Page 97 of Cold and Broken (The Titans of Founder's Ridge 1)

29

Connor

Blood.

So. Much. Blood.

I’m no stranger to blood, be it mine or whatever asshole happens to be on the receiving end of my fist. But this is next level. I’m covered in Michael’s blood. It has soaked my tuxedo. It’s drying in my cuticles. There are smears of it on my shirt.

Victor is even worse. His face and shirt look like a Jackson Pollock painting from the spurts of blood from the wound in Michael’s neck. His quick thinking to tear his jacket off to staunch the bleeding is the only reason Michael’s in surgery right now instead of the morgue.

Michael took a bullet meant for me. He heard the zing of the first shot and pushed Victor and me down. One minute we were all bull-shiting about inane shit and the next was chaos.

Michael is fighting for his life because he saved us. Saved me.

“You should see if you can find something to change into,” Victor says as he sits beside me, his fingers flying over the screen of his encrypted phone. “Lilith and Griff just landed at VI. They will be here in about 15 minutes.”

“You should too. You look worse than I do.” I point at the blood splatters on his shirt.

“Fuck.” He looks down at himself. Then he strides down the hall and accosts the first person he finds. I watch as he orders them to find us some scrubs, his domineering CEO personality coming to the forefront. After he raises his voice the nurse scurries off.

“Two minutes and I’m having her fired if she’s not back with something for both of us. Lilith does not need to walk in and see us covered in this mess.” Victor runs his hand through his hair in a familiar move. It’s the same thing I do when stress builds. Muffled footsteps come down the hall toward us and two sets of aqua scrubs are dumped in our laps.

I go change and rinse my hands and face off as well as I can. The chemical smell of the hospital’s sanitizing soap stings my nostrils as I scrub my face. I strip down completely, unceremoniously dumping my custom tuxedo into the biohazard trash can. It’s beyond salvageable. I sit back down in the hard plastic seat as Victor stands to clean up.

I check my phone and see a text from Griff asking where we are so I send him a pin drop of my location in the hospital. Two minutes later I hear the click of high heels and lift my head to see my best friend hand in hand with my girlfriend, my lover, my everything. Her face is completely devoid of any emotion. I stand and rip her out of his hand and into my arms as soon as she’s within reach. I don’t plan on ever letting her go now.

Griff’s hand lands on my shoulder and squeezes. We make eye contact and he nods. I didn’t want them to tell her how bad it was. The surgeons weren’t sure they’d be able to save him. The bullet clipped his carotid artery. They weren’t optimistic that they could fix the damage.

“Lilith.” I feel Victor place a hand on my back and she pulls back to look at him. “I am so sorry.”

“Where is he?” Her voice comes out as a scratchy whisper.

“Still in surgery.” He answers.

“Where was he shot?” Her voice shakes and her body trembles in my arms.

“The neck.” Victor answers solemnly.

Her body goes rigid with tension and I watch as an iron curtain falls over her eyes. She takes a step away from us and looks out the small window into the black night. She doesn’t move, doesn’t even shift her weight from foot to foot for the next 57 minutes until two of the surgeons walk into the private waiting room.

The defeated looks on their faces tell me everything I need to know. Their eyes bounce back and forth between Victor and myself before settling on Lilith.

“Lilith Nelson?”

She turns with a blank expression on her face. “Yes.”

“Would you like to take a seat?” the younger surgeon asks.

“No. How is my dad?” she replies flatly.

“We were unable to save him,” the older surgeon answers. “I am so terribly sorry.”

“Can I see him?” Her expression is completely blank, like there’s nothing happening behind her eyes.

The two surgeons exchange a look. “He hasn’t been cleaned up yet.”

“I don’t care. Covered in blood and wounds or cleaned up to look asleep it doesn’t matter. He’s dead. I just want to say goodbye.” He voice trails off. “It’s important that I see him now.”

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