Chapter 10: Medical attention
The private jet hummed, a metal womb cutting through the bruised underbelly of a storm. Rain streaked the small oval windows in frantic, dissolving rivers. The cabin was too warm, the recycled air thick with the ghosts of whiskey and the damp wool scent of Lily’s jacket, thrown over the seat back. She had chosen a spot near the back, as far from Andy as the confined space allowed, but the geometry of the small plane meant she could still see the dark crown of his head three rows up. He hadn’t moved since takeoff.
The others were scattered, a subdued constellation. Ben and James played a silent, tired game of cards on a fold-out table. Ronnie was out cold, headphones on, slumped against a window. Max and Bobby were talking in low tones about gear. Matt and Danny were scrolling phones, their faces illuminated by the dim blue glow. Mitch just stared into the middle distance, a brooding statue. The camaraderie of the rescue had faded, replaced by the grim reality of the cleanup and the long flight home.
Lily felt strange. It was more than the shame, or the hollowed-out exhaustion. A low, persistent cramp had begun in her lower abdomen about twenty minutes into the flight. She’d blamed it on stress, on the brutal, hateful sex on the bar, on the tectonic shift her life had just undergone. She shifted in the leather seat, trying to find a comfortable position. The palimpsest, still wrapped in its black silk, was on the empty seat beside her. It seemed to pulse with a low, mocking energy.
She closed her eyes, focusing on the vibration of the engines. The cramp tightened, a fist clenching deep inside her. She breathed through it, the practiced breath of someone used to pain. Just stress. Just everything.
Then it came again, sharper. A hot, slicing sensation that made her gasp softly. She opened her eyes, staring at the riveted ceiling. The cabin lights flickered as the plane hit a patch of turbulence. The fasten seatbelt sign pinged on.
“Bit bumpy,” Ben remarked, not looking up from his cards.
Another cramp, vicious and twisting. Lily dug her fingernails into the armrests. A cold sweat broke out on her temples. This wasn’t right. This was a different kind of pain. It had a purpose, an internal gravity.
A new sensation followed, a warm, sudden trickle between her legs. Her heart stopped. Time stuttered. No. No, no, no. It wasn’t possible. Her cycle had always been erratic, a casualty of touring and lifestyle. She hadn’t thought. In the hotel, they hadn’t always been… careful. The thought hadn’t even been a shadow. It was inconceivable.
But the warmth was spreading, a seeping certainty. She froze, paralyzed by understanding. The blood felt impossibly hot against her skin, soaking through her leggings. She was bleeding. Heavily.
A small, pained sound escaped her, a whimper she couldn’t contain.
Andy’s head turned. He’d heard it. He looked back, his eyes finding hers in the gloom. He saw her pallor, the sheen of sweat, the absolute terror in her expression. His brow furrowed, not in anger, but in confused concern.
“Lil?” he said, his voice carrying over the engine drone.
She couldn’t speak. She just shook her head, a minute, desperate movement. The cramp intensified, a wave of nauseating pressure that made her vision swim. She doubled over, her forehead pressing against the cool plastic of the seat in front of her.
That’s when Andy moved. He was out of his seat in an instant, the seatbelt clattering. He didn’t ask. He just came down the aisle, his movements quick and purposeful. “Hey. Look at me.”
Ben looked up from his cards, his game forgotten. “What’s going on?”
Andy knelt in the aisle beside her. He placed a hand on her back. She flinched. “Lily. Talk to me. Are you sick?”
“I’m…” she choked out. “I’m bleeding.”
The word hung in the air, stark and horrifying. Understanding dawned on Andy’s face, slow and then all at once. The color drained from his skin, leaving him moon-pale. His eyes, wide and suddenly young, flickered down, then back to her face. He saw the dark, spreading stain on the light grey fabric of her leggings.
“Oh, fuck,” he breathed, the words devoid of all performance, pure shock.
The other guys were all looking now. The atmosphere in the cabin shifted from weary to electric with emergency.
“Bleeding? Where?” Ronnie asked, pulling his headphones off.
Andy didn’t answer him. His focus was entirely on Lily. His hands came up, hovering, unsure where to land. “Okay. Okay. It’s okay.” He was saying it to himself as much as to her. “How bad is the pain?”
