It Was Always You

I Grip You Tight But You're Slipping Out

Adam gets the call when he's less than a mile from his house and several from the hospital. That doesn't stop him from throwing on the brakes, spinning his little sports car around, and racing back in the direction he came.

He doesn't even realize he's started to hyperventilate, and he has to force the slow, deep breaths that will prevent him from blacking out and losing control of the vehicle, from potentially crashing.

Crashing.

An accident.

The words ring hollow in his ears, repeating themselves over and over again until he can no longer stand hearing them and he just screams. Screams until he forces out all the air he didn't think he had and then starts to suck in more, tries to calm back down, but he can't. He can't and he's not even at the hospital yet. He's not quite sure he'll be sane when he gets there. If he gets there. Friday night L.A. traffic is a bitch and he's finding things to take his anger out on left and right, the steering wheel, the floorboard, the drink in the cup holder, sending its content flying. His jaw clenches tight, then he finally hits a clear spot and floors it, reaching nearly twenty over the speed limit but fuck it, let a cop try to stop him. It's a risk he's willing to take. To hell with consequences.

He spots the blue H sign, then bright lights. Lots of ambulances. He parks as close as he can get and sprints to the emergency entrance, weaving his way around people until he makes it the front desk. He's breathless by the time, and not just because of the run.

"Where is he?" he asks hastily, trying to keep the fear from his voice.

"Who?" a young nurse responds.

A legitimate question, of course, because the hospital is full with hundreds of people and she couldn't possibly know who Adam was there for. But to Adam, Blake's the only one who matters.

"Blake Shelton."

She turns to talk to another nurse. Adam taps his foot impatiently, reaches up to wipe off the sweat that has accumulated on his forehead, and curses in his mind. They're not fast enough, never are, always seem to take their sweet time...

"Where the hell is he?" he shouts.

The same nurse whips back around, startled, a worried look on her face.

"Please sir, hold on, we're trying to get that information for you," the other woman says.

As soon as they turn their backs again he's off, slamming into the swinging doors and running down the hallways. The place is quiet yet deafening, the long white walls making him claustrophobic, the blood pulsing in his ears doing nothing for his sanity. He's frantic now, can't find Blake, goddammit, he can't find him and he's going to be sick right on the floor if he doesn't soon.

He's slowed to a fast walk, looking in every room he passes. He hears people talking in the distance, then stops when he comes to a room where a group of doctors and nurses are huddled in a circle. His heart has quieted its unrelenting pace and he can hear machines beeping and quick, worried voices.

He barges in and gets one glimpse of the body lying on the gurney before a man's hands are on his chest, forcing him right back out. He saw enough to know that it's Blake. In whatever form, it's Blake.

"Get your fucking hands off me." He pushes the man and reenters the room. "Blake!"

"You can't be in here." Another man grabs his arm forcefully and starts walking, but when Adam refuses to budge, he has to practically drag him from the room.

"I need to see him!" He shouts desperately, in a futile attempt to change their minds.

"I understand. But you can't right now. You need to go back out into the waiting room and a nurse will call you when he's ready for visitors."