Page 118 of Carter

“I’ll make sure he doesn’t get out of bed,” Weber says. “Go.”

The other officer doesn’t argue and leaves the room.

I raise a brow. “I don’t give a fuck who is in my way, I’m getting down there to talk to Carter.”

Weber steps closer, sliding his hands into his slacks’ pockets. “Okay, I won’t argue with you, but you need to do this right. You just had surgery for fuck’s sake.”

“And Carter is downstairs having a fucking panic attack because of it. I need to be there for him. I need—” I get choked up and the words get stuck in my throat. I look away as tears burn my eyes.

“Hey, Bennett, it’s okay. We will figure this out. We’ll get you down there. I’ll make sure of it.”

Gendreau comes in a short time later. “He’s still there. He’s asleep. They plan to keep him for a few hours. Had a bad panic attack.”

“Fuck,” I hiss under my breath. “I need to go see him. Where are the nurses?”

“I don’t know,” she says with a shrug. “There are some out there, but they’re all busy.”

“If they don’t come in here and unhook me the right way, I’ll do it myself and really piss them off.”

“Okay.” She holds up her hands. “I’ll go let them know they better bring you down before we all regret it.”

“Thank you,” I grunt. “And hurry up.”

“You really care about this guy, huh?” Weber asks when she leaves the room.

“Yes.”

He nods his understanding. “I get it. I’ve been where you are.” I give him abullshitlook. “Seriously,” he adds. “I was shot when I was a rookie. In my leg. My daughter was only two months old at the time, so you can imagine how crazy my wife went.”

“I didn’t know you had a daughter.”

“Got two now. Wife’s pregnant with our third. I’m hoping for a boy this time, but we’ll see.” He smiles brightly like he’s thinking about them. “But I get where you’re at. You want to check on him, make sure he’s okay. I’ll get you there. I promise. Just… chill. Don’t make this worse. I know you want to come back to work, so you need to do whatever you can to make that happen.”

I nod, because he’s right. Fucking people and their sense.

The elevator doors open up to a large, chaotic room. The ER. I’ve spent enough shifts here in my day, back in Chicago when I was just starting out, to know it’s always crazy. Drunks. Fights. All kinds of shit. It’s no different here, only the chaos feels contained in this moment. Which is good. If something crazy was going on down here, I’m pretty sure Nurse Margaret would wheel me right back upstairs and tie me to the bed like she threatened to do before.

Each room we come upon, my heart pounds harder and harder. Which room is his? How far do we have to go? I just need to see him. Make sure he’s okay. We finally stop in front of room twenty-two. The door is closed, but the nurse knocks gently then pushes it open and backs me in.

Carter is asleep on the bed, so peaceful.

He’s okay. Thank fuck, he’s okay.

“I’ll give you twenty minutes,” Margaret whispers. “But after that, I need you to go back upstairs andbehave.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She gives me a stern look then leaves the room, closing the door behind her. I glance at the machines Carter is hooked up to, and the IV traveling from his arm to the bag. I can’t believe he’s here because of me, purposeful or not.

I wheel myself closer, trying my best not to knock into anything and wake him up. I’m also only using one arm because my left one is useless. When I’m on the side of his bed, I take his hand. His eyes flutter until they open. They’re glossy at first, until recognition strikes. They pop open. He gasps.

“Nash.”

“I’m here.”

“You—you’re—”

“Here. It’s okay. I’m okay. And you’re okay too. I’m so sorry.”