accept them for who they are.
But something tells me my epiphany came too late.
“Where is he?”
“Let’s not…” Apollo trails off.
Cass steps back, waving a hand. “You know what, we can chat about that later. You need to rest.”
I turn wide eyes to Reuben, who’s looking from Apollo to Cass with a blank expression. “Reuben? Reuben!”
He looks down at me. Strokes my eyebrow with his thumb. “It’s too early to tell,” he murmurs.
“What is? What do you mean?”
“You don’t remember?” Apollo asks.
I stare at him, my voice rising to a shout. “Remember what? Tell me what’s going on!” The last I direct to Cass.
He’s watching me through his lashes. And then he blinks, like he’s snapping out of a spell. “He took two gunshots to the chest. One barely missed his heart. The other…didn’t.”
Someone shot Zachary? My body goes ice-cold. “Oh my God.”
Reuben squeezes my hand. “It’s too early to tell if he’ll pull through, Trinity, but the doctors are doing everything they—”
I pull out of his grip, grab the edge of the sheet, and do my best to get out of the hospital bed. “Is someone going to help me?” I demand through gritted teeth.
Apollo rushes around the bed, but Rube puts out a hand to stop him. I scowl up at Reuben with as much ferocity as I can muster, but before I can open my mouth to cuss him out, he bends and scoops me up off the hospital bed.
Now I’m floating through the air like an aerial dancer. Cass comes over, grabbing the IV stand and wheeling it after us as Rube heads out my hospital room behind Apollo.
I’ve never been in a hospital before, but I have a feeling I’m in one of the private wards because I was the only one inside the room and there’s tasteful artwork on the walls we pass.
We go down an elevator, and when we exit, there’s suddenly too much excitement and activity. I burrow back against Reuben, and as if they sense my sudden panic, Cass and Apollo walk in front of us like a shield.
I hear voices murmuring up ahead when we stop. And then Cass says, “Does it look like I give a fuck about visiting hours?”
Rube grumbles something I don’t catch, and then we’re on the move again. He takes me through two more doors, and then the air is filled with the mechanical beep of machinery and the whoosh of life support systems.
Apollo and Cass part, their faces grim.
Rube takes me right up to the bed as if he won’t even entertain the thought of my feet touching the ground.
Zachary’s chest lifts and falls in time with the massive machine on the other side of the bed.
He’s pale and drawn, his cheekbones poking at his skin. Lips bloodless. Deep shadows under his sunken eyes.
My vision blurs. I blink hard, freeing my tears so I can see him again.
Apollo is talking to someone in the background. A nurse? A doctor? Their soft murmurs don’t sound positive.
“Put me down,” I say.
“We should get you back—” Rube begins, but I lift my unbandaged hand and lay it on his chest. Still not looking at him. Still focused on Zachary. “Please. Put me down.”
I have so many questions, but that’s not important right now. Right now, I’m trying to understand why it feels like the world is breaking down around me.
There’s no way I could have imagined the things he did and said, but now it feels like it was all a bad dream. The man lying in this bed isn’t capable of such violence, of such spite.
It’s impossible, but I know it’s true, and those conflicting thoughts make me feel dizzy and on edge. I want to shove away those thoughts and focus on my anger, but when I glance around the room, I see I’m not the only one struggling emotionally.
How can I be angry with him when he’s dying? We can sort out our shit later.
I slide out of Reuben’s arms and land on wobbly legs. He grabs me around the waist, keeping me steady as I lean forward and take Zachary’s hand in mine.
“Hey,” I whisper, and then clear my throat. “It’s me. Trinity. You remember me, right? The little girl who annoyed you so much?”
But nothing changes. There’s no quirk of his mouth, no twitch in his fingers.
I glance behind me and tilt my head back to look up at Rube. “Can he hear me?”
Reuben nods, his grim expression softening. “Of course he can.”
I