I’m in love with Grainger, and he’s dying?
He isn’t allowed to die.
“I’m the hospital’s family liaison worker.” The woman pauses beside me, but then frowns heavily. “You’re not Raelynn Grainger,” she says, as if she could somehow know that.
“Yes, I am,” I say, realizing that nobody’s kicked me out of the room yet. That must mean if I’m Raelynn, I get to stay, right? “I am.”
“I highly doubt that,” she corrects gently, as if she thinks I might be confused as opposed to simply being a liar. I take a step forward and the woman looks as if she’s going to reach out to stop me. “Are you … his girlfriend, perhaps?” The woman looks down and frowns at the ring on my finger. “Married?” She checks her paperwork.
“We just got married today,” I whisper, rubbing my finger across the surface of the ring.
The woman looks alarmed and not entirely like she believes me, but she makes a split-second decision when she notices the team working on chest compressions.
I should be panicking.
Instead, I’m completely numb. That dizziness from earlier overtakes me, but I refuse to let it affect me. Not right now. I can collapse later if … if things go differently than I want them to.
“If you’d like to stand beside him and hold his hand, that’s okay. We’ll work around you.” The liaison puts her hands on my shoulders and guides me forward. “You’re the only person in the room that he might respond to.”
I get the feeling that her words are meaningless platitudes, worth as much as dandelion fluff in the wind. But I don’t care. I read an article that listed the pros and cons of FPDR—family presence during resuscitation—and while it was something I had to read for school, it stuck with me.
I see why.
Because I’m in here, and I think I’d die if I had to stand in the hallway.
My fingers curl around Grainger’s right hand as I do my best to stay out of the way. Tears are freely rolling down my face and probably ruining the careful makeup job that I cooked up, but it doesn’t matter. It’s in those moments, those very last few when you know they’re the very last few, that the entire world becomes perfectly clear.
Nothing has ever been simpler or made more sense.
Each moment is special; each second matters.
I squeeze Grainger’s hand, lifting it up to my mouth for a kiss.
“I’m here,” I promise him, because I don’t think that—whoever Raelynn Grainger is—she’s coming. I’ve never heard Cade talk about his family in any way, shape, or form. Of all four men, I probably know the least about him. There’s no distant mention of a beloved aunt and a career in law enforcement like there is with Crown. No talk of a sister and a horrible father, a vengeance and a decimation of innocence like there is with Sin. And there’s certainly no championship belt with which to make rings out of the way there is with Beast.
It’s just … Grainger.
He doesn’t have anybody.
Just the club.
Just me.
My tears fall fat and hot on the surface of his hand as the team works—as promised—around me, and I look down at that man’s beautiful face. I crouch low beside him, so that I can put my lips near his ear.
“Please don’t die on me,” I whisper at him, my voice far stronger than I expected. “You are not allowed to get me pregnant and then die; that’s fucked-up.”
I choke on the words—I don’t even know if they’re true—but if anything is likely to rouse the man I love, it’s the idea of this. Some distant, weird, fucked-up dream of a family. And I don’t just mean because a kid could be involved. Not at all. I’m talking about myself. About Beast and Sin and Crown. About Fem-fem. About Reba. About learning to let Nellie in just enough that I can appreciate her accomplishments and not so much that when she stumbles, she can drag me down with her.
All of those things.
“You can do this, Cade,” I whisper, brushing a kiss against the side of his stubbled cheek. “I love you, and you’ve got this.” I move back, but I don’t retract my hand from his. I won’t, unless they need me to in order to save Cade’s life.
I will never fucking let go—physically or metaphorically.
Beast catches me when I stumble out of the trauma room. Pretty sure he isn’t allowed to be back here either, but that’s okay. I can no longer stand on my own; I’m sweating, and the dizziness isn’t going away. Maybe I do need to get a proper examination? We have a doctor on the compound though; he has own clinic with a staff and a decent amount of equipment for such a small, exclusive practice.
