Torin (Hope City #9) - Maryann Jordan Page 0,68

fuck? Blood?

She dropped into a chair at the side of his bed and grabbed his hand, laying her cheek against his palm. “Oh, thank God, Torin, I was so scared.”

“Baby, are you all right? Your shirt… are you hurt?”

She pressed her lips together tightly, jerking her head from side to side. If that was a “No, it’s not my blood,” reply, he wanted the words.

“Then what—”

She opened her mouth as a sob ripped from her lungs and into his soul. His gaze moved up to where Rory and Sean flanked their sister.

“Torin, good to see you,” Rory said, his gaze shooting down to his sister. Licking his lips, he said, “I don’t know how much you remember about today.”

“Not much. I remember I was running… we were running.”

“That’s right,” Rory agreed, his worried eyes still moving toward Erin as though measuring his words carefully. “You were running in the Hope City Marathon. There was an incident… right where you were.”

“An incident?”

Another sob bucked out of Erin’s body, and the three men settled into an uncomfortable silence.

“Babe,” Torin whispered, his hand squeezing hers. “I’m here, sweetheart. ‘Course, I don’t really know where or why I’m here, but I’m here.”

She leaned up and swiped at her nose with a tissue. Hiccupping, she blew out a breath. “You had surgery on your leg.”

He lifted his head from the pillow and looked down at his leg. “Fuck, that looks bad.”

“Compound fracture with some displaced fragments. They did internal fixation devices… plates and screws, they said. I’ve only talked to the nurse, not the doctor.”

“HC General?”

“Yeah. That’s where they brought you. They wouldn’t let me ride in the ambulance with you.”

His forehead crinkled as he tried to remember. “I’ve only got bits and pieces coming back to me. We were running. We’d passed our families cheering. I thought we were making decent time. Then nothing.”

“You ran to the side to get bananas while I took pictures with Caitlyn. Just as I was running back toward you, there was an explosion.”

Punched in the gut with her explanation, he gasped. “Explosion?” His gaze moved to her forehead. “Erin, babe, you got hurt, too! Jesus, did you get looked at—”

“That’s what we were trying to get her to take care of when you woke up,” Sean said, his brotherly scowl still on his face although his voice was more cautious than earlier.

“You’re awake, Mr. Flanigan.” His attention was diverted to the nurse walking into the room, rolling a cart with a laptop on it. She approached the bed and began checking the various devices. His blood pressure cuff inflated, and she keyed the information into the computer. “The orthopedic surgeon will be down later to talk to you. You should just have to stay tonight, possibly tomorrow night as well, depending on how he thinks the site is healing. He’s prescribed pain medication, but only wants it to make the pain manageable.”

Her rapid-fire words were almost more than he could follow but knew it would all be repeated several more times before he was discharged. She glanced up toward the TV mounted in the corner, scenes of chaos filling the screen. With the sound turned down, he could only assume it was the race.

The nurse glanced at the trio standing on the other side. “Goodness! We need to get you out of those clothes and seen by someone!” she barked.

Jerking his head in the direction the nurse was staring, he watched as Erin winced, wrapping her arms around her middle.

“I didn’t want them to take him away from me… not until I knew he was okay,” Erin said, her voice shaking.

“Take him away?” the nurse asked, her tone still sharp.

“It was… this was his blood… it was all I had of him.” Erin’s emotional pain could not have been clearer.

“Oh, my God,” an agonized voice came from the doorway, drawing everyone’s attention. Sharon stared at her daughter, tears in her eyes, as Colm placed his hands steadily on his wife’s shoulders. Maeve was next to her, eyes wide on Torin before darting toward Erin. Rory shifted closer to Erin, his hands raised.

The nurse looked up at the TV screen again and clicked on the sound. “That looks like you!”

The TV blared, “And in the midst of the chaos that is downtown Hope City, this photograph, taken by one of our own photographers before he selflessly began assisting others, is rapidly becoming the Face of the Hope City Marathon bombing. The unidentified woman, obviously in agony, is seen holding