Chapter 152 Awake

Chapter 152 Awake
Cassie
“No, don’t—” Greyson caught my hands, pressing them back down gently. “Don’t touch it. I know it’s uncomfortable, but you need it right now. Your lung—” His voice caught. “They had to put in a chest tube. The ventilator is helping you breathe while you heal. But the doctor said if you’re awake and stable, we can think about taking it out soon. Just... just try to stay calm, okay? Let it breathe for you.”

I focused on his voice, on the warmth of his hands holding mine, and forced myself to relax. In. Out. The machine doing what my body couldn’t quite manage on its own yet.

“You’re in the ICU at St. Vincent’s,” he continued, his thumb tracing circles on the back of my hand. “You’ve been unconscious for almost thirty-six hours. You were shot, Cassie. Do you remember?”

I nodded, just barely. Remembered the glass, the sound, the blood. The terrible cold. The certainty that I was dying.

“The bullet went through your spleen and partially collapsed your lung. You lost a lot of blood. They had to do surgery.” His voice was steady, clinical almost, like he was reciting facts to keep from falling apart. “But you made it through. You’re going to be okay. You’re going to be fine.”

Tears welled in my eyes, spilling over before I could stop them. Not from pain—though there was plenty of that—but from the overwhelming rush of being alive, of hearing his voice, of feeling his hands on mine.

“Don’t cry,” he said softly, wiping away my tears with his thumb. “Please don’t cry. You’re safe now. I promise you’re safe. There are guards outside your door. Aiden’s people, and some from the department. No one is getting anywhere near you.”

Aiden. The name registered dimly. My business partner. My friend. He must be losing his mind.

As if reading my thoughts, Greyson said, “Aiden’s been here. He wanted to be here when you woke up, but I... I asked him to give us a few minutes first. I needed—” His voice cracked. “I needed to see your eyes open. I needed to know you were really going to be okay.”

I squeezed his hand as hard as I could, which wasn’t very hard at all. But it was enough. He let out a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob.

“I thought I lost you,” he whispered. “On my floor, with you bleeding out in my arms, I thought—” He stopped, swallowing hard. “I’ve never been more terrified in my entire life.”

Me neither, I wanted to say. But the tube prevented speech, so I just held his gaze, trying to pour everything I felt into that look. I’m here. I’m alive. We survived.

A nurse appeared then, summoned by some alert on one of the many machines. She checked my vitals with brisk efficiency, made notes on a tablet, then looked at me with a warm smile.

“Welcome back, Ms. Hunter. I’m Sarah, your ICU nurse. You gave us quite a scare, but you’re doing remarkably well. Your vitals are strong. How’s your pain on a scale of one to ten? Blink once for every number—one blink for one, two for two, and so on.”

I considered. The pain was significant, a deep, throbbing ache in my side and chest, but it was dulled by whatever they had me on. I blinked six times.

“Six. Okay, I can increase your pain medication a bit. And I’ll page Dr. Morrison about removing the ventilator. If your oxygen levels stay stable for the next hour, we should be able to extubate you.”

Extubate. Get this thing out of my throat. I blinked enthusiastically, making both Sarah and Greyson smile.

“I’ll take that as an eager yes,” Sarah said. “Hang tight. I’ll be back shortly.”

When she left, Greyson pulled his chair closer to the bed, close enough that he could rest his forehead against our joined hands.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” he said quietly. “Something the doctors found. But I want to wait until you can talk, until you can ask questions and I can answer them properly. Is that okay?”

Something they found? The words sent a chill through me despite the warm blankets. Had the bullet caused more damage than they initially thought? Was there internal bleeding they couldn’t stop? Was I dying after all, just more slowly?

I blinked once. Yes. Okay. Tell me when I can respond.

But the fear must have shown on my face because Greyson lifted his head, his eyes meeting mine with an intensity that stole what little breath I had.

“It’s not bad,” he said quickly. “I promise it’s not bad. It’s just... it’s important. Life-changing. And I want to be able to talk about it with you properly, not in blinks and hand squeezes.”

Life-changing. The words should have been ominous, but something in his expression—a mixture of fear and wonder and protective tenderness—made me think maybe, possibly, it might be something else entirely.

The hour passed slowly. Sarah returned twice to check my vitals, each time nodding with satisfaction. Greyson never left my side, never let go of my hand except when absolutely necessary.

Finally, Dr. Morrison appeared with a team, and after a series of tests and assessments, declared me stable enough for extubation.

“This is going to be uncomfortable,” he warned, “but it’ll be over quickly. On my count, I need you to take a deep breath in through your nose and then blow out as I remove the tube. Ready? One, two, three—”

He was right. It was uncomfortable—a horrible, gagging sensation as the tube slid up my throat. But then it was out, and I was coughing, gasping, breathing on my own.

“Easy,” Dr. Raphael said, fitting an oxygen mask over my face. “Small breaths. Your lung is still healing. Don’t overdo it.”

I nodded, focusing on breathing. In. Out. My own body, my own breath. No machine.