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People came. From everywhere.
Clay just stood in the middle of the damned ER for the longest time. Until one of the nurses led him to the waiting room.
He knew the way to the damned waiting room. He was a Barratt, after all.
He couldn’t stop shaking. His legs weren’t going to hold him up much longer. It didn’t have a damned thing to do with the pounding in his head.
Clay couldn’t even breathe. What was he supposed to do? To think?
A few hours, an eternity passed. Maybe. It could have been just a few minutes. Clay couldn’t tell. Someone said his name. Put a hand on his arm.
Clay turned. Houghton. When had his cousin gotten there?
He looked at his cousin next to him. He wasn’t even certain when Houghton and his wife had arrived. But Houghton was there, next to him. With his hand on Clay’s shoulder.
“You have to breathe, Clay.” Houghton’s hand was tight on his shoulder. It was probably all that was keeping him from sinking to his knees.
Bailey’s blood coated his shirt. It was...everywhere.
Far too much of it.
Where the hell was Alvaro?
The surgeon should have been out already. That he wasn’t told him it wasn’t good. It was too close.
She’d already died twice.
If he believed in third-time-you’re-out...
“Breathe, Clay.” Houghton flooded him. Right there in his face, blocking out the lights of the hospital around them. “You have to. Pull in air. Then push it out.”
Clay had no choice but to obey. “She’s in there. And she’s hurt. Protecting me. I should have been the one to protect her.”
Houghton would understand. Look at what had happened to Mel. Houghton would get it.
Maybe his cousin would be able to tell him how to breathe now.
“Yes. And she’s getting the best care possible. I’ve made certain of it.” Houghton’s tone was just as grim. “Alvaro—I looked up his record. He’s one of the best. She’s in good hands, but if you want, I’ll get Rafe here. Jillian and Margo are already on their way. For Bailey.”
Clay didn’t have a clue what that meant. “I don’t—She’s alone. I’ve let her be alone for too long.”
“We’re here, Clay. She’s not alone. And when she wakes up, your ugly face can be the first thing she sees. I promise. Even if I have to buy the damned hospital back from the county.”
Another hand landed on his back. Clay jerked.
Bert.
People were...everywhere.
Far more than the last time they’d been in a hospital waiting on word of Bailey.
“Her friends from W4HAV. They heard she was hurt. And they want to be here to help her. To show support.”
Clay looked closer—the women all wore apple-green shirts. With the charity logo on the front. They were grim, and they were silent, and they were just there. A good dozen women in green.
There were nurses he recognized—from Finley Creek Gen.
Dr. Netorre was there with them, looking pale and wounded. She’d been hurt in the storm, he thought. But she was there for Bailey, that same green shirt on.
Even the governor’s wife was there. In apple green. How had she gotten there so fast?
And Lacy Deane was speaking with the charge nurse twenty-five feet away. Her husband and Kevin Beck stood behind her.
Mel, Houghton’s drill sergeant of a wife, was demanding someone get Clay some clean clothes to wear and to bag up his clothes as evidence.
Jake and Celia were there, their sons snuggled close as both children slept.
The fear and worry they felt was written on their faces. The guilt on hers. The hell she’d gone through a few hours ago over her uncle. The anger and fear on Jake’s.
So much like the last time for his sister.
Now it was for Bailey.
Lou Moore again.
He never should have stopped looking for him. Expecting him to be near. Instead of assuming he’d run off like the coward he was.
Someone stepped closer. “Clay, we’ll need your clothes. Evidence.”
Elliot Marshall. His region chief. Clay nodded.
The urge to get the bloody clothing off was all he could actually feel.
He didn’t see that changing until he had Bailey back again.
“I—”
“Here.” Someone tossed a bag at Marshall. Clay thought it was the man’s younger brother. He knew him. He worked for Houghton.
But Clay couldn’t remember his name right now.
“Clay, come on.” Marshall had him by the arm and practically dragged him out of the crowd. The crowd staring at him, wondering what had happened. “We’re going to go talk.”
Clay didn’t think he could give the other man any answers.