Pretty Little Promises

Ch. 21: The Bloodline

DAMON

The doors to Mount Sinai Memorial Hospital swing open and I burst through, breathing ragged and frantic as I glance around, looking for Quin. This isn't happening. This can't be happening. She can't die. She can't fucking leave me too. I should've come with them. I should've manned up and gone on this stupid fucking trip. Maybe this wouldn't have happened.

My gaze sweeps across the waiting room, gut-twisting as families huddle around one another, tears and pained sobs echoing through the hospital. In the corner of the room, I find Quinton. His white dress shirt is stained with blood. Her blood. So much fucking blood.

Rage slithers through my veins.

"Where is she?!" My voice is too loud. Louder than the cries. Louder than the prayers.

He snaps his head at me, eyes bloodshot and weary. "She's still in surgery," he whispers, lifeless and weak. "She should... She should be out soon. I... I hope."

I clench my fists, nails digging into my palms as I struggle to contain the storm raging inside me. The hospital smells of antiseptic and fear, a nauseating mix that threatens to swallow me whole. Quin looks like he's been through hell and back, and I hate myself for not being there sooner. For not being able to prevent this.

"I'm so sorry," Quin mutters, his voice barely audible. "I should've been more careful. I should've had her room swept before..." His words trail off, a haunted expression crossing his face. "It's my fault, Damon. It's... If she dies..."

My anger dissipates, replaced by a heavy sense of shared guilt and helplessness. "She won't," I state with absolute certainty, as if I'm making a pact with God himself. No more. You can't take any more of the people I love. Hesitating for a second, I take a breath and sink down in a seat next to Quin. With a hand on his trembling knee, I whisper, "This isn't your fault, Quin. Okay?"

"But it is..." His gaze remains on the checkered floor beneath our feet. "If I didn't go to Texas... If I didn't try and make things better..." He swallows, briefly glancing up at me, tears welling up in his eyes. "What did I do, D?" His voice breaks. "What did I fucking do?!"

I know exactly how it feels to be responsible for death. I know that he wishes it were him. I know that he's drowning in regret. In sorrow. But I also know that she's still alive. That there's hope. But nothing I say will help him. No words will pull him out of the darkness. Not until he sees her breathing. Not until he hears her voice.

All we can do is wait and hope.

And so we do.

I pace the hospital waiting room, my anxiety palpable with every step. Quin wrings his hands together, head dropped between his legs as he remains silent, unable to speak. The hours drag on like days. Like fucking years. It's been too long. We should know something by now. There should be news.

A little after 4 a.m., the administrative doors swing open and a doctor dressed in blue scrubs approaches us, her expression grave. "Mr. Cavanaugh, Mr. Marquis." My heart clenches, Quin's face contorting with fear as he stands up. "I'm Dr. Sindhu. I've been overseeing Emery's surgery."

My gut twists. "Is she okay?"

Dr. Sindhu takes a moment, gathering her thoughts before explaining. "Emery is still in surgery. They're closing her now." I hold my breath. "We encountered complications due to her transplant history. She lost a lot of blood."

My mind races with horrid scenarios. "Complications? What kind of complications?"

Dr. Sindhu adjusts her glasses before continuing. "The penetrating injury to her pulmonary artery was more complex than anticipated. The bullet was found near the bronchus, which posed challenges during repair."