Zack felt as if he were floating and sinking at the same time, unable to make sense of the sounds around him. Voices. Black. A beating of air. Flashes of blue sky. Wind.
Pain.
Cold.
Black.
Alexa crying.
He tried to open his eyes at that sound, to move, but nothing would cooperate, and every time he tried, all he got was more black.
Flashing lights, people shouting. Beeps and the sounds of footsteps echoing down a hallway. A sickly antiseptic smell.
More pain. More black.
No air.
He struggled, to breathe, to open his eyes, to do something, anything, to get back to Alexa, to tell her he was all right.
Another wave of pain.
Black. Black. Black.
* * *
Seafoam green was the color of nausea, Alexa decided. The scrubs of the doctors who couldn’t tell her anything, who told her not to hope. The ugly walls of the surgical waiting room at Bakersfield Memorial. The vinyl of the chair she hadn’t moved from since she’d sat down almost six hours ago, except for the one time she’d gotten up to vomit in the bathroom.
A giant clock hung on the far wall, ticking away the seconds. Zack was fighting for his life as the surgeons worked to save him, and she was sitting in an ugly green chair, staring helplessly at a clock.
Guilt sat like a rock on her chest. Not over shooting her own father, but over Zack, and the life-threatening injury he’d sustained protecting her from that bastard. He’d taken a bullet for her, sacrificing himself to keep her safe.
The medical evac had brought them here, and the only reason Zack had any chance at survival at all was that Ian had successfully inserted the chest tube. But the wound had caused a lot of damage, and he’d lost a lot of blood. She knew he’d crashed more than once. And still she sat, surrounded by seafoam green, waiting. Helpless. Powerless. Lost.
“Do you want anything, lass?” asked Ian, who’d been pacing the room, his arms crossed, his face grim. “Coffee? Water?”
“I could go to the cafeteria and get you something to eat,” offered Sierra, who’d arrived with Sean, Taylor, and Colt a couple of hours ago.
“No, thank you,” she said numbly, shaking her head. Donna, Zack’s mom, sat beside Alexa, her hand on her thigh.
“He’ll be okay. He’s strong,” Donna said, and Alexa wasn’t sure if she was trying to convince herself or Alexa.
“I love him,” she whispered, and pulled the sweater someone had given her tighter around her shoulders. She’d had her own wounds seen to, the scrapes and cuts from the car crash, and had been given a pair of seafoam green scrub pants to wear so she wasn’t half-naked. They’d tried to take Zack’s T-shirt from her, but she hadn’t let them. She was numb, watching, not really absorbing anything. Distantly, she knew she must be in shock, but she couldn’t seem to rouse herself from it. Maybe she didn’t want to. Didn’t want to face the reality that she might lose Zack. That she’d shot and killed her own father. That everything was a giant, colossal fucking mess.
“I know,” said Donna, patting Alexa’s hand. “I saw the way you watched him fight.”
“This is my fault.” Guilt weighed down on her. She was the one who’d involved him in her fucked-up situation in the first place.
“No, it’s not,” said Sean, crouching down in front of her. “He was doing his job, and he was protecting the woman he loves. It’s what any of us would do.”
Colt looked at Taylor and nodded solemnly, and Mark kissed Donna’s temple. Natalie sipped her coffee, staring down at the floor. Ian and Chris paced. The clock ticked.
“I’ve seen guys survive a lot worse,” said Colt. “He’ll pull through.”
“He will,” said Taylor.
“He will,” said Sierra.
Alexa nodded, and her heart vaulted in her chest when one of the surgeons stepped into the waiting room. He pulled the mask from his face, and she felt a little light-headed when he smiled.
“We were able to repair the damage to his lungs without having to remove the lower left lobe, which was badly damaged. We removed the bullet and all fragments and were able to stabilize him with the help of a blood transfusion. He’s in recovery now, and still sedated. He’s on a ventilator, and we’ve left the chest tube in place for the time being to evacuate any air and residual blood that may accumulate. We’ve got him on an antibiotic drip and a heavy dose of pain meds. The next twenty-four to thirty-six hours are critical, but I’m cautiously optimistic.”
Zack’s mom ran forward and hugged the surgeon. “Thank you. Thank you,” she said, and he patted her back. “When can we take him home?”
“Barring any complications, we’ll likely keep him for a week.”
“Will he make a full recovery?” asked Zack’s dad.
The doctor nodded. “Again, barring any complications, with physical therapy and hard work, he should be back to normal in a few months.”
