Page 54 of Vital Signs
On me.
Recognition moved through them like a slow wave. His lips parted. “Anya,” he breathed. It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t even clear. But itwasmy name, and something inside my chest cracked.
I leaned closer without thinking, my voice low, instinctive, the way he had spoken to me a hundred times before. “I’m here,” I said. “You’re in the hospital. We’ve got you. Stay with me, please.”
His brow creased faintly, like he was trying to focus, like he wanted to say something else. His hand twitched weakly against the sheet.
“You’re okay,” I told him, even though I had no idea if that was true. “You hear me? You’re going to be okay.”
The lie was a lifeline. For him. For me.
“Pressure’s critical,” someone said urgently.
“OR’s ready in two minutes.”
“Move, move.”
The bed began to roll.
As they pushed him out of the trauma bay, my hands finally stilled, hovering uselessly at my sides, blood on my gloves, adrenaline roaring in my ears. I stood there, chest heaving, staring at the empty space where he’d been.
Desmond Vaughn.
On a trauma gurney.
Bleeding.
Broken.
Gone down the hall, into surgery, with a leg that might not be salvageable. For the first time since I’d met him, I wasn’t sure who was going to talk me through this.
Chapter 35
Desmond
Consciousness came back in a slow fade.
My brain felt filled with mush. With some sort of gravy and cotton that kept me… wrong. I tried to bring myself out of… whatever it was.
I forced myself back, painfully.
Not all at once. Not cleanly. It seeped in around the edges — sound first, then weight, then pain. A steady, distant beeping threaded through the dark. Something hissed softly with every breath. The air smelled wrong. Too clean. Too sharp.
Hospital.
Coffee.
The words formed before the memory did.
My mouth was dry, and my tongue felt thick. My limbs were heavy, as if gravity had doubled while I was out. I tried to swallow and couldn’t help the grimace when my throat protested.
The pain registered next.
Not the sharp, screaming kind. Not yet. This was deep. Everywhere. A dull, total-body ache, like I’d been hit by a truck and then asked to get up and walk it off.
I had… hadn’t I?
My back. My ribs. My head. My shoulders.
