by Krista Holt
I stare at the floor as they talk to the doctor. He tells them that both Nic and Garrett are in surgery, and that Nic flatlined on the ride over. They resuscitated him, but he was dead for almost a whole minute. A small cry shakes me, the news working its way through the numbness that has descended upon me. He’d died.
“Reagan, a doctor needs to take a look at you, okay?” Tommy squats in front of me, moving into my line of sight.
I blink, unable to speak. After watching me for a minute, he gently pulls me to my feet and then guides me to another room where someone inspects the gash that runs the length of my upper right arm. A nurse cleans it out and then pours something on it that burns, but I don’t even wince.
When they’re finished, Tommy takes me back to the waiting room. I stare down at my legs, noticing I’m covered in blood. It’s drying on my clothes and the smell is making me nauseous. I want it off.
Stretching my tired and bruised body, I head to the closest bathroom. Bracing myself against the sink, I stare into the mirror, instantly regretting it. His blood is on my face. On my neck. On my shirt. It’s mixed with mine from the cut on my arm and the cuts on my hands caused by the shards of glass I scrambled over to get to him.
My tears return with a vengeance, rolling down my face as I gulp in air. I turn on the faucet and shakily plunge my hands into the stream of water. It turns red, swirling down the drain. The water is hot, maybe too hot, but I don’t pull my hands back. I can’t. I need to be clean.
It feels like there’s an invisible weight on my chest, pushing me down, crushing me as I wet a paper towel and wipe at my face, at my neck. I scrub until my skin turns red and then drop the soiled towel as I fall to the floor with a crash, my head in my hands.
My cries are loud in the small tiled room, but I don’t care. I can’t stop.
The door cracks open, and Tommy steps inside. “You okay?”
“I need to change,” I hiccup, not looking up, my hands still hiding my face. “I need his blood off me. I-I need it off.”
“Hold tight. I’ll get you some clothes,” he says with forced calm. “I’ll be right back.”
Tears continue to slide down my cheeks as I focus on breathing. He quietly returns, setting a pair of navy scrubs on my knees before leaving the room.
With shaking hands, I take off my clothes, grimacing at the sticky sound of blood-soaked fabric separating from my skin. I numbly wipe down my legs and put the scrubs on before staggering back into the waiting room and throwing myself into the nearest chair. Pulling my legs to my chest, I bury my face in my hands as I wait.
Hours pass, and no one speaks. I watch the agents move around the room, feeling detached from everything, like it’s not happening to me. A doctor appears with news on Garrett. He is going to be fine, the damage was limited. He’ll make a full recovery. But Nic is still in surgery.
I’ve grown used to the traumatic silence when the door opens again. A nurse sticks her head in the room.
“Agents, there is another woman in the main waiting room, demanding to see your witness. She says she’s his mother? What should I tell her?”
“Uh…I’ll come talk to her,” the other agent answers, and then the door closes again.
“Do you want anything? Are you hungry?” Tommy asks.
“No.”
Silence takes back over until the other agent returns a little while later. Both Tommy and I glance at him expectantly.
“It’s his mother,” he confirms.
At any other time, I’d be making my way out there to see her, confront her. But I don’t even have it in me to leave this chair at the moment. I’m weak. Shaken. And devastated.
All I can think about is Nic. The way he was lying on that sidewalk. The blue tinge around his lips. The blood. Oh God, the blood…
The hours slip away, and it’s two in the morning before another doctor appears in the room, his face grim.
“Agents,” he says, flipping through the chart in his hands, “your witness—”
“Nic,” Tommy clarifies.
“Uh, yeah. Nic.” He clears his throat. “He’s out of surgery. He has several broken ribs. Sections of his collarbone were shattered…” His words fade out as he lists all the reasons Nic might not make it.
I can’t listen, I can’t let myself think about him not making it. Because it can’t happen. I need him here. I need him alive. I need him with me.
