Chapter 45: The Hospital (Liam POV)

Nate went limp in my arms, his blood hot and slick against my skin, his ragged gasp fading fast. My chest caved in, my voice breaking as I screamed, “Nate! Stay with me!” The alley around us spun, dark and cold, my legs shaking under the weight of both of us. His shirt was soaked through with red, my hands pressing down hard, trying to stop the bleeding, but it was useless, too much blood, and not enough time. Footsteps pounded close—Graham’s men—but I didn’t care. I didn’t look at them, my eyes focused only on Nate. “Help!” I screamed, my throat raw, my voice strained and desperate. “Somebody—help!”

Lights flashed—blue, red—sirens cutting through the night. It was the sound of police and an ambulance, someone must’ve heard the shot. My hands were still shaking, my breath coming in quick, panicked bursts as the medics rushed forward, pulling Nate from my arms. Their voices were sharp and quick as they worked on him, calling out directions, commands, trying to save him. “Gunshot wound—chest—he’s losing blood,” one of them said, his voice urgent, his hands moving quickly over Nate’s body. I stumbled back, my hands covered in his blood, watching as they loaded him into the ambulance, the doors slamming shut with a heavy finality.

“You—come with us,” a cop said, his voice firm, almost cold, as he pushed me toward a car. I didn’t fight him, didn’t think twice. I just followed, my mind consumed with thoughts of Nate, trying to convince myself that he was going to be okay, that we would make it through this. But nothing felt certain anymore. Everything felt fragile, broken, slipping through my fingers.

The hospital smelled sharp—cleaner, antiseptic, and full of the sterile, cold scent of medicine. My shoes squeaked loudly on the linoleum as I paced back and forth in the waiting room. The minutes stretched on endlessly, dragging into what felt like hours. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking, and my shirt was stiff with his blood. I couldn’t get the image of him—his blood staining the alley, his breath slowing, his body going limp in my arms—out of my head. The guilt gnawed at me like a physical weight pressing down on my chest.

It was my fault, all of it. I had met with Graham, I had ripped that damn contract, walked away from everything, and now Nate was paying the price for it. “You’ll regret that,” Graham had said, and now Nate was lying in a hospital bed, bleeding out because of me. I couldn’t stop the flood of guilt, couldn’t shake the feeling that I had failed him, just like I had failed so many people before. I had promised him we’d make it, that we’d survive this, and now he was here, barely hanging on, fighting for his life. And I had no idea what would happen next.

My stomach twisted with anxiety, and my chest tightened as I thought about everything that had brought us to this moment—the lies, the danger, the people trying to tear us apart. And now, all I could do was wait, helpless, in the sterile quiet of this hospital, with nothing but time to replay every choice I had made that had led us here.

A nurse finally appeared, her face tired but kind. She had probably been working for hours, but there was a soft sympathy in her eyes as she spoke. “He’s stable,” she said, her voice low and measured. “The surgery went well—bullet missed his heart. You can see him now.” My breath caught in my throat, my legs moving before I could even process the words. I didn’t wait for her to say anything else. I just followed her down the long, white, quiet hallway, the bright fluorescent lights above us buzzing faintly as we moved. Everything felt too bright, too harsh, like the hospital was a place that didn’t belong in the same world as the chaos outside.

She stopped in front of a room and pointed toward the door. “He’s in there,” she said softly. I didn’t answer. I couldn’t speak. I just nodded and walked inside.

Nate was lying in the bed, pale and still, his body hooked up to various machines that beeped in a slow, steady rhythm. Tubes were inserted into his arm, feeding him fluids, stabilizing him, trying to keep him alive. My chest tightened at the sight of him—he looked so fragile, so small in that hospital bed. I sat down in the chair beside him, my heart hammering in my chest, my hands clammy and cold.

His chest rose and fell, a steady but weak rhythm. He was alive, but barely. My throat closed up, and I swallowed hard, trying to push the tears back. I didn’t want to break down here, not in front of him, not when he needed me to be strong. But the guilt was overwhelming, and the fear of losing him was suffocating.

I hovered over him, my hands shaking as I reached for his. I was scared to touch him, scared that if I did, it would somehow make this all real. But I needed to feel him, needed to know he was still here, still with me. I brushed my fingers over his hand, gently, softly. His fingers twitched in response, and my heart skipped a beat. My breath caught in my throat as I leaned in closer, my eyes searching his face.

His eyelids fluttered open, just a bit, his eyes barely focusing at first. “Nate,” I whispered, my voice thick with emotion, breaking on the word. “Nate, look at me.”

He blinked slowly, his face soft with a faint, fragile smile. His voice was weak, cracking as he spoke. “You stayed,” he said, his words barely audible.

My chest tightened, my hands trembling as I nodded, my heart swelling with something like hope. “Always,” I said, my voice low, raw, filled with every ounce of feeling I had for him. “I’ll always stay, Nate. I won’t leave you again.”

His smile grew, faint but real. He reached out with his hand, his fingers brushing against mine, slow and unsteady. I closed my hand around his, warm and steady. My breath hitched as I held him, the weight of everything we had been through sinking into me, and for the first time since this nightmare began, I felt something like relief.

“Good,” his eyes drifting shut again, his voice fading. “Good.”

I held his hand, my fingers tightening around his. He was still with me. He was going to be okay.

A nurse came in, her shoes quiet on the floor as she checked his chart, her presence barely registering in my mind. I couldn’t look away from Nate. She turned to leave, but before she did, she slipped something small and folded into my hand. I didn’t know what it was at first, but I closed my hand around it instinctively, feeling the cool paper against my skin.

“For you,” she whispered, her voice soft, eyes darting out of the room quickly.

My stomach twisted. I opened the paper slowly, my breath coming faster as I saw the sharp black ink on the page. The message was brief, threatening, cold: “You can’t hide forever. –H.”

Harper. The same person who had set all of this into motion. The same person who had nearly destroyed everything. The person who had orchestrated all of this chaos. My chest burned with a wave of fury, my hands shaking as I crumpled the note in my fist. Nate was in the hospital because of her. She was still free, still out there, and still coming for us. I didn’t know how much more I could take.

But I knew one thing.