FOUND

FOUND
Adam's Pov 

“We found him.”

The words hit like a strike of lightning, so sudden, so electric. My body lights up with the news and I feel the zing all the way down to my toes.

Oh, thank God.

Ivy moves first. She’s on her feet before the echo of those three words even fades. One second, she’s sitting on the edge of my hospital bed, fingers twisted around the hem of her sweatshirt; the next, she’s halfway to the door.

I would be right behind her too. I want to bolt after her but I can’t. My leg aches, still sore and besides, we don’t even know where to go yet.

She's already at the door before she realizes I'm still where she left me. She freezes mid-step, turns, and realizes, so she comes back beside me, breathing hard, bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet.

“Where?” I ask, hoarse. “Where is he, officer?”

Ivy swallows, glancing at me as the answer isn't forthcoming. Neither of us like that pause. 

“He. . . he got injured. He's been rushed to the hospital.”

My pulse stutters but I force myself to stay right here and not get into my own head about it. “How? How bad? How bad is it?

He’s silent. Again with that fucking hesitation! I want to pull my hair out. “How bad is it, officer?”

He sighs, and then the words come out in a rush. “It was a knife. In his leg. He. . . he lost a lot of blood before the ambulance came.”

The room tilts. The sterile light above me hums faintly, and suddenly it’s too bright, too hot, too white. Too much.

He’s not saying that Emerson is okay. He’s not saying that he’s safe.

“Send me the address,” I say, my voice as faint as I feel. “Now. Please.”

Ivy is staring frozen, the lights glinting off the tears in her eyes. I force my voice to stay steady as I speak. “Help me up Ivy, please. By the time we get down, we'll know where he is.”.

But when she doesn't move, as if she doesn't hear me, I have to call her again, more firmly. “Ivy please, we have to go.”

“Okay, yeah,” she says. And finally she moves.

The nurse told me earlier that I could be discharged anytime. All I'll need is rest and time for my leg to heal, which admittedly will be easier to get now. But I haven’t wanted to leave. 

At first I didn't want to go back to the room where Emerson would be in. Then I didn't want to go back to the room where Emerson wouldn't be in. 

A moment later, as we're making our way to the elevator, my phone buzzes in my hand. I stare down at the text at the unfamiliar name of the hospital, in that less-than-savory part of the city.

But that's of no importance. Emerson has been found and he's there, so that's where I'll go.

It's a little painful to put weight on my leg so fast, but I don't complain. I don’t care. Emerson has to be in way more pain than I am.

Outside, the morning is getting warmer. There's a few cabs parked in front of the hospital and we don't wait. I shove my phone under the nose of the first one we reach and ask him if he knows the location of the hospital.

He says he does and we get into his car. Ivy slides into the front seat and I ease myself into the back, stretching out my leg as carefully as I can. The upholstery smells faintly of old cigarettes and cheap air freshener but it's another thing that's of no importance.

“Hurry.”

Ivy keeps glancing down at her phone, and I can bet she's looking at a map. She starts picking at her nails again and then at the loose strand of hair that falls into her face. I watch her, so I don't imitate her.

My chest feels tight, like someone’s twisting a rope around it. Every few seconds I realize I’ve been holding my breath and have to force myself to exhale.

Kidnapped. Someone took him and then they stabbed him.

But he has to be okay. He has to. He can’t just not be. He can’t.

The officer's voice floats back to me out of my subconscious. He lost a lot of blood before the ambulance came, he said.

But Emerson can’t die. He just can’t. The thought of a world without him in it feels damn near impossible. It's like saying the sky wouldn't be blue anymore or the sun wouldn't be hot. It's unthinkable.

And it wouldn't be fair. It wouldn't be fucking fair.

The words in my head are loud, raw, with a childish insistence. I want to punch the seat in front of me but I also want to curl into a ball and to scream. 

So I watch Ivy. And I do nothing as flashes of him both cradle and assault me.

I see him now; his laugh, low and warm. The way his eyes crinkle when he smiles. The way he resigns himself to violence just before he throws the first punch. The way he looks so focused when he's studying or tutoring. His tattoos, his hair, his resilience.

And his quiet steadiness, the way he makes me feel like the world is more good, even if more chaotic, just by him being in it.

I can’t lose that. I can’t lose him.

Every minute stretches out, thin and unbearable even though the driver is going quite fast. I too, bring up a map, so I can know how far away we are. 

I keep checking the little blue dot on my phone, watching it crawl closer and closer to the hospital. I pay the driver his fare while we're still midway there.

When we finally stop, I don’t wait. I throw the door open before the cab even fully halts, nearly tripping over my own feet as I stumble out. Ivy is by my side a moment later, throwing my arms over her shoulders. And even with that she almost walks off without me, with how fast she's moving.

The building looms ahead, glass and steel and harsh. It's not comforting at all with its sharp angles and severe reflection but at this moment, it's the most beautiful building I've ever seen because it holds Emerson.

I'll get to see him soon. He's in there, getting treated.