“…we’ve medically induced a coma for the time being, to give his body a chance to adjust. But I’ll be honest, it’ll be touch and go. We had to resuscitate him two more times on the table. He’s lost a lot of blood. We’ve done everything we can at this point, it’s up to him now.”
“How long?” I whisper.
The doctor’s forehead wrinkles, glancing at me like he’s just realized I’m in the room. “That depends on him. We won’t try to bring him out of it until we see signs of improvement. Even then, there’s no guarantee he’ll pull through. I’m sorry.”
“Can I see him?”
He looks back at the agents, waiting for their approval.
“It’s fine. She’s his girlfriend,” Tommy says.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know family was here.” He shifts on his feet. “Uh…it’ll be a while before he is out of recovery and into a room. As soon as that happens, we’ll come get you.”
Sixty more minutes tick past before a nurse comes to get me. She takes us to Nic’s room, but just as I’m about to head inside, two new agents arrive to replace Tommy and the other guy. I cast a worried glance at the strangers, unsure and untrusting of anyone I don’t recognize.
“They’ll take care of you, Reagan,” Tommy assures me. “Go in there with Nic, he needs you now. I’ll be back in the morning.”
I nod reluctantly, and then carefully step inside the dimly lit hospital room.
The door silently closes behind me as I stand there, frozen, struggling to hold back my tears at the sight of him.
His eyes are closed and the faint smirk from earlier is gone. His normally warm, olive skin has been replaced by something ashy and gray, and his chest rises and falls in an unnatural rhythm as a machine breathes for him, emitting a subdued beep every time. The left side of his face is covered in abrasions, and the cut on his forehead has been stitched closed and bandaged. There’s blood slowly drying in his hair, but he’s alive. He’s alive.
Silent tears run down my face as I drag a chair toward his bed and sit down. Taking his hand in both of mine, I bring it to my lips.
“Nic, I don’t know if you can hear me. But if you can…you need to fight. One more time. P-please. For me.”
The machine beeps again, breaking the silence. His only reply.
Tears overwhelm me, making it hard to breathe. I bow my head until I can rest it on the bed, letting the scratchy blanket absorb my tears as I weep. Afraid. Alone. And beyond terrified.
“Please don’t leave me.”
CHAPTER 36
“REAGAN…REAGAN…” A GENTLE HAND shakes me awake.
I sit up quickly, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. “Is he—”
Tommy shakes his head. “No, he’s still…asleep.”
“Oh.”
“I brought you some breakfast and your bag from the hotel. The nurses said you can shower in there, if you want.” He points to the small bathroom off in the corner before handing me a warm, foil-wrapped breakfast burrito.
“Thanks.” I hold it in my lap, staring at him. “Has the doctor been by?”
“No, not yet. Maybe in a couple hours.”
“How’s Garrett?”
“He’s doing okay, asking about you and Nic.” He gestures toward the food. “Try to eat, you’ll feel better.”
I nod, slowly unwrapping the food and eating as much as I can force myself to.
Then I resume my waiting.
* * *
A week passes before the doctors will even consider waking him up.
I’ve hardly slept. Hardly eaten. I’ve chang
ed and showered a few times, but only when I could pull myself from his side. My eyes are constantly dry because I refuse to blink, not wanting to miss a move, a sigh, or even the twitching of his finger.
But nothing happens. The machine breathes for him. The subdued beeps of the equipment in his room remind me he’s fighting. He’s here. He’s alive.
His mother has been by every day. Right after he was moved into this room, she caused such a scene, berating the guard at the door, that I peeked outside to figure out what the problem was. As soon as she saw me, though, she froze and then understanding replaced her outrage.
She has checked on him every day since, but she hasn’t seen him. The agents won’t let her in the same room with me and I’m unable to leave his side, afraid I might miss something.
The doctors are cautious when they talk to me. Every statement is measured, carefully structured to guard against any false hope. They’ve warned me he may crash as soon as they bring him out, that he might not make it.
