bright hallway.
He flattened his palms on the counter and tried to catch his breath. “Alexis Carlisle,” he panted. The nurse typed something into her computer, and Noah bit his tongue to keep from cursing. He knew before she even looked up that it was too late.
“I’m sorry. She’s in pre-op. No more visitors.”
Noah’s knees went weak. “No. You don’t understand. I have to see her.”
Mack finally caught up, sweaty and out of breath. “It’s true,” he wheezed. “He screwed up really bad because he’s total tool and he has to tell her he’s sorry.”
The nurse’s mouth dropped open. “Well, I’m sorry to hear that, but I can’t let you see her.” She pointed to a large waiting room on the opposite side of the nurse’s station. “You’re welcome to find a seat, and we will provide regular updates.”
Mack grabbed Noah’s elbow and tugged him away from the counter. “Come on. We might as well sit.”
The elevator dinged, and when the doors opened, Colton walked out holding an ice cream sandwich.
He approached the group, oblivious. “Dude, they have an ice cream vending machine.” He blinked at everyone’s silent stare. “What? Were we too late?”
Noah clenched his fists at his sides. “Yeah, we were too late.”
“That sucks. We should’ve taken my helicopter.” He once again blinked at the silence. “Now what?”
“You have access to a helicopter?” Noah barely recognized his own voice.
“Yes,” Colton said slowly.
“And you’re just fucking telling me this now?”
“You asked me to drive you.”
Noah’s expression must have been murderous, because Mack immediately stepped in front of him. “Why don’t you go eat your ice cream over there,” he told Colton, pointing to the far opposite corner of the waiting room. “Or better yet, go buy the Russian some ice cream.”
The Russian’s face lit up. “Ice cream.”
Mack pushed Noah toward an open chair and then sat down next to him.
Noah braced his elbows on his knees and lowered his face into his hands. “I can’t believe I was too late.”
“It’s okay, man.” Mack patted him on the back.
“It’s not okay. I should have been here. She was alone. I promised her she wouldn’t have to go through with any of this alone, and I couldn’t even keep that promise.”
“Noah?”
He lifted his head. The Vanderpools—minus Elliott—had just walked into the waiting room. Candi walked over, smiling much more brightly than anyone should at that early hour and certainly not before a family member goes into surgery.
“You are here,” she gushed. “I knew you’d be here. I told her you would.”
He shot to his feet. “You saw her?”
“Just before they took her back for pre-op.”
“How was she? Was she okay? Was she scared?”
“She was okay. But I know she’ll be better when she wakes up and sees you here.”
“I want her to see me now,” he groaned, running his hands over his mop of hair.
And then his own words brought him up short as a memory invaded. I want you to see me.
“What’s wrong?” Candi asked.
He shook his head and looked down at Mack. “I need to find a barber.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Someone was touching her.
That didn’t make sense, though, because Alexis was swimming. Floating in thick, dark, warm water that lapped over every limb and dulled her senses in the most soothing, soundless way.
But someone was there. Touching her hand and speaking softly.
Alexis heard a moan, and suddenly the water was gone. One eye peeled open, and then the other, and she found herself thrown from warm, dark silence into cold, stark brightness. She squinted and rolled her head.
A nurse with a wide smile and gray hair stood next to her bed doing something with an IV bag. Her name badge read NINA B. The woman looked down and smiled. “Hi, Alexis. I’m Nina, and I’m going to be taking care of you while you’re in recovery. How’s your pain?”
Alexis braced her palms against the mattress and attempted to shift higher on the pillows. A stitch in her side made her wince. Nina tut-tutted and told her to hold still. “Too soon for that, honey.” She pushed a button on the arm of Alexis’s bed to lift the upper half a few inches. “Better?”
Alexis nodded and tried to swallow. It hurt. Bad. “Is it . . .” She swallowed again. If anyone had told her a sore throat would be the worst part of donating an organ, she never would have believed it, but her throat was on fire. “Is it over?”
Nina smiled again. “It’s over. On a scale of one to ten,