Page 77 of When the Smoke Clears

My hand slips into his, and the crease between his brows eases, offering me relief.

Gabe steps closer. “How long until the doctors let you out of this place?”

Luke closes his eyes for a moment. “No idea. The sooner, the better.”

“We need to work these cases at your house. I don’t trust anybody in this town right now.”

Luke’s mouth lifts. “Forest HQ. I can live with that.”

The door swings open, and Nathaniel Wild enters on measured footsteps, polished shoes glinting, right sleeve hitched to show a pink compression band around his elbow. The color looks ridiculous on him—like a silk ribbon pinned to a bear.

He stops at the foot of the bed. He acknowledges Gabe with a nod, then heads straight for me and pulls me into a hug that smells like cedar and pepper. I stand stiff, arms trapped at my sides. Over his shoulder, Gabe chokes on a laugh and converts it to a cough.

Nathaniel releases me and sets his hands on my shoulders, his voice lower than I’ve ever heard it. “Isla. It’s good to see you, though I wish the circumstances were different.”

Luke coughs. “Dad, did you pick up happy pills on your way here?”

Nathaniel’s jaw tightens. “I’m relieved my son is alive. Is that unacceptable?”

Luke lifts his good hand in surrender, surprised into silence.

“Your mother will be here any moment. But before she arrives, I want to go over every detail of what happened.”

Gabe’s fingertips tap a patient rhythm against the vinyl armrest of the chair. I glance at him. He gives a bare shake of his head: not here.

“I’ll call Tim to make a formal statement,” Luke says, voice even. “We’ll start the investigation today.”

“Tim?” Nathaniel’s brows draw together. “This department doesn’t have the manpower to chase a shooter who ambushed their captain. You need professionals.”

“I don’t want private contractors,” Luke says, steel beneath the courteous tone. “My department will handle it. End of story.”

Nathaniel opens his mouth to argue, but then the door clicks. Elizabeth Wild slips in, pale under fluorescent lights, one arm in a pink bandage matching her husband’s.

Her eyes are rimmed red, but her spine is straight. She hugs Gabe, then turns to me and folds me into her arms the way she used to after Sunday dinners. Warmth, vanilla, the faintest trace of gardenia.

For the smallest moment, I’m eighteen again, tucked between her and Eden on the couch after Sunday dinner, pretending I belong here as much as the family photos on the wall.

“Hello, Mrs. Wild.” My throat is suddenly dry, and the words stick there.

She tips my chin. “Elizabeth,” she corrects softly. “We were too close once for ‘Mrs. Wild.’”

She moves to Luke’s bedside and gently sweeps hair from his brow. The simple gesture is so tender and so motherly. It’s so easy to remember what it felt like to be folded into this family. I push the thought away as my stomach knots.

“We should go,” Gabe murmurs.

Elizabeth gives me a smile that reaches the corners of her eyes. “Come back soon. He rests better when you’re near.”

A chord tightens in my chest. I glance at Luke, and his lashes lower, as if it costs him something to hold my gaze.

“Stay close to her,” he tells Gabe without looking away from me. “I’ll be out soon.”

Gabe nods and follows out.

As we step into the afternoon sun, he shivers before leading me to the car.

“What is that about?” I ask as he unlocks the doors.

“I hate hospitals. They smell like suffering.”