Chapter 171

Chapter 171
Willow's POV

The insistent buzzing of my phone dragged me from a dreamless sleep. I reached out blindly, my hand patting around unfamiliar surfaces until my fingers connected with the vibrating device. Without opening my eyes, I swiped to answer.

"Hello?" My voice was groggy, thick with exhaustion.

"Wild! Thank God!" Jasmine's voice exploded through the speaker. "I've called you like twelve times! Are you okay? Is everyone else okay? No one's answering their phones!"

Her panic jerked me fully awake. I sat up, blinking in confusion at my surroundings. This wasn't the uncomfortable waiting room chair I remembered falling asleep in. Instead, I was lying in a plush queen-sized bed with high-thread-count sheets and actual memory foam pillows. The room around me was spacious and tastefully decorated in muted blues and grays, more luxury hotel suite than hospital room.

"Where—" I started, then spotted a folded note on the nightstand.

You all fell asleep in the waiting area. I've arranged for you to stay in the family suites. Call extension 9 if you need anything. —D

Of course. Damian.

"Wild? Are you there?" Jasmine's voice pulled me back.

"Yeah, sorry. I'm fine. We're at the hospital still." I rubbed my eyes, trying to orient myself. "Damian apparently moved us to some fancy VIP rooms while we were sleeping. What's going on? Where are you?"

"I just got released from police questioning about the fire." Her voice lowered. "They've confirmed it was arson, Wild. They think Chloe hired someone to do it, create a distraction while her guys grabbed Carlos."

I swung my legs over the side of the bed, noticing I was still in yesterday's clothes. "Are you okay? Did they give you a hard time?"

"No, they were surprisingly decent. Just needed my statement as manager on duty." She paused. "Listen, I'm on my way to the hospital now. I'll bring coffee and bagels. How's Carlos?"

I glanced toward the closed bathroom door, hearing the shower running. "She's here with a minor injury, which has already been treated."

"And Beckeet?" Her tone softened.

"Better, I think. We're going to see him this morning."

"I'll be there in thirty. Try waking the others—they'll want breakfast too."

After hanging up, I took a moment to explore the suite. Besides the bedroom, there was a small living area with a pullout sofa (where Carlos must have slept), a luxurious bathroom, and even a tiny kitchenette. Through the window, I could see the Los Angeles skyline bathed in morning light.

The bathroom door opened, releasing a cloud of steam as Carlos emerged, wrapped in a fluffy robe embroidered with the Angeles Heights Medical Institute logo.

"Good morning, sunshine," she said, her smile slightly twisted by the bruising along her jaw. "Sleep well?"

"Too well. Jasmine's been trying to reach us. She's on her way with breakfast."

Carlos nodded, wincing slightly as she toweled her hair. "These fancy digs courtesy of your man?"

I ignored the "your man" comment. "Damian moved us while we were sleeping."

"Convenient to own a hospital," she quipped, then grew more serious. "Have you checked on Lisa and Mia? They were in pretty rough shape last night."

"I'll do that now," I said, heading toward the door. "Then we can all go see Beckeet."

---

By ten o'clock, our entire crew had assembled in Beckeet's hospital room. Lisa had brought a ridiculous oversized "GET WELL SOON" balloon that kept bumping against the ceiling. Mia clutched a basket of contraband snacks we'd smuggled past the nurses. Jasmine had arrived with not just coffee and bagels, but also a stack of music magazines. Carlos had even brought a small portable speaker, now softly playing Beckeet's latest tracks.

Beckeet himself looked alarmingly fragile against the white hospital sheets. Multiple tubes connected him to various machines, their rhythmic beeping a constant reminder of how close we'd come to losing him. His skin was almost gray beneath his tan, and dark circles shadowed his eyes. Despite this, when he saw us enter, a weak smile formed on his pale lips.