Alexa started to shake, overwhelmed with relief.
* * *
Zack opened his eyes, and for a second everything was blurry. He blinked, trying to clear his vision, trying to figure out where he was. Everything ached, from his shoulders to his hips, and he felt as though his limbs weighed a thousand pounds each. He blinked again, and the hospital room came into focus.
The curtains were open, revealing the night sky, and he wondered how long he’d been here. He closed his eyes again, trying to remember.
The car chase. The shoot-out. The gun leveled at Alexa. His heart rate picked up, the beeps from the monitor coming faster than before, and he tried to sit up. An intense wave of pain rocked him, and he looked down. A tube emerged from the side of his chest, just under his left pec, and more tubes came from his arm. He moved the fabric of the hospital gown aside and traced his fingers over the large gauze pad covering a hefty portion of the left side of his chest.
He remembered shoving Alexa out of the way, the bang of the gun going off, the searing pain burning through him, and then not much of anything. Flashes here and there, but nothing concrete. Carefully, he pulled himself up to a sitting position, his eyes scanning the empty room, quiet except for the machines surrounding his bed.
What if he hadn’t saved her? The thought sent panic spiraling through him, and he had to force himself to calm down because it fucking hurt to take deep breaths. Everything hurt, but the pain would be nothing compared to the knowledge that he’d failed to protect her.
The door opened, and Alexa stepped inside, a Styrofoam cup in one hand and her phone in the other. She didn’t look at him as she entered, her attention on her phone. A few scrapes lined her arms and her face, but she looked otherwise uninjured.
Joy radiated through him like sunshine, and he suddenly didn’t give a shit about the pain in his chest anymore. She was alive, and safe. That was all that mattered.
“Hey, princess,” he said, his voice rusty. Her head jerked up, and she dropped her cup. Brown liquid splattered on the floor, and the scent of coffee filled the room, chasing away the sterile, medicinal smell.
“Oh my God,” she whispered, and ran to the bed to throw her arms around his neck. “Oh my God, Zack. I was so scared.”
He could feel her shaking, and even though it hurt, he managed to wrap his right arm around her. “Nothing to be scared of, sweetheart. I told you I’d protect you.”
She cried harder, and he swallowed over the lump forming in his own throat.
“I thought I was going to lose you.” She pulled back, settling on the edge of the bed. Raising a trembling hand, she cupped his face. “You saved my life. You got shot, and it’s my fault. I’m so grateful, and I’m so sorry. God, Zack, I’m sorry.”
He felt his stubble rasp against her palm, and he knew he’d been out for a day or two based on the growth. “None of this is your fault.” He tipped her chin up, and she met his eyes. “I love you, and I’m glad I was able to keep you safe. I got shot because I was protecting you, and I’d do it again.”
The corner of her mouth turned up, a hint of a smile. “You’d better fucking not.”
He laughed and then winced, pain dancing across his ribs. “What happened? Tell me.”
She sighed and took one of his hands in hers. “My father tried to shoot me, and you pushed me aside and got hit. I…” She bit her lip. “I picked up your gun, and I shot him. Twice. He’s dead.”
“Oh God, princess, I’m sorry.” He carefully settled her against his right side and stroked her hair. “I’m so sorry it came to that.”
“Me too, but I did what I had to do. For you. For us.”
His arm tightened around her and she continued. “After I shot him, Natalie radioed for help, and Ian saved your life. He put a tube in your chest because you couldn’t breathe properly, right there in the middle of the highway. It was pretty badass.”
Zack glanced down and gave his head a slow shake. “Holy shit. How long have I been here?”
She glanced at her phone. “Almost three days. We’re in Bakersfield. You were airlifted here and had surgery to remove the bullet and repair your lung. I think they’re hoping to take your chest tube out tomorrow. They should let you go home in a couple of days.”
“Come here,” he said, and kissed her softly and gently, just needing to feel the warmth of her lips on his.
She laid her forehead against his. “Thank you for saving me,” she whispered.
He winced again as he raised his hand and stroked her hair. “Anytime, princess.”
“The doctor said you have a lot of physical therapy ahead of you. I don’t know what that means for training and fighting, or for your contract.”
“It doesn’t matter, because without you none of that means anything. You’re what matters, and you’re safe. That’s all I need.”
“I love you so much. So much,” she said, nestling her face into his neck.
“I love you too, Alexa.”
She sighed and snuggled against his good side, and they fell asleep, safe and whole.