But they don’t know him like I do. Nic is good with risk. He thrives on it.
This morning they begin slowly lowering the dose of whatever drug is keeping him under. The nurses stop by every couple of hours to check his stats and then lower the dose again. So, I keep waiting. Keep holding his hand. Keep talking to him. Keep hoping.
A knock on the door has me glancing over my shoulder and then hurrying to my feet to help Garrett inside.
“How are you doing?” I drag another chair over for him.
“Fine.” He hobbles over on his crutches and quickly sits down. “How are you holding up?”
“They’re waking him up today.”
“So I heard. Thought I’d come here and keep you company while you wait.”
I sit back in my chair, resuming my post. Grabbing Nic’s hand, I hold it to my face.
“It’s going to be fine,” I say, to no one in particular. “It’s all going to be fine.
Garrett nods, but his face tells me he’s not sure.
* * *
Night is starting to descend, creeping into his hospital room and lengthening shadows on the floor.
Sighing, I reach over and turn on the closest lamp before reclaiming his hand. I run my thumb over his skin, careful not to disturb his IV.
“Nic, I need you to wake up.” I study his face, hoping for a flicker of movement, a fluttering of eyelashes or twitch of his eye.
“I need you…please, wake up.”
* * *
A wailing alarm bell jerks me awake.
I stare at the machines with bleary eyes, trying to focus on the heart rate monitor that has suddenly gone flat.
“Nic!”
A nurse throws open the door to his room, and a barrage of hospital personnel run in. Someone grabs me and drags me out of the room.
“You need to stay here, so we can help him,” the woman says, before she sprints back inside.
I press myself up against the glass, watching as a flurry of hands move over his body, pulling open his gown and attaching defibrillator pads to his chest, somehow managing to find bare skin in the midst of all his bandages.
“Nic!”
“What’s going on?” Tommy appears at my side, staring into the room over my shoulder.
Nic’s chest snaps up as they try to restart his heart. Again.
And again.
I press my hand to the window, using my other one to suppress a scream.
“You don’t want to watch this, Reagan. Come on, look at me. Hey, look at me.”
I shake my head, eyes glued to the other part of my heart as the doctor starts shaking his head.
“No!” I scream. “NO!”
The hallway fills with FBI agents, including Garrett. They remain stoic as Tommy tries to hold me back. Flinging my arms, I catch him in the chest with my elbow. He lets go and I run inside, throwing myself onto the bed next to him, hands on either side of his face.
“You do not get to leave me! Do you understand? You promised. You promised me…” I hide my face in his still warm neck, tears pouring down, slicking his skin.
“No,” I say over and over. “Nic, please.”
Unearthly quiet hangs over the room. Agents surround the bed, but in my mind, I’m alone with my grief.
“You promised me. Yours, all yours, forever. That’s what you said. Well, I’m not done, so you don’t get to leave. You don’t get to leave. Not yet, Nic. Please…”
A horrible silence follows my heartfelt plea. My chest falls, and my throat squeezes tight, making it hard to breathe. “No. You can’t leave…you can’t.”
No one moves. The lack of sound is oppressive and I’m trying not to scream.
And then…Beep.
My breath catches. Someone shuffles closer.
Beep…Beep.
Another one follows, and then another, growing steadier, louder.
Someone pushes me off the bed, but I stay on my feet, keeping a hand on his cheek. “Nic, wake up. Wake up!”
CHAPTER 37
Nic
EVERYTHING BURNS.
The gray I’ve been existing in flares to red. And suddenly, I feel everything. It hurts. Pain blazes through my stomach, my head. It’s unbearable. I want to yell, but my mouth won’t cooperate.
“Nic,” Reagan cries. “Wake up!”
Some obnoxious alarm won’t stop screeching. It’s so loud, hurting my ears and ringing in my head. I wish it’d stop so I could hear her better.
“Nic, wake up.”
