today, I didn't because I was a fucking mess.

Why couldn't she have just waited? I would have been ready in five minutes. I could have prevented this.

Wecould have prevented this.

The room feels too small. I pull back from Clara for a moment; the weight of her presence around me is stifling.

"Can we…go somewhere more private?"

Clara looks up. There's something behind her eyes like she's going through a catalog of things she needs to address.

Why can't you just move? Make a decision?

My blood boils hotter in my veins. I know Clara has just lost someone she cared about deeply, but this is like the military.

There is no time for standing around. Sometimes, you can't just wait and see. Sometimes, the slow and steady path is the wrong one.

Delays and inaction. They get people hurt—get people killed.

Clara needed to listen to me. She needed to stop going to the damn hospital when I said she should.

Which, of course, had been weeks ago when all this started. Clara could have prevented this if she'd listened to me immediately.

Why does no one fucking listen to me? Fuck, she could have been killed. Done, gone, nothing but a stain on the fucking floor!

"Um, sure." She stands up, looking around and nodding at the elevators. "I could use some fresh air."

I follow after her, and it's dead fucking quiet as we ride down to the main level.

When we step out, Clara hangs a right, and I can tell she's heading to the parking area out front.

It's broad daylight, and other people are standing around, so I deem it safe enough for a chat—begrudgingly, though.

As we walk past the main door, she leads me over to the side where there is a bit of construction going on near the main entrance.

Scaffolding frames us in, and there's a small bench just up ahead. Clara stands in front of it, but neither of us actually uses it.

I'm too restless to sit right now, and she's feeling the same, apparently.

"What did you want to say?"

Clara's voice is quiet as she asks, not looking at me.

"What happened with the Cobra? What did he do, exactly?"

"Seriously, Luke? I just went over all of this with the cops. Can I please just not think about all this anymore today?"

I sigh, raking a hand through my hair, but we don't have time for this. I need information to go on if I'm going to be setting up a counterstrike…counteraction, whatever.

Keeping the Cobras at bay, at the least, is required. I can't do that without details.

And yeah, ending them for good is the ultimate goal. They can't keep getting away with this shit.

I bet they never even find the guy who murdered Clara's mentor.

"Clara." I meet her eyes, my hands going to my hips. "They got into the hospital. That's serious. I need to know what happened so that I can?—"

"What? So you can what, exactly?" Clara glares at me, exhaustion tugging at her entire body. "It's done, Luke. The cops have the info, and…Dr. Carter…I just want to go home."

In a huff, she plops down onto the bench. Clara's head goes between her hands as she sits there.

Not daring to move at this point, I feel a familiar spark of frustration bubbling up through my blood.

I feel useless and guilty. It's clawing at me, and I'm too impotent in the face of it all.

My stomach twists. I can't fucking do this. Why did I think this was a good idea?

"The cops aren't going to be enough to stop these guys. You know that, Clara. You already lost a friend. I need details if I'm going to set up an operation to stop them."

Her head shoots up, her brows knitted together. "An operation? Absolutely not. We're letting the authorities handle this. You have other things you should be focusing on."

The good doctor might as well have kicked me in the nuts. We both know exactly what she's talking about, and I'm beginning to wonder if this is what being gutted feels like.

My gut clenches as I pull into myself, and I can't stop the snap as I react defensively.

"I'm fine. This is my priority. This is what I know how to do." I start circling, pacing around the small area. "How could you just let that asshole follow you in there? Why didn't you?—"

I cut myself off.

Shit. That came out real fucking bad. Dammit.

But I've already stepped in it, and Clara is glaring up at me, anger—and worse, hurt—written all over her face.

Of course. Of course, you fucked this up. It's what you do, Luke. What did you expect?

When I try to meet her eyes, Clara shakes her head, rising up from the bench, and starts to move away.

Clara walks forward, trying to maneuver past me, but I stand in front to stop her.

Your first full-blown fight and it's all over your dumb, drunken theatrics. How you feeling now, asshole? How's that PTSD treating you?

I can't shake the thought, and I have to close my eyes against the wave of self-loathing that rises up within me.

"Let. Me. Go."

The fury in Clara's voice smacks into me.

Good job, asshat. She's really pissed at you now.