"Look what the cat dragged in," he whispered, his voice so faint we had to lean closer to hear him. Each word seemed to cost him considerable effort. "The whole crew... coming to see... the invalid."

"Save your strength, superstar," Carlos said gently, adjusting his pillow with unexpected tenderness. "You don't need to entertain us."

"Can't help it," he replied, wincing as he tried to shift position.

I took the chair closest to his bed, careful not to disturb any of the medical equipment. Up close, the reality of his condition hit me harder. The bullet had done serious damage, and despite the doctors' assurances of eventual recovery, the road ahead would be long and painful.

"How bad is it really?" I asked quietly.

Beckeet's eyes met mine, and for a moment, the facade dropped. "Pretty bad," he admitted. "Lung's a mess. Internal bleeding... was touch and go... for a while." He attempted a smile that came out more like a grimace. "But hey... I'm still here."

Mia arranged the snacks on his bedside table. "For when you're allowed real food again," she explained, blinking back tears.

Beckeet's gaze swept over our somber faces. "Come on, guys," he said, summoning strength from somewhere. "No funeral faces... in my room. I'm not dead yet."

"Not funny," I said, but his attempt at humor did lighten the mood slightly.

Carlos stepped forward, her face serious despite her own injuries. "I need to say something," she said, her voice uncharacteristically emotional. "You saved Wild's life. And because of that, you saved mine too. I don't know how to thank you for that."

Beckeet's expression softened. "That's what... friends do," he said simply. His hand moved slightly, as if trying to reach out, and Carlos carefully took it in hers. "Would do it again... in a heartbeat."

His eyes found mine over Carlos's shoulder. "Some things... worth taking a bullet for."

An awkward silence fell over the room, everyone suddenly very interested in adjusting balloons or organizing magazines.

Jasmine broke the tension. "Well, I have news from the outside world." She perched carefully on the windowsill. "The police confirmed the fire was definitely arson. They found evidence of accelerants and signs that the back door had been tampered with."

"Do they have any suspects?" Lisa asked.

"They're looking at Oliver Reed's associates," Jasmine explained. "Apparently he's singing like a canary to reduce his charges, giving up everyone involved in Chloe's schemes."

"What about the club?" Carlos asked the question we'd all been avoiding. "What's left?"

Jasmine's expression fell. "Not much. The main room is completely destroyed. The fire department saved the outer walls, but the interior... it's gone."

We all absorbed this in silence. Sunset Strip had been more than just a workplace—it had been our home, our safe space. The place where this strange family of ours had formed.

"So what happens now?" Mia finally asked.

"Insurance will cover some of it," Jasmine said. "But rebuilding would take months, if the owner even wants to."

"What if we bought it?" Carlos suddenly suggested, sitting up straighter despite her bandaged ribs. "Together, I mean. As partners."

We all stared at her.

"With what money?" Lisa asked, not unkindly.

"I've got some savings," Carlos replied. "Not enough alone, but if we all pooled resources..."

"Count me in," Beckeet said, his weak voice somehow cutting through everyone else's. We all turned to him in surprise. "My fund... from the record deal," he continued, each sentence punctuated by careful breaths. "Been saving for something... worth investing in."

"Beckeet, you don't have to—" I started.

"I want to," he interrupted, determination bringing new strength to his voice. "You guys... you're my real family. That club... where I found myself... found all of you."

His words hung in the air, touching something deep within all of us. Despite his severe condition, despite everything he'd been through, his first thought was still about supporting his friends.

"We could reimagine it," Jasmine said softly, warming to the idea. "Not just rebuild, but make it better. More our own."

"Wild's Place," Mia suggested with a grin. "Or Sunset Rising."

"Phoenix Lounge," Lisa countered. "Rising from the ashes and all that."

As they continued brainstorming, I watched Beckeet. Despite his obvious exhaustion, his eyes were bright with something like hope. When our gazes met, I saw a question there—something unspoken he wanted to say.

Before he could try, a nurse appeared in the doorway.