A little Blood & A Lot of Waiting

A little Blood & A Lot of Waiting
Jason’s POV

We arrived at the hospital, the harsh afternoon sunlight casting long shadows across the parking lot as I rushed inside with Aurora in my arms. My heart pounded with every step, but there was no room for weakness. I had to get her the help she needed. I had to keep her safe.
The nurse at the entrance saw me and immediately sprang into action, grabbing a stretcher. They helped me lay Aurora down, but as they wheeled her away, my feet followed, driven by something deeper than logic.
I couldn’t let her go. Not like this.
“Don Russo...” the nurse said, her voice tense, trying to remain calm. “You can’t go in with her.”
I stared at her, the words barely registering. My mind was elsewhere—focused only on Aurora, on her life, on the fight I still had in me. Without thinking, I pulled my gun from its holster, pointing it at the first person the barrel landed on. It didn’t matter who.
“You’ll let me be with her,” I said, my voice low and dangerous, a warning laced with the fury I felt.
The nurse froze, eyes wide, but she didn’t flinch. The air between us was thick, suffocating with tension.
“You can’t… You have to let the doctors work,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.
My anger rose, but it wasn’t directed at her. It was the helplessness—the crushing weight of not being able to do a damn thing for my daughter—that burned through me. I couldn’t fix this, but I could make sure she wasn’t left alone.
“I built this damn hospital,” I growled, my voice colder than ice. “I’m not leaving her side. You’ll let me stay, or I’ll make you.”
The room seemed to close in around us, the words hanging in the sterile air like a challenge. The fury inside me was wildfire, but just as I was about to push further, I felt a soft, familiar touch on my shoulder.
It was Emily.
I pulled her into my arms without thinking, burying my face in her hair as if her presence could shield me from everything else falling apart. For a brief moment, I allowed myself to close my eyes, letting the world outside fade into a dull hum.
“My love,” Emily whispered against my ear, her voice gentle, a stark contrast to the chaos inside me. “Let the doctors work. They’ll take care of her.”
Her words were an anchor, pulling me back from the edge I’d been teetering on. But even as I held her, the ache in my chest didn’t lessen. I couldn’t shake the fear.
“I can’t lose her,” I muttered, my voice thick, the words coming out broken. My grip tightened around Emily as if holding her could somehow keep Aurora safe.
“You won’t,” Emily replied, her voice steady, unwavering in the storm. “But you won’t help her by breaking down here. She needs you, Jason. You have to trust them. You have to trust yourself.”
Her words pierced through me, cutting deeper than any wound. She was right, but it didn’t make it easier to let go. I had spent my whole life protecting those I loved. And now, when it mattered most, I had to trust others to do what I couldn’t.
I pulled away just enough to meet her gaze, searching her face for the strength that always seemed to fill the spaces where mine faltered. She met my eyes, steady, unwavering.
That’s when Emily’s gaze dropped to my clothes, and her face froze. Her eyes widened as she noticed the blood, the crimson stain soaking my shirt. The world seemed to freeze as she looked back at my face, her expression filled with concern.
“You’re shot,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “A nurse needs to take a look at you.”
Before I could protest, she had already called over a nurse. But I shook my head, not wanting my injury to become the focus.
“It’s not me they should be worried about,” I said, my voice hoarse, filled with urgency. “It’s Aurora.”
Emily’s expression softened with understanding, though the concern never left her face. “There are enough nurses to go around. You’re not doing anyone any good by ignoring yourself right now.”
Despite my protests, she insisted, gripping my hand as the nurse led us down the hallway. My steps were heavy, weighed down by the pain in my chest, but my mind was still with Aurora, frantic for any sign of her safety.
In that moment, all I wanted was for Aurora to be okay. My pain didn’t matter. Not now. Not while she was fighting for her life.
We entered the room, and I couldn’t stop myself from glancing back at Emily. Her face was etched with worry, but she stood strong beside me.
The nurse quickly checked my wound, moving with practised precision.
“Luckily, it’s an exit wound,” she said, her voice calm. “I’ll clean it up and bandage you. You’ll be fine in no time.”
I barely felt the sting as she cleaned the wound, too focused on the gnawing sense of helplessness growing inside me. She stitched me up, her hands steady, before handing me painkillers.
I glanced at the door, the question I hadn’t yet voiced hanging heavy in my chest. “Any word on my daughter? Is she awake?”
The nurse hesitated, glancing between me and the door, her expression solemn, as though she were measuring the weight of the situation.
“I don’t know,” she said quietly, her voice apologetic. “But I’m sure the doctor will come to you with updates soon.”
She paused, her eyes lingering on me for a beat before quickly turning and leaving the room, almost as if she were trying to escape the tension, perhaps, escape me.
I clenched my fists, frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. Each passing second without news felt like an eternity, an unbearable weight pressing down on me.
I leaned back against the sterile bed, eyes fixed on the door. My heart raced, every fibre of my being screaming for some sign of her.
Emily lay beside me, her head resting gently on my chest. I wrapped my uninjured arm around her, the warmth of her presence grounding me. Still, it did little to calm the storm raging inside me. The room was eerily quiet, save for the soft hum of machines and the relentless thud of my heartbeat, pounding in my ears.
“She’ll be fine,” Emily’s voice was soft but firm, her eyes lifting to meet mine. There was a quiet determination in them, a hope I couldn’t yet share.
I didn’t answer immediately, my gaze still locked on the door. I wanted to believe her. I wanted to trust that everything would be okay. But the fear...sharp, relentless, and it held me captive.