The two of them stared at each other before Dakota turned away and went back into the part of the waiting room that had the vending area. Nate and Joshua were there, going over what type of M&Ms they wanted because, apparently, there were peanut butter M&Ms in the machine.
I knew Dakota was worried because she didn’t want her son here, not after everything that had happened in the past. She had wanted to be here for me and for Prior. I saw that Joshua was pale, scared, and looked like he didn’t want to be away from his mother.
“How about I take you home?” Dakota said, echoing my thoughts.
“I want to know about Prior.”
“They can call us, and they can tell us everything that’s happening. You shouldn’t be here, Joshy.”
“I’m not a baby. I know people get hurt. Cross and Macon got hurt. They’re okay. And Paris and Hazel got hurt too, and now they’re better. People get hurt, and now they’re all good. But I need to make sure that Prior’s fine, too.”
He raised his little chin, and tears slid down my cheeks. Hazel and Myra were on either side of me, gripping my hands, lightly because of the bruising, and I knew they were crying, too.
I looked towards Hazel, noticed the tears. As I turned to Myra, I was wrong. She wasn’t crying. No, she was pale, and there was anger on her features. So much anger.
I was mad, too. I felt like I had so many emotions running through my body right then that I couldn’t quite focus. Couldn’t quite breathe.
Nate came back into our part of the room, his hands in his pockets as he sat down opposite us, his gaze on Myra. Myra turned away first. I couldn’t focus. I was going to throw up if I wasn’t careful. I just needed to make sure Prior was okay.
He couldn’t die tonight. He couldn’t.
“Our brother is going to be fine,” Cross said from his chair on the other side of Hazel. He stood up, then came in front of me and knelt.
“How do you know that?” I asked, my fear seeping through my words. I knew I should watch what I said because Joshua was listening, and Dakota wouldn’t forgive me for scaring him. But I couldn’t hold back.
“I know that because Prior finally found his happiness. He’s not going to leave it now.”
“Life doesn’t work that way. And we both know that.”
“Maybe for others. Not for Prior. He sets his sights on what he wants, and he fights like hell for it. He always has. And he’s going to fight for you. Going to fight for what you two have.”
“It’s a knife wound. It’s not some fated tale of fighting through magic. This is actual analytical and surgical. It’s not imaginary.”
“You’ve got to believe in him, Paris. Belief in what Prior can do. Belief in the people who are working to save him. It’s what we have right now.”
“I hope you have enough of that for all of us, because I’m scared.”
“Then we will all hope to hell and back that Prior remembers exactly what type of fighter he is,” Arden said, her hand held tightly by her husband’s.
Nearly the entire family was here, our group whole again except for the gaping hole that was Prior. His parents were on their way, a familiar flight because they had already been here once for the shooting. What would it be like for them to be able to visit when it wasn’t under the fear of death and horror?
I got up again after Cross left and continued pacing. Macon didn’t growl at me this time. I had a feeling it was because Dakota was glaring at him, and he had his hands full distracting Joshua.
My whole body ached. The more I moved, the better I felt. At least, that’s what I told myself.
I counted off the tiles—one, two, three. And I kept counting, kept working numbers in my head until finally, the doors opened, and I turned so quickly I almost fell. Nate was there, holding my elbows as the others came around me, holding my hands, holding each other.
“We’re looking for the Brady family?” a man said from the doorway.
“That’s us,” Cross said.
I vaguely remembered someone saying that before when we were here for Cross and Macon.
How much of my friends’ blood would be spilled before we got through the hell that kept coming at us?
Blood roared in my ears as the doctors came in, explaining what had happened. I couldn’t focus on what they were saying. I could barely hear at all. When people started crying, relief evident on their faces, my knees buckled. Then I was in Nate’s arms, Prior’s brother holding me as I tried to rationalize what was happening.
“He’s going to be okay, Paris. He’s going to be just fine. So fine, in fact, if he hears that I held you like this, he’s probably going to hurt me. So, buck up and get strong. Because as soon as Prior’s healthy, he’s going to kick my ass.”
And then I was laughing and crying at the same time, my arms wrapped around his neck as the others began to speak, the doctor explaining more. I would listen soon. I would ask the others what had happened. But for now, I needed to breathe. And I needed to see the person that I loved.
Unfortunately, I couldn’t see him until the next day. It had been a long night. He was finally in his own room, safe, and hopefully waking up soon.
The others had already seen him, but I said I’d wait.
Was it because I was still afraid? Maybe. Or perhaps I simply wanted every ounce of time I could get with him, and if that meant waiting for the others to get their fill, then I would do it. I was never leaving again.
He looked so pale, so big in that little bed. Maybe they used special beds in movies or on TV to fit those big actors. Prior looked far too large for that cot of his.
They had it somewhat inclined, and he didn’t have a tube down his throat.
Somehow, the knife hadn’t hit anything too critical. He’d sustained slices to his spleen, though, hence why he had nearly bled out and died. They had removed the organ and explained that he might be more susceptible to infection and disease now, but there were injections and vaccines he could take to supplement that.
In the end, it could have been his kidney, or his liver, or something even more vital.
Nothing else had been cut into, not that they could tell, and they’d quickly gotten the bleeding under control once they removed his spleen.
He would be in pain for a while, and it would take some time before he could walk and move and play football like he used to.
He had already spoken to the others and smiled, and then he had fallen asleep again, his body exhausted and trying to heal itself.
After saving me.
And now I was alone in the room with him, too afraid to touch him.
He looked so fragile. My big, strong Prior with the strong jaw and thick thighs and broad shoulders. And yet I had almost lost him. Right when I had just found him.
I reached out, wanting to grip his hand, yet so afraid I’d hurt him.
“I’m not made of glass, Paris, baby.”
I startled, blinking, my hand dropping. “Prior.” My voice cracked, and I quickly wiped tears from my face.
“Don’t cry.”
“I might just cry. You almost died.”
“I’d say the phrase ‘so did you’, but then I’ll get angry again, and I don’t think I have the energy to be angry right now. That’ll come later.”
I sat up and moved forward, still not touching him.