“Yeah, funny story. This Robert Redford look-alike knocks on our door with a giant bodyguard a couple of hours ago. Turns out he’s the ranking member of the Senate Armed Services Committee, and he’s looking for his son…Prescott. Don’t give me that look—I watch CSPAN. Anyway, I’m thinking he’s off his rocker until he says Donovan’s name. Then I’m thinking maybe he’s not so crazy, and maybe I’m not the only one in the house who doesn’t like to flay open his past. Since you didn’t answer any texts, I found Morgan’s number, and here I am.”
I slipped my phone from my pocket and cursed at the dead battery. “Fuck. I’m sorry…for all of it.”
He motioned to the backpack. “Don’t worry about the phone, I brought you an extra charger. As for the rest, you don’t owe me an explanation.” Carter scoffed, and Grayson glared. “And you certainly don’t owe second-choice Carter one.”
Carter mumbled something that sounded like, “Go fuck yourself,” and walked over to where everyone else huddled near the doorway.
“How is she?”
I twisted the cap on and off. “I don’t know. They’re trying to stabilize her. They haven’t given us an update for about an hour or so.”
“Shit day.”
I dropped my head into my hands. The condensation dripped off the bottom of the cold soda bottle, leaving wet splotches on my pants. “What am I going to do if she doesn’t…if they can’t…”
“Don’t.” Grayson clasped my shoulder and gave it an awkward pat. “You open that door and it’s all you’ll think about. Focus on something else, anything but that.”
“I can’t.” I tried to suck deep breaths in, fighting the urge to hurl as my vision hazed over. Existing without Paisley was a physical impossibility, like imagining a world without oxygen.
He reached in front of me, unzipped the small pocket of the backpack, and thrust a yellow 5&9 booklet at my face. “Then quiz me.”
“What?” I sat up.
“We have a test tomorrow, remember? Quiz me.” He shook the study guide, and I momentarily debated hitting him with it, but I took it instead.
Where was that focus that always pulled me through the worst shit? I would fly that fucking helicopter because that’s what had gotten me this far. Block everything else out. You’re good at that. But her name was all that came to mind as I quizzed Grayson for the next two hours. Photographic memory or not, my brain just didn’t tune in.
At some point Morgan and Will took over the seats across from us. Morgan quickly fell asleep on Will’s shoulder, and Morgan’s mom kept the Donovans stocked in coffee. Six hours and seven minutes after we brought her in, the door swung open, and I stuttered over the last question I asked Grayson as the doctor addressed the Donovans across the room.
Mrs. Donovan’s knuckles turned white against the dark fabric at the waist of her husband’s blazer. They both nodded, but there were no tears. That had to be a good sign. I found my legs and stood, only to be given the universal wait symbol by General Donovan. They disappeared down the hallway, and every one of my nerve endings fired, desperate to crawl out of my own skin to get to her.
Morgan’s mom woke her up. “Let’s go, honey. She’s stabilized for now in the ICU, but they’re not going to let anyone but family in tonight. Let’s get you home.”
Stabilized. The knot in my throat loosened slightly.
Morgan blinked the sleep out of her eyes and nodded. “You okay?” she asked Carter.
“Yeah. If she’s stable, I’ll head home.” He looked over at me. “Bateman?”
“I’m staying.”
“They’re not going to let you in tonight.”
“I’m not leaving this hospital until they let me see her.” I sank a little deeper into the hard plastic chair.
“We have to be on the flight line at seven thirty a.m., and there’s a huge test in the afternoon. How are you planning on swinging that with no rest?”
“I’ll be there, and I’ll still be able to outfly you.”
“Yeah, because this is adequate crew rest. Masters, talk some sense into him.” He followed Morgan and her mom out.
Grayson motioned to the backpack. “I figured you wouldn’t leave, so there’s a clean change of clothes, a flight suit, shaving kit, and a shit ton of caffeine. You’re going to need it.” He was halfway out the door before he turned around. “Oh, and I left your boots under your truck since the door was locked. Just pray no one steals them.”
It was another half hour before the Donovans came out. Mrs. Donovan’s eyes were bloodshot, but she had a faint smile on her face. “She’s asking for you,” she said softly but crystal clear across the empty waiting room.
“Room 728,” General Donovan called after me as I sprinted through the swinging doors. I slowed to a walk when I got a death glare from a nurse whose last name was probably Ratched.
I nearly stumbled when I caught sight of her. Her skin gave the sheets competition in the pale department, and her hair was piled limply on top of her head. An oxygen tube lay under her nose, and wires trailed out of her neckline. A monitor beeped in rhythm with her heart, and an IV dripped steadily. Her eyes were closed, her breathing deep.
The chair made no noise as I pulled it toward her bed, sitting close enough to her to ghost my fingers across her upturned palm. Her eyes flickered open, the normally crystal green a hazy moss color, and I took my first full breath since she’d stopped her own.