Zane (Inked Brotherhood Book 3) (24 page)

I suck in lungfuls of cool air and jiggle the cell in my hand, as if that will make it ring sooner. I pace the yard as I wait, walking between the cars, looking at the buildings rising beyond the fence.

When the cell finally rings, I almost drop it in my haste to answer. “Yeah?”

“Dakota. His sister died yesterday. His brother-in-law says Zane was at the funeral this morning, then he left to drive back to Madison.”

“Oh shit.” I bend over, a hand over my stomach.
Jesus.
“Could he…”
God, please no.
“An accident? Is it possible…?”

“We have Rafe and Tyler calling all hospitals in the area. So far it doesn’t seem like he was admitted to any. There weren’t many accidents on the road this morning.”

“Then where is he?”

Audrey moves away from the phone, speaking to someone, presumably Ash. Then she’s back. “Ash is saying he’s going to try and break down the door of Zane’s apartment.”

A different kind of fear twists my insides. “What does he think happened?”

Audrey sighs. “Just come over, will you? We’re heading that way now.”

“Yeah.” I stumble as I head back inside. “I can be there in half an hour.”

I hang up without saying goodbye, too stressed for social niceties. I run through the hospital, lose my way again and end up calling Dad to tell him I have to go. I barely hear what he says before I hang up and ask for directions. Then I’m running through halls and down more corridors, finally stepping out into another lot where my car is parked.

Praying the engine will endure one more trip back to Madison, I step on the gas and gun it down the highway. I don’t bother with music. Can’t bear it, my head’s too full of noise as it is.

The scars down his arms. The shadow of pain in his eyes.
Please, let him not have done anything to himself
.

His sister died, and I wasn’t there for him. I didn’t know. But it doesn’t matter. I frigging wasn’t
there
.

Fear is a cold hand between my shoulder blades, digging sharp nails into my lungs.

Please let him be okay.

***

I hear the sound of sirens as I approach Zane’s building, and the claws of fear tear into me deeper.
A coincidence
, I think, as I turn into his street, and park.
Please let it be a coincidence.

The ambulance rolls down the street and parks not twenty feet away, its lights flashing.

Holy shit.

By the time I throw my door open and step out, paramedics are rushing into the building, and I run after them, my heart in my throat. Their boots pound up the stairs, and I hurry to keep up. Maybe it’s not for Zane, I think vaguely, even as I put in another burst of speed. Maybe it’s someone else in the building. Doesn’t have to be for Zane.

But then I find his door bashed in, wide open, and voices drift through. Ash, I think. Tyler. Erin and Audrey.

Swallowing my fear, I rush inside, only to be stopped by a scene of post-apocalyptic disaster. Broken furniture, the window smashed open, shards of glass everywhere. Zane’s drawings, torn and ruined.

And then I see him, lying on his side on the floor—limp, his eyes closed. I barely recognize him. His Mohawk is mostly gone, cut unevenly, close to the scalp. He has an oxygen mask strapped over his mouth, and he looks deathly pale.

No.

The paramedics lift him onto a stretcher and roll him on his side. He doesn’t open his eyes, doesn’t move.

My knees turn to water, and I grip the doorjamb not to fall. The air is heavy with the sharp stench of vomit and alcohol.

“Hey, girl.” Audrey appears at my side and puts an arm around me. “You made it.”

“What happened?” I can’t see any blood, and oh God, I’m so thankful for that.

“Not sure.” Audrey’s voice is faint. “He’s not breathing so well. They think it may be alcohol poisoning.” She shivers. “We had to break down the door. Took a while.”

I watch numbly as the paramedics take Zane’s pulse, their faces drawn into masks of worry, and I start to shake. My eyes burn like fire.

“He’ll be okay,” Audrey says and pulls me in closer. “He could have choked on his vomit. He was lucky.”

Lucky.
I tear myself free of Audrey’s hold and stumble toward the stretcher. “How is he?”

The paramedic shrugs. “Dehydration, low sugar levels.” He nods at his colleague, who’s inserting a needle into Zane’s hand. “We’re working on that.”

Quickly and efficiently, they attach a tube to the needle, and one of them holds up a clear bag with fluid. “Let’s go.”

They lift the stretcher, and Ash steps in to hold up the bag. Together, they take Zane out and down the stairs. Audrey tugs me along with Erin and Tyler, and we follow them to the ambulance, watch as they load him in.