“Bad,” she gritted out. Another wave hit, and she cried out, her hand flying to her abdomen.
“We need to get her flat,” Ben said, already unbuckling. The pragmatic bandleader taking charge. “Ronnie, move. Clear those seats.”
Ronnie and Max scrambled up, grabbing bags, clearing the two-seater row across the aisle. Andy didn’t wait. He slid one arm under her knees and the other behind her shoulders. “I’ve got you,” he murmured, and lifted her from her seat. He was gentle, infinitely more gentle than he’d been in weeks. He laid her down on the joined seats, her head in Ben’s lap as Ben sat down to cradle it. Andy stayed kneeling on the floor beside her, one hand gripping hers, the other pressed against her clammy forehead.
“What’s happening, man?” Danny asked, his voice uncharacteristically small.
“She’s miscarrying,” Andy said, the clinical word sounding brutal in his mouth. He didn’t look away from Lily’s face.
A collective inhale. No one spoke. The plane hit more turbulence, jolting them. Lily moaned.
“We need to land this thing now,” James said, already unbuckling and heading for the cockpit door.
“The pilots know,” Ben said, his voice calm but tense. He was stroking Lily’s hair, a paternal gesture that made tears well in her eyes. “I hit the call button. They’re on with air traffic control. Looking for the nearest strip.”
Lily’s world had narrowed to a tunnel of pain and Andy’s face. His blue eyes were a fixed point in the swirling panic. He was scared—she could see it in the tight line of his jaw—but he was holding it together for her. “Listen to me,” he said, his thumb stroking her knuckles. “You’re not alone. We’re all right here. You’re going to be okay. Just breathe. Match me.” He took an exaggerated, slow breath in, held it, let it out. She tried to follow, her breath hitching on a sob.
“I didn’t know,” she whispered, the confession torn from her. “I didn’t even think…”
“I know,” he said, his voice cracking. “Neither did I. It doesn’t matter now. Just get through this. One second at a time.”
The pain was coming in relentless waves now, a brutal tide pulling her under. She squeezed his hand so hard her own bones ached. She was aware of the others moving around her, a blur of concerned faces and low voices. Someone—Max—produced a thick airplane blanket and draped it over her legs. Bobby found a cold compress from a first-aid kit and handed it to Andy, who pressed it gently to her forehead.
“Hold on, Lil,” Ronnie said from somewhere above her. He sounded scared. “Almost there.”
The captain’s voice came over the speaker, calm and professional. “Folks, we’re making an emergency landing in approximately twelve minutes at a regional medical airport outside of Denver. Paramedics will be meeting us on the tarmac. Please ensure the patient is secure.”
Twelve minutes. An eternity. Lily cried out again as a contraction, for that’s what they were, seized her whole lower body. The physical reality of it was appalling. Her body was expelling something she hadn’t even known was there, a piece of potential life created in that cursed hotel suite amidst the rage and the tequila and the doomed love.
“Andy,” she gasped.
“I’m here. Right here.” He kept up the breathing, his face close to hers. His earlier defiance, his arrogance, was completely gone. Stripped bare, he was just a frightened man, holding the hand of a woman in terrible pain. “Look at me. Just look at me.”
She did. She stared into his eyes and tried to anchor herself there, away from the tearing, emptying sensation inside her. Ben’s steady hand on her head, Andy’s grip on her hand, they were the only things keeping her from splintering apart.
The descent was rapid and steep. The plane pitched, and Lily groaned as gravity seemed to amplify the pain. The guys braced themselves, hands on seatbacks, all eyes on her. There was no judgment now. Only a unified, horrified empathy.
With a final, shuddering jolt, the wheels touched down. The reverse thrust roared. As soon as the plane slowed, the main cabin door was flung open from the outside. Cool, rain-fresh air blasted in, along with the blinding red and white lights of waiting ambulances.
Two paramedics in blue jumpsuits clambered aboard, a stretcher between them. Their professionalism was a shock to the system. “Okay, let’s see her.”
Andy didn’t want to let go of her hand. Ben had to gently pry his fingers loose so they could assess her. Quick, efficient questions. Dates? Pain level? The paramedics’ faces were neutral masks. One lifted the blanket, saw the bleeding, and gave a curt nod to his partner.
