Page 47 of Sweet and Salty

The first responders race him into the ICU, and it's all I can do to keep up, to hold myself together as I watch them wheel him back and tell me I have to stay here andwait.

I sink into a chair, my hands trembling as I reach for my phone. I fire off a quick text to my girls’ group chat, needing some sense of solidity when it feels like my world is crumbling around me. And then I pull up Caleb’s number, pressing call.

“Zoe?” He answers after the first ring. “What happened?”

“We're at Charleston Hospital,” I say through a shaky breath, swiping at the tears that won't stop rolling down my cheeks. “He shot him. Spencer shot Owen. He's in the ICU.”

I hear the sound of jingling keys and a car door slamming. “I'm on my way,” Caleb says. “Breathe, Zoe. Owen’s strong. It's going to be okay.”

I nod at the phone because I can't form the words, and he stays on the line with me even though I can't speak. He's still holding the phone to his ear when he rushes through the hospital doors, and immediately drops into the chair beside me. “It's going to be okay,” he says again. “What do you need?” He acts like he's known me forever, instead of a few weeks.

“I just need him to be okay,” I say.

“Zoe!” Luna says my name an hour later, finding me in the waiting room, instantly enveloping me in a hug that Anne and Lyla soon complete. I cling to my friends, explaining what happened through tear-soaked words.

Caleb introduces himself to my friends because I can't think straight, and I'm about to apologize for that when two police officers come into the waiting room and call my name questioningly.

“Yes?” I head over to where they gesture, and Caleb follows me in a silent show of support as I wave my girls off.

“We need to take your statement on what occurred at the hotel,” the first officer says.

I nod and take a deep breath, doing my best to relay the story in its entirety, including the reason my father hired Owen, and everything that led up to this moment. Caleb corroborates the story, going as far to show him his and Owen’s licenses.

By the time I'm done, my father has shown up, relieved to see me in one piece. He shakes Caleb’s hand, then has his own words with the police officers who assure him that once Spencer is awake, he'll be read his rights and arrested.

I’m too numb to process the relief that should accompany that statement.

The next few hours are spent counting heartbeats and breaths, waiting with the support of my friends and my father, the family that keeps reminding me to drink water and to stop clenching my jaw so damn tight.

Another few hours, and I finally convince my friends to go home. Even my father relented and left, but Caleb remains at my side. Understandably, since he’s known Owen longer than I have.

“Dr. Casson?” A doctor comes into the waiting room, and I'm up in seconds, Caleb right behind me. “We were able to get the bullet out and stop the bleeding. Thankfully it missed any major arteries, but he lost a significant amount of blood, and his right arm is going to be sore for the next few weeks, but he will heal.”

I swear my knees almost buckle. If Caleb hadn’t steadied me, I would’ve fallen to the floor.

“Thank you,” I say through my tears. “Thank you.”

“He's asking for you,” he says. “I can show you back.”

I glance at Caleb, a pang of guilt hitting me that he's asking formebut he just waves me off.

I follow the doctor through the hallways and into a sterile, cold room.

Owen is half propped up in a hospital bed, his right arm in a sling and his skin looking too pale for comfort.

“There you are, Kitten,” he says, his voice softer than his usual growl, and it makes me whimper as I hurry over to his bedside, the doctor closing the door as he leaves.

I pause with my hands outstretched toward him, not wanting to hurt him?—

He pulls me into a side hug with his good arm, and I sob against his chest. “I thought I lost you,” I say.

Owen turns and kisses my forehead. “You can't get rid of me that easily,” he says.

“I'm so sorry,” I say, looking at him, guilt clinging to every single inch of my body.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he says.

“But I do,” I counter. “It's my fault. You're in here because of me.”

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