Page 45 of Jonathan

“Coffee?”

“No, thanks.” His voice was curtly dismissive and had her stepping out and closing the door behind her.

His phone rang just then, and he thought about not answering, but his mother would want to know what’s happening. He had left the scene without so much as a word to the officers and left everything to his men.

“Mother.”

“Any word?”

“No. She’s in surgery.”

His mother sighed heavily on the other end of the line. "She's strong, Jon. She'll pull through this."

He closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the wall. "I hope so, Mother. I really do."

“Would you like me to come there and wait with you?”

“No. There’s no point to that now.”

"Call me as soon as you hear anything, alright?"

"I will." He hung up and stared at the ceiling, willing the time to pass faster. The waiting was unbearable, every second filled with the gnawing worry that something might go wrong. He picked up a magazine, flipped through its pages without seeing anything, and tossed it aside.

Moments later, the door creaked open again, and another nurse stepped in, this one carrying a blanket. "You look like you could use this."

He accepted it with a nod. "Thank you."

Finally, after what felt like hours, a doctor emerged from the operating room. Jon rushed forward, searching the man's face for any hint of news.

"She's stable for now," the doctor said, his voice steady but weary. "We managed to remove the bullet and stop the bleeding. She's in the recovery room, but she'll need time to heal."

Relief washed over Jon, and his knees nearly buckled. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice choked with emotion.

"She'll need round-the-clock care for the next few days," the doctor continued. "But with time and rest, she should make a full recovery."

Jon nodded, barely hearing the rest of the doctor's words. All that mattered was that she was alive. He followed the doctor to the recovery room, where she lay pale and still on the bed, hooked up to monitors and IVs.

He sank into the chair beside her, taking her hand in his. "I'm here, baby," he murmured, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. "I'm not going anywhere."

The hours passed in a blur as he kept vigil by her side, refusing to leave even for a moment. He knew the road to recovery would be long, but as long as she was with him, he would face whatever came next.

The soft hum of the medical equipment became a soothing background noise, a gentle reminder that she was still here, still fighting. Jon's thoughts drifted back to the moment they had met, the laughter they had shared, and the dreams they had woven together. He knew that those dreams had been shaken but not shattered.

As the first light of dawn crept through the window, casting a warm glow over her pale face, Jon felt a renewed sense of hope.

The doctors and nurses came and went, speaking in hushed tones, but Jon's focus never wavered from the woman he loved. He knew that her strength, coupled with his unwavering support, would see them through this ordeal.

*****

She surfaced as if from a deep fog, wavering between consciousness and somewhere in between. At first she had no idea where she was and felt as if something was pressing down on her left shoulder. The pain came swiftly, the throbbing of her shoulder, forcing her eyes open.

Confusion clouded her thoughts as her senses gradually returned, the sterile scent of the hospital room mingling with the rhythmic beeping of the monitors. Blinking against the harsh overhead light, she tried to piece together the fragments of her memory.

The face of the doctor, his reassuring words, the panic, and fear that had gripped her before everything went dark.

Her gaze shifted, and she saw Jon sitting beside her bed, his head resting on the edge of the mattress, his hand still holding hers. The sight of him brought a wave of comfort and a weak smile tugged at her lips.

"Jon," she whispered, her voice hoarse and barely audible.

---