“We need to move her. Now.”
They transferred her to the stretcher with practiced ease, buckling straps. As they lifted her, Andy stood, his legs unsteady. “I’m coming with her.”
The lead paramedic glanced at him, then at the collection of other rough-looking men. “Family?”
“Yes,” Andy said, the word leaving no room for argument.
Ben stood up. “We all are.”
They formed a grim procession down the aircraft steps into the needle-fine rain. Lily, strapped to the gurney, was loaded into the back of the waiting ambulance. Andy climbed in right after without waiting for an invitation. Ben, Ronnie, Matt, Max, Danny, James, Bobby, and Mitch simply piled into the second ambulance that had arrived, a silent, determined entourage.
The sirens wailed, carving a path through the dark Denver outskirts. In the back of the first ambulance, Andy sat on a small bench, once again holding Lily’s hand as a paramedic started an IV. The world was a blur of sound and light and motion. Lily’s eyes were squeezed shut, tears leaking from the corners.
“Hang on,” Andy kept whispering, a broken mantra. “Just hang on.”
The emergency room was a fluorescent-lit chaos, but they were ushered through with a grim efficiency money and fame could sometimes buy. Lily was whisked behind swinging doors into a trauma bay. A nurse tried to stop Andy at the threshold. “Sir, you need to wait—“
“I’m staying.” His voice was flat, final. The nurse looked at his face, at the wildness in his eyes, and nodded once, stepping aside.
He stood like a sentinel in the corner of the bay as doctors and nurses swarmed around Lily. He listened to their terse, coded language, words like “quantitative hCG” and “uterine evacuation.” He watched them cut her clothes away, the stained leggings that were a relic of their flight. He saw the sheer volume of blood on the sheets and felt the world tilt. He gripped the edge of a metal counter, his knuckles white.
A doctor, a woman with tired eyes and a no-nonsense manner, approached him. “Are you the father?”
The question was a physical blow. He stared at her. Father. The word was alien, terrifying, and now utterly devastating. He managed a nod.
“She’s lost a lot of blood. The pregnancy was likely ectopic or non-viable from the start, given the acute presentation. We need to take her to surgery immediately for a D&C to stop the bleeding and prevent infection. You can wait in the surgical family lounge.”
“I’m staying with her,” Andy repeated, the only sentence he seemed to know.
“You can’t go into the OR.”
“Then I’ll watch.” He was beyond reason. The thought of being in some generic lounge, separated by walls and doors while she was cut open, was unendurable.
The doctor studied him. She’d seen every kind of grief. This was the possessive, frantic kind. She sighed. “There’s an observation gallery. It overlooks OR Three. It’s for med students. You can see, but you can’t hear. And you cannot make a scene. If you do, security will remove you. Understood?”
“Understood.”
They brought the other guys in then, a lost-looking herd led by a concerned administrator. Ben took charge, getting them all situated in a private family waiting room down the hall. But when he heard about the observation gallery, he insisted on coming too. “He shouldn’t be up there alone.”
One by one, they all decided the same. They filed up a narrow, concrete staircase to a small, cold room with tiered lecture-style seating and a massive, slanted window looking down into a bright, sterile operating theater.
Lily was already there, prepped and draped, a small, pale form under blinding lights. Tubes snaked from her arms. A team of green-gowned figures moved around her with a calm, choreographed precision.
Andy stood at the window, his palms pressed flat against the cool glass. Ben stood beside him. Ronnie, Matt, Max, Danny, James, Bobby, and Mitch filled the rows behind them, a silent audience to a horror they couldn’t affect.
They watched as the surgeons began. There was no sound, just the pantomime of life-saving violence. The lift of a scalpel. The gleam of retractors. The slow, sure movements of hands inside a body. Andy didn’t blink. He watched the blood-soaked gauze being passed to a tray. He watched the monitor tracing Lily’s heartbeat, a steady, relentless green line that was the only proof she was still alive in the midst of the clinical dissection.
Ben put a hand on his shoulder. Andy didn’t shrug it off. He was trembling, a fine, constant vibration.
“Jesus,” Danny whispered from the back, turning his face away.
