desertion

61

LYDIA

My mind was spinning, trying to process the information. Dad had been shot. Those words echoed in my head like a haunting whisper. I looked up at Buck and Bobby, my eyes pleading for more details.

"How bad is it?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

Buck exchanged a look with Bobby before responding carefully. "He's in surgery right now. We don't know much."

Miles squeezed my hand, providing a silent comfort that I desperately needed. I took a shaky breath, trying to steady myself. The room felt like it was closing in on me, the walls seemed to compress with each passing moment.

Buck sat at the edge of my bed, his presence both comforting and overwhelming. "The team is waiting for updates. Hen and Chimney are in the waiting room, waiting for more details."

Just then, the door opened again. This many people was definitely breaking COVId regulations. Carla walked in, leading Chris inside the room. The young boy's eyes were red and puffy, but he look determined. When he saw me, he immediately walked over to my bed.

"Is Dad going to be okay?" He asked, his voice trembling.

I pulled him into a tight hug, my own emotions threatening to overwhelm me. "We're going to hope for the best, okay?" I whispered into his hair.

Chris nodded, holding onto me tightly. Miles moved to give us more space, standing near the window and watching the scene with concern and compassion.

********

Hours passed slowly. The hospital room became a silent sanctuary of waiting and hope. Buck had made calls, keeping Maddie updated. Bobby had gone to coordinate with the police and gather more information about the incident.

Hen arrived a few hours later, looking exhausted but professional. She approached me with a gentle expression. "The surgery is going longer than expected," she explained. "But the doctors are optimistic. The bullets missed any major organs."

Those words provided a tiny spark of hope in the darkness of uncertainty.

Chris had fallen asleep next to me, his hand still clutching mine. Miles had brought him an extra blanket, draping it carefully over the sleeping boy. Buck sat quietly in a corner chair, his phone occasionally lighting up with messages.

As evening approached, the tension in the room remained thick. My mind raced with memories of Dad - his laugh, his strength, the way he could make someone laugh in a heartbeat. The thought of losing him was unbearable.

"He's going to be okay," Buck said softly, seeming to read my thoughts. "Eddie's tough. He's fought through worse."

I managed a weak smile, appreciating Buck's attempt to provide comfort.

Just before midnight, a doctor entered the room. Everyone sat up, alert and anxious. The doctor seemed shocked at how many people were in here but he covered his expression up quickly, not shedding a single word of disapproval.

"Mr. Diaz is out of surgery," the doctor announced. "He's stable and in recovery. The next 24 hours will be critical, but he's showing positive signs."

A collective sigh of relief swept through the room. Chris stirred slightly in his sleep, and I gently brushed his hair back.

The night would be long, but for the first time since they'd received the news, there was hope.

As the hospital room settled into a quiet vigil, I held onto Chris, my mind a mixture of gratitude, fear, and sadness.

Whatever happened, I would be here for Chris. I wouldn't let him fight through a loss alone again.