I hate that she’s begging, and it sounds like she’s been crying. I hate it when she cries. It’s even worse that she’s been crying over me.
The noises get louder, and pain compresses my body like a vise.
“Nic. Please.”
I’m thrashing against something, I don’t know what. I’m trying to get to her. I don’t know where she is, but I’m trying to follow her voice. She’s squeezing my hand; I feel that. But the pain, it’s getting worse. It’s agony, pure agony pounding through my body. Wave after wave of violent pain.
“Nic Selvaggio. Open your damn eyes.”
I force them open, barely seeing anything, just a blurry outline of her face close to mine before my lids slam closed. They’re too heavy, and I’m too weak.
“Nic.” There’s a smile in her voice this time. “Look at me.”
I try again, for her. And, slowly, her face comes into focus, red-rimmed eyes and a watery smile. It’s easily the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
“Hi,” she breathes, “welcome back.”
Then someone else’s face floods my vision, an older man who says he’s my doctor. He silences the obnoxious alarms and carefully extracts the respirator from my throat.
“You’ve given us quite a scare, sir. How are you feeling?”
“Ti-tired…”
“I bet you are. Your oxygen levels are holding steady, you should be fine breathing on your own. How’s the pain?”
I clench my jaw.
“That bad, huh? We’ll be keeping you heavily medicated for a while, so that should help. Sleep as much as you possibly can, let your body heal. I’ll be back to check on you in a little while.”
With that, he gestures for everyone to leave. Garrett gives me a ‘good to have you back’ nod before he and the rest of the agents file out as well, leaving me alone with her.
She leans over the bed so I can stare up at her face. Fingers play with the ends of my hair and cool hands press against my aching head. I close my eyes, craving her touch.
“I missed you,” she says, blinking back a few lingering tears. “You’re never allowed to do that again. Do you understand?”
“S-sorry.”
“You will be.”
Grinning slightly, I struggle to keep my eyes open.
“Just rest. I’ll be here.” She kisses the only square inch of my face that doesn’t hurt, and then everything goes black.
CHAPTER 38
Reagan
EXHAUSTED, I FA
DE QUICKLY, SINKING into the chair by his bed, watching him sleep.
He’s alive.
There’s nothing else I could ask for in this moment. Leaning back, I close my eyes and drift into the first hours of restful sleep I’ve gotten in over a week.
Garrett wakes me up awhile later, poking his head through the door. “You need to see this.”
I glance at Nic.
“There’ll be an agent right outside,” he assures me. “They’ll come get you if he wakes up.”
With a gentle kiss to Nic’s cheek, I reluctantly follow Garrett out into the hallway. “What’s wrong?”
He gestures toward the small television screen in the corner of the waiting room. Cameron, my boss, is in the middle of a press conference. I fumble for the volume control on the side, turning up the sound.
“Thank you all for coming today. With the recent arrest of the notorious mob boss, Adriano Selvaggio, I feel it is now safe to be honest with the American public about my office’s involvement in his downfall.”
Cameron pauses, clearing his throat. “When my office began investigating a tip from an anonymous whistleblower several months ago, accusing the FBI of taking bribes from members of organized crime in the state of New York, my staff and I were operating under the assumption that this was an issue of self-policing. Naturally, I was concerned that the FBI might be unable to successfully ward its agents against corruption from outside influences. However, as my investigation continued, members of my staff uncovered an ongoing FBI case against the Selvaggio Crime Family.
“Members of my staff, individuals that I personally hired and trained to not only serve the citizens of my district, but also the American public through my position on the House Oversight Committee, risked their lives to bring this whistleblower, who we now know as Mr. Nicola Selvaggio, to light. I was personally able to question Mr. Selvaggio before he testified against his father, and before the cowardly assassination attempt on his life. The questions I directed at Mr. Selvaggio were hard-hitting and to the point. And while I cannot excuse the crimes he has committed in his past, I applaud him for ultimately deciding to do the right thing, and for testifying against his father’s criminal empire.