James just stared, his jaw set. Mitch’s head was bowed, as if in prayer.
Ronnie lit a cigarette, remembered where he was, and crushed it in his fist, the unburnt tobacco scattering on the floor.
They were all tattooed, hardened road veterans, men who’d seen fights and overdoses and chaos. But this was different. This was intimate destruction. This was consequence, rendered in blood and steel under sterile light. This was the true, ugly fallout of the hotel suite, not gossip or career damage, but flesh and potential, ending on a table.
Andy watched a surgeon hold up a suction canister, partially filled with dark fluid. He knew what it contained. The last physical evidence of those two weeks. A life that never was, born from chaos and severed in trauma. A wave of nausea hit him, so powerful he had to lean forward, his forehead touching the glass.
He thought of the bar, of his theatrical, hateful possession of her. He thought of the rage-fuels thrusts. Had that done this? Had he, in his selfish fury, killed this fragile, unknown thing? The guilt was an acid bath, dissolving him from the inside.
“It wasn’t your fault,” Ben said quietly, as if reading his mind. “The doctor said it wasn’t viable. It just… happens.”
Andy didn’t believe him. He would never believe it.
The surgery seemed to last for days. Finally, the rhythmic movements slowed. The surgeons stepped back. They began to close. The green line on the monitor held steady.
In the gallery, the collective breath they’d been holding seeped out.
A nurse below looked up toward the window, giving a slight, professional nod. It was over. She was stable.
Andy slid down the glass, his legs giving out, and landed hard on the cold floor. He put his head in his hands, his body wracked with dry, silent sobs. The performance was utterly, finally over. All that was left was the raw, trembling truth of what he’d lost, and what he’d almost destroyed.
Ben crouched beside him, a solid presence. The others slowly filed out, giving him space, each of them touched by a gravity they couldn’t articulate.
After a long while, Andy lifted his head. His eyes were red-rimmed, ravaged. He looked through the glass one more time. They were wheeling her away, a bundle of blankets and wires.
“It doesn’t end here,” he whispered to the empty, bright room below, echoing his words on the plane. But now it was a vow, not a threat. A terrible, binding promise born in blood and observation.
A terrible, binding promise born in blood and observation.
Andy stayed on the cold floor of the observation gallery until his legs went numb. The silence up there was absolute, a vacuum after the visual storm below. Ben’s hand remained on his shoulder, a steady weight. The others had drifted out, their footsteps echoing softly on the concrete stairs. Down in the OR, the bright lights were off now, the room dark and empty like a stage after the play has ended. The green line of her heartbeat was gone from the monitor, replaced by a dull, black screen.
“Come on,” Ben said finally, his voice hoarse. “They’ll have her in recovery. We can see her soon.”
Andy pushed himself up, his muscles protesting. He felt a hundred years old. The glass window was smudged where his forehead had pressed. He didn’t look at it again. He followed Ben out, down the stairs, through the sterile white halls that smelled of antiseptic and despair. The private waiting room was a pocket of subdued chaos. Ronnie was pacing by the coffee machine, which was sputtering weak brown liquid into a styrofoam cup. Matt and Max were sitting on a garish orange vinyl couch, heads close together, talking in low tones. Danny was on his phone, but he wasn’t talking; he was just scrolling, his face blank. James and Bobby were by the door, as if standing guard. Mitch leaned against the wall, arms crossed, staring at a faded landscape painting.
They all looked up when Andy and Ben entered. No one asked the question. They saw it on Andy’s face—the raw, gutted exhaustion.
“She’s out,” Ben said for them all. “Stable. They’re moving her to a room.”
A collective, almost imperceptible release of tension. Shoulders slumped. Ronnie stopped pacing. Danny put his phone away.
“What now?” James asked, practical as ever.
“Now we make sure she’s okay,” Ben said. He looked at Andy. “You’re with her. Whatever she needs. We’ll handle the rest.”
Andy just nodded. Words were beyond him.
A nurse appeared at the door, her scrubs a cheerful blue that felt like an insult. “For Ms. Hartley? She’s in room 414. She’s waking up. Immediate family only for now.”
“I’m her family,” Andy said, the words scratchy.