“He’s not even conscious,” I choke out.

“Come on,” Tyler says, “let’s follow them to the hospital.”

Audrey tugs on my hand, and I nod, my throat so tight I can’t speak.

“He’s a strong guy,” she says. “He’ll pull through.”

Was there a chance he wouldn’t?
Crap.
I can’t hold back the tears anymore. She curls an arm around me as my breath hitches. I sob on her shoulder, trying to be quiet—as if it matters. She leads me toward her car and bundles me inside, then Ash slides into the driver’s seat and we’re off.

Through my tears, I watch the buildings and cars streak by. How did this happen? He almost drank himself to death.

‘
I don’t need it when you’re here.’

His sister died, and I wasn’t there.

The buildings turn into weeping faces, the cars into snapping jaws, and I curl on the backseat, wishing this nightmare was over. That I’d never gotten the call about Aunt Carolina, that I’d never left town.

That time would turn back to yesterday morning and just stop.

***

Zane won’t wake up. It’s been four days since he was brought to the hospital and placed in the intensive care unit. He won’t react to anything. The doctors talk of hypoglycemia, dangerously low blood sugar, caused by the vomiting. They’ve been pumping glucose into his veins, along with fluids and antibiotics. At least it doesn’t look as though he’s banged his head, or has any internal injury.

He’s just… not responding. It’s so strange, seeing him on the narrow hospital bed, white sheets tucked up to his armpits, white walls and white tables, while he’s a riot of color with his tattooed chest and arms and the blue of what remains of his Mohawk.

Only his skin is as pale as the sheets, and it makes me feel sick. Still can’t wrap my head about what happened. Can’t believe it’s Zane they’re keeping in this tiny hospital room. Monitoring him. Making sure he doesn’t stop breathing, or choke on his own vomit. He has a catheter, I know, and the oxygen mask is always strapped on his face. A needle is strapped to his hand, pumping him full of antibiotics, fluids and God knows what else.

I sit by his side, holding his hand in mine, the blue curtains drawn around us to give a semblance of privacy.

“Wake up,” I whisper. “Come on, Zane. You’ve rested enough. Wake up already.”

Doctors say he probably will. But they can’t be sure, and I can’t take the possibility of him not waking. Not when I know for sure. When I know… I can’t live without him.

The doctors say to keep talking to him and let them know if he shows any sign of reacting. So I talk, and talk, and hope.

The Brotherhood has been in and out of this room so often I’m pretty sure the hospital is thinking of hiring a bodyguard to keep everyone out. They sneak in way past visiting hours and sit with Zane. Talk to him. Curse him. Command him to wake up.

It’s a good thing most of the other beds in this room are empty, or this wouldn’t work.

The girls are more touchy-feely. Erin strokes Zane’s cheek as she talks to him. Tessa puts her hand on top of his. Audrey puts both hands on his chest over the covers. Can he feel it? Can he hear it?

Then there’s the Damage Boyz—the boys Zane took in and who now work at Damage Control—Micah, Jesse, Seth, Shane and Ocean. They are quieter than the Brotherhood, not as comfortable with each other yet, but they sit with Zane, too, tell him about their day, and stare at him, expecting him to answer.

It’s heartbreaking. They look up to him, depend on him to guide them. I never realized how much responsibility he’s taken on his shoulders, how many lives he changed for the better.

They leave, and I return to my usual seat by his side. Four days, and it’s already a routine, a sad one. I haven’t slept in these four days. I can’t. The nurses are kind, and let me stay by his side.

Not sure it’s helping.

I brush my hand up his bare, muscled arm, over the tattoos and scars, up his neck to his stubbled jaw. His pulse beats strong there, and I let my fingers linger. Then I caress his cheek, his eyelashes, his brows, trail my hand down to his soft mouth, his strong chin.

My lips tremble. “It’s me, Dakota.” My voice is hushed, and I force myself to speak up, in case he can hear me. “I’m here, with you. Open your eyes to see me. Come on.”

I keep talking until my throat is so dry I can do no more than croak, and then I lean back in my chair and grab my drawing pad. Another new routine. Pencil in hand, lip pulled between my teeth, I draw him. I draw his beautiful face, his shoulders… Can’t see more of him, but I remember. I know what he looks like underneath the covers.

