I lift my head—just barely. Two silhouettes take shape. Blonde curls. Jet-black hair.
“Millie’s parking the car,” Roxy says, coming into focus. She’s kneeling in front of me.
“Can you stand?” Fallon asks, leaning over and offering her arm.
I take it, and they help hoist me up. I’m vaguely aware of the weird looks I’m getting from my colleagues as the girls shepherd me to the waiting room.
I want to thank Roxy and Fallon, but I have no words. All I see, all I can think about, is Archie lying on that stretcher with a deathly pallor, and the fact that I may never hear him laugh or tell me a cocky joke again. Or feel his arms around me.
I try to inhale deeply, but no air filters through. All I can do is close my eyes and pray to whatever gods might be listening. To science. To fate. To the Universe.
Please.
Let him come back to me.
The clock on the wall clicks past 3 a.m., the ticking of the second hand piercing the too-quiet waiting room. No one has moved in hours.
Archie’s friends are all here, slumped into the mismatched chairs that line the walls, looking like ghosts of themselves. Finn’s knee has been bouncing non-stop since he arrived. Cameron sits hunched over, his elbows on his knees, head buried in his hands. Wade’s eyes are mostly shut, his arms crossed. Callum hasn’t spoken once. He just stares blankly at the floor while Millie rubs slow circles on his back, her cheek resting against his shoulder. Fallon is quiet, her knitting forgotten in her lap. As for Roxy, she’s the only one who’s managed to keep moving. She’s spoken to the nurses twice already and explained to my boss why I’m unable to work right now and should be given the night off. She even spoke to Mrs. Wilcott on the phone, promising to give her updates as she flies back from New York, where she was visiting Noah and Grace.
I sit among them, numb. The ache in my chest hasn’t dulled, just throbbed into something sharp and hollow.
The door opens, and everyone sits up straighter—like a jolt of electricity hit the room.
Dr. Naresh steps out, scrub cap pushed back and sweat still beading on his forehead. “Hi,” he says, looking around the room. “You’re here for Archie Wilcott? Wait… Katherine?” he adds, a flicker of confusion in his eyes.
We all nod. I rise to my feet automatically, and a few others follow suit.
“I’m Dr. Naresh,” he says, glancing at everyone. “The surgery went well. Archie is stable and in recovery.”
A collective breath is released. Millie bursts into quiet tears, clutching Callum’s arm tighter. Cameron drops his head back with a sigh, and Finn scrubs both hands over his face.
“He had a Grade IV splenic rupture,” Dr. Naresh continues. “There was significant internal bleeding, but we were able to control it fairly quickly. We performed a splenectomy—that’s a complete removal of the spleen. It’s a fairly common procedure in trauma cases like this.”
I nod, slipping into full doctor mode even as my heart tries to catch up. A flicker of doubt dampens my relief. Maybe if it were me, I would have tried to repair the spleen. But with how unstable he was, removing it quickly was the safest call.
I push the thought aside.
“Was the mesentery intact?” I ask quietly.
“There was some contusion, but no major vascular compromise. No tears. His vitals have been steady for the last hour. We’ve placed him in post-op under close monitoring—fluids, antibiotics, pain control. He’s intubated for now, but he should be weaned off as soon as he’s fully awake.”
I exhale slowly, grounding myself in the details. The clinical facts are a balm, steadying my trembling palms.
“Was there any diaphragmatic involvement?” I ask.
“None that we could see. Lungs are clear. Imaging pre-op confirmed the injury was isolated to the left upper quadrant.”
“Good,” I whisper, half to myself.
“Can we see him?” Finn rasps, standing now.
Dr. Naresh offers a small shake of his head. “He’s still unconscious. We’ve just moved him to recovery, and he’ll be closely monitored for the next few hours. You’re welcome to come back later in the morning. He should be awake by then.”
Fallon nods, rubbing her eyes. “Thank you. For everything.”
The surgeon offers another gentle smile. “He’s strong. He’s going to be okay.”
With that, he slips out of the room, the door clicking shut behind him.