Chapter 152
Diana's POV
Pain arrived first. Sharp and insistent, radiating from my left side like someone had taken a sledgehammer to my ribs and decided that wasn't quite enough.
Then sound. Machines beeping in steady rhythm. Distant footsteps. The antiseptic smell of hospital air burning the back of my throat.
I forced my eyes open. White ceiling tiles. Fluorescent lights, mercifully dimmed. An IV pole to my right, tubes snaking down toward my arm.
ICU. I was in the ICU.
The SUV. The intersection. Lena's face through the windshield, eyes wide with shock. My hands on her shoulders, pushing—
"Diana?"
I turned my head toward the voice, too fast. The room tilted. I closed my eyes, waited for the nausea to pass.
When I opened them again, Jack was there.
He sat in the chair beside my bed, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. His shirt was wrinkled, the same one he'd worn yesterday—or was it yesterday? How long had I been out? He hadn't shaved. Dark circles shadowed his eyes.
"Hey." My voice came out as a croak. My throat was raw, probably from the ventilator tube.
Jack's whole body went rigid. Then he was on his feet, moving closer, his hands hovering like he wanted to touch me but didn't know where it was safe.
"You're awake. How do you feel? Can you hear me okay?" The words tumbled out, too fast, too urgent. Almost... frantic.
I tried to answer but my throat wouldn't cooperate. Jack noticed immediately.
"Water—right, you need water." He reached for the pitcher on the bedside table, fumbling with the plastic cup. His hands were shaking.
A nurse appeared before he could pour. "Not yet, Mr. Harrison. Just ice chips for now." She had kind eyes, efficient hands. She slipped a small piece of ice between my lips. It dissolved on my tongue, heaven.
"I'll page Dr. Kimura," she said, already moving toward the door. "She'll want to know you're awake."
Jack hovered, still holding the empty cup. He looked lost.
"Lena." I forced the name out. "Is she—"
"She's fine." Jack set the cup down, pulled his chair closer. "Minor laceration above her left eye. A few stitches. She's fine, Diana. You got her out."
My chest loosened. The monitor beeped faster for a moment, then steadied.
"She was here," Jack continued. "Last night. Wouldn't leave until around three a.m. Emily and Rowan practically dragged her home."
I closed my eyes briefly. Lena was safe. That was what mattered.
When I opened them, Jack was watching me with an expression I couldn't quite parse. Relief, definitely. But something else beneath it. Something raw.
"When—" I had to stop, swallow, try again. "When did you get here?"
He rubbed the back of his neck, not quite meeting my eyes. "This morning. Soon as I woke up."
I looked at his wrinkled shirt again, the shadow of stubble on his jaw. "You didn't go home."
"I went home around midnight. Slept a few hours. Came back at six." He said it like it was obvious, like there was nowhere else he would be.
"You didn't have to—" The words caught. I meant to say You didn't have to stay, but what came out was, "Thank you."
His jaw tightened. "Don't thank me. I should have been with you yesterday. Should have driven you myself."
"Jack—"
"You almost died, Diana." His voice cracked. "You threw yourself in front of a two-ton vehicle and you almost—" He stopped. Looked away. "Sorry. You don't need to hear this right now."
Dr. Kimura swept in before I could respond, all business. She checked my vitals, asked me to track her finger with my eyes, squeezed my hand.
"Excellent," she pronounced. "You're one tough lady, Ms. Clarke. We removed your spleen, repaired the liver laceration, set three broken ribs. The next surgery will address your shoulder and clavicle, probably tomorrow if you stay stable."
I tried to process that. Spleen gone. Ribs broken. Tomorrow, more surgery.
"You'll be fine," Dr. Kimura said, reading my face. "The spleen is something you can live without. The ribs will heal. You'll need physical therapy for the shoulder, but full recovery is expected." She glanced at Jack. "Don't let her overdo it. Rest is critical."
When she left, silence settled between us. Jack had retreated to his chair, giving me space.
"I remember," I said quietly. "The moment before impact. I remember pushing her."
His expression went complicated. Grief and something that might have been pride and anger all tangled together.
"You always do that," he said. "Put yourself between danger and everyone else."
"It was instinct."
"I know." His voice dropped. "That's why I—" He stopped. Redirected. "That's why Lena kept saying you shouldn't have done it. She blames herself."
I caught what he'd almost said. That's why I—what?
But I was too tired to push. Too many IV drugs in my system, making my thoughts slow and sticky.
"Marcus?" I asked instead.
"Arrested in Geneva. FBI is handling extradition. The driver who hit you is in custody too—Marcus hired him. It was meant for Lena."
Cold satisfaction cut through the fog. "Good."
Jack leaned forward. "Diana. Marcus is in custody. The case is moving forward. You don't need to think about any of this right now."
"The case isn't over until—"
"You just came back from the dead." His voice hardened. "Can you please, for once, focus on yourself instead of the work?"
I wanted to argue. But he was right. My body felt like it had been put through a meat grinder. My eyelids were heavy.