Then I draw dragons around him and spiders. Good luck charms. Protectors. I draw deathmoths with their skull designs, to counter death. I use magic.

“I’d dance naked in front of a bonfire and paint my breasts red if that would help. Hell, I’d open my veins and pour out my blood for you. I’d give my right arm for you to wake up and be all right. Can you hear me?”

Please let it work.

But the hours pass, and the time on my cell phone tells me the day is gone. He doesn’t wake up, and I can’t help fearing maybe he doesn’t want to.

I close my drawing pad and settle in for another night.

“I’d give you anything,” I say as I lean forward on the bed, propping my chin on my folded arms to gaze at his still face. I’d give up all control to you. I’d trust you in anything you want to do with me. I love you as you are. Just come back.”

Come back to me.

***

I’m sitting at the hospital cafeteria, my hands wrapped around a mug of tea long gone cold, my head bowed.

So tired. So empty. My heart can’t stop racing. My thoughts won’t stop spinning in useless circles.

Zane. They always return to him.

I sip at my cold tea, fighting the burning behind my brow. Just when I think I’m all out of tears, more keep coming.

Someone pulls a chair and sits across from me. Through the blurriness, I see Asher. His mouth is a thin line, and his brows are tightly knit together.

“He’s been calling out your name,” he says and just sits there, after dropping this bomb on me.

My heart bangs in my chest as I shoot to my feet. My legs tremble. “He’s awake?”

“Maybe. Not really. Not yet.” He rubs a hand over his face, his eyes dim with fatigue and worry. “I don’t know.”

I leave without another word to navigate through the maze of corridors and staircases. I’ve memorized the way to the intensive care unit, or I’d wander in here, forever lost.

Rafe is coming out of Zane’s room as I approach, and he doesn’t seem to see me until he almost plows into me.

“Dakota.” His voice is gruff.

“Is he awake?” I try to brush by, but he grabs my arm, stopping me. “I have to see him.”

“The doctors are inside with him.”

“Dammit, is he awake, Rafe? That’s all I want to know.”

He shrugs. “Not sure. He’s mumbling things. That’s a good sign, right?”

Oh God, yes, it is.

I enter the room not knowing what to expect. What I don’t expect is to find Zane looking the same—lying there, still, silent, looking like he’s asleep.

The doctors are standing by his bed, talking in hushed voices. Their gazes flick over to me, then back to their papers, and they finally nod and say the best thing I’ve heard all week. Hell, all year. “He’s waking up.”

I stumble to a chair and drop in it, my legs too weak to hold me. “Oh, thank God.”

“Is he awake now?” Ash asks from the door, and I see Rafe and the others behind him.

“He’s asleep.” The doctor looks down at Zane. “It will take him a few days to recover completely. But we’re very pleased with his progress. Now you must be patient and give him time to get back on his feet.”

I’m vaguely aware of thin arms coming around me and Audrey telling me it’s going to be okay. Asher is standing behind her, a hand on her shoulder. Erin is hugging Tyler, tears tracking down her cheeks. Dylan is leaning on the doorframe, arms folded over his chest, a grin splitting his face, and Tessa for once isn’t looking at him but at me. She winks and smiles, even though her eyes are too bright.

“You need to get out, please,” the doctors say, and a nurse bustles in to usher us out.

“I’m staying,” I whisper, and when the nurse tries to tell me to go, I say more loudly, “I’m staying.”

One by one everyone drifts out, and the nurse talks to the doctors for a few moments, shooting me annoyed looks.

I don’t care. Not even when she comes back to me and says softly, “He’ll be all right now, girl. You need to rest, too.”

“I want to stay.” I plead with my eyes for her to understand. I can’t leave him alone again, not yet, not now.

“All right.” She sighs and shrugs. “I’ll be in the nurses’ room at the end of the corridor if you need anything.”

She draws the curtains closed and leaves. The door closes, and it’s just me and him again. I walk to the bed and take my usual seat, pull out my drawing pad and pencil, and dash a hand over my face, because my cheeks are wet.

“I’m here,” I say. “It’s me, Dakota, and I’ll be right here until you open your eyes and see me.”

***

“How is everyone?” I ask, cradling Mom’s cell between my cheek and shoulder as I open the door and step outside. Still haven’t had time to buy a new one. I can’t leave Zane alone.

It’s late afternoon, and the sky is full of colors. I breathe in the fresh air and close my eyes.