Follow Me Back (Fight for Me 2)

Sprinting her direction, I caught her just before she was all the way in. “Hope.”

She gasped a pained sound. “I’ve got to get to him.”

My voice was grit at her ear as I hauled her back from around the waist. “I know. I know. But I can’t let you drive like this. Come on, baby, let me help you. It’s going to be okay.”

She gasped another sound. This one a guttural cry, her terror that had been bottled spilling out.

“I’ve got you. It’s going to be okay,” I told her, anxiety gripping me like a vise.

It is going to be okay.

He’ll be okay.

I promise I won’t let anything happen to him.

I shifted her around, slamming her door shut as I did. Quickly, I guided her to my car parked two spaces over. Opening the passenger door, I helped her in, darted around the front, and hopped inside.

The second the engine turned over, I threw it in reverse and whipped out of the spot. Half a second later, I had it in gear and was gunning the engine, tires squealing when I skidded out onto the street.

Teeth gritted, I weaved in and out of traffic, trying to remain calm.

Cool.

Which was impossible since my heart was a fucking throbbing mess where it was lodged in my throat.

When all I could think about was that kid.

That kid.

I struggled to focus, to breathe in the dense, dark air that had taken hold.

Hope fisted her hands on her lap, choppy pants heaving from her shuddering chest.

Terrified.

Doing my best to keep it together, to be there for her, I reached out and set my hand on her leg. I gave her a soft squeeze. “He’s going to be okay, Hope. I promise you, he’s going to be okay.”

The oaths I’d kept silenced before came tumbling out.

Her nod was jerky. She set her hand on top of mine, squeezing so hard I was sure she was drawing blood.

Leaning on me.

Relying on me.

Silently begging me to keep that promise.

Five minutes later, I skidded into the parking lot at the ER.

The same ER where I’d been a resident for the previous three years.

I jerked into a vacant spot, killed the engine, and was already out and at Hope’s door by the time she had it open and was climbing out.

“Thank you,” she rasped, clutching my shirt. She was shaking all over, so I wrapped my arm around her waist to support her.

Together, we rushed for the entryway doors.

They swished apart as we approached.

Once we got inside, I let Hope run ahead of me, feeling like a complete asshole for dropping my arm.

But I felt so tied.

Those memories too close. Too real. Too much.

I rubbed an anxious hand over my jaw, watching Hope as she went for the triage station, her son’s name a plea from her tongue.

The door leading into the back buzzed and swung open. Hope went right for it.

And I stood there like a chump.

Fuck it.

I hurtled after her, barely grabbing the door before it closed. I hurried to catch up to her where she raced down the hall that was lined with curtained exam spaces, a big nursing station in the middle.

She headed straight down the hallway and toward the room number she’d been given.

This place was so familiar. So much of my time had been devoted to this emergency room. But it was always me caring for the patients that came through the doors.

My complete dedication given to them.

But this time . . . this time it was different. The tables turned.

I passed familiar faces, and a couple of nurses offered confused hellos as I passed.

Frantically, Hope jerked open the door of one of the enclosed exam rooms reserved for higher-risk patients. Equipment at the ready for testing and treatment that might need to be rendered urgently.

And that chaotic world spinning around us?

For a moment, it completely froze.

It gave Hope a second to catch up.

A chance to take in her son, who was in the middle of the room, partially propped up on an elevated hospital bed with an oxygen mask covering his nose and mouth.

He was alert, those green eyes scared, but they shimmered with relief when he caught sight of his mom.

For a beat, Hope was locked in that suspended moment where only her son existed.

Then she jolted forward. “Oh . . . God . . . Evan.”

Her hand was on the side of his face, the other going straight for his heart.

My heart. My heart.

From behind, I could see her shoulders sag in relief when she felt it beating.

When she felt the life that pounded through his veins.

And there was nothing I could do but step up behind her, touch Evan’s cheek, his forehead, fingers trembling as I felt along the steady pulse in his neck.

It was the furthest from an exam. It was simply a man needing to be reassured that someone he cared about was okay.