The nurse gave him a once-over, taking in the tattoos, the pallor, the desperate look in his eyes. She’d probably seen it all. “Okay. One at a time. She’s groggy. Be gentle.”
Andy didn’t wait. He moved past her, down the hall to the elevator. Ben fell into step beside him. “We’ll be up. We’ll get things sorted. Just be with her.”
Room 414 was at the end of a quiet corridor. The door was slightly ajar. Andy pushed it open slowly.
The room was semi-private, but the other bed was empty and stripped. Lily was in the bed by the window, a small shape under stiff white sheets. An IV line ran from her hand to a bag of clear fluid. A monitor beeped softly, tracking her vitals. The overhead light was off; only a small lamp on the nightstand cast a warm, low glow. She looked so young. Her hair was fanned out on the pillow, dark against the white, and her skin was almost translucent. Her eyes were closed, but they fluttered as he entered.
He approached the bed like it was made of glass. He pulled the single, uncomfortable-looking visitor’s chair close and sat. He didn’t touch her at first. He just watched the slow rise and fall of her chest.
Her eyes opened. They were unfocused, clouded with drugs and confusion. They slid around the room before landing on him. Recognition dawned slowly, and with it, a wave of pain that had nothing to do with surgery.
“Andy,” she whispered, her voice a dry rustle.
“Hey,” he said, leaning forward. He reached for the plastic cup of water on the tray table. He held the straw to her lips. “Small sips.”
She drank, her throat working. When she pulled back, she looked at him properly. The haze cleared slightly, replaced by a grim awareness. She looked down at her body under the sheets, then back at him. Her lower lip trembled.
“It’s gone,” she said. It wasn’t a question.
He nodded, his throat tight. “Yeah.”
A tear escaped from the corner of her eye, tracing a slow path into her hairline. She didn’t sob. The silence was worse. She just lay there, letting the tears fall silently.
Andy couldn’t stand it. He took her hand, the one without the IV. Her fingers were cold. He enveloped them in both of his, trying to warm them. “I’m so sorry, Lily. I’m so fucking sorry.”
She shook her head minutely on the pillow. “Don’t. Not now. I can’t… process that.” Her voice was flat, drained. “What happened?”
“You lost a lot of blood. They had to do a procedure. To clean everything out. Stop the bleeding.” He kept his explanations clinical, afraid of shattering her further. “You’re okay now. Physically, you’re okay.”
She absorbed this, her eyes drifting to the window. It was dark outside, the rain still falling, reflecting the city lights in streaks. “Where are we?”
“Denver. A hospital near the airport.”
“The guys?”
“All here. Downstairs. Ben’s taking charge. They’re… they’re all here.”
She closed her eyes again. More tears. “Adam,” she breathed, the name a confession.
Andy’s grip on her hand tightened involuntarily. He forced himself to relax. “We haven’t called him. Do you want us to?”
She was silent for a long time. The monitor beeped steadily. “I don’t know,” she finally said. “What do I even say? ‘Hey, I was banging my ex in a hotel for two weeks, got pregnant, lost it on a plane, now I’m in Denver?’” A bitter, choked sound escaped her, not quite a laugh. “He deserves better than a phone call from a hospital.”
“He deserves the truth,” Andy said, though the words tasted like ash.
“Later,” she whispered. “Not now. I can’t.”
“Okay.” He would have agreed to anything. “Okay. Just rest.”
She turned her head back to him. Her brown eyes were bottomless pools of hurt. “Were you there? The whole time?”
“I was in the gallery. Watching. I saw… everything.” His voice broke. “I’ve never been so scared in my life.”
She didn’t say anything. She just squeezed his hand weakly. It was a tiny pressure, but it felt like an anchor.
The door opened softly. Ben peered in. He had a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. “Hey. Can I come in?”
Andy nodded. Ben entered, setting the bag down gently. He came to the other side of the bed. He looked at Lily, his expression softening. “Hi, kid. You gave us one hell of a scare.”
Lily managed a weak smile. “Sorry, Ben.”
“Don’t be daft.” He patted her arm through the sheet. “We’re just glad you’re through it. How are you feeling?”
“Empty,” she said, and the word hung in the room with a terrible weight.
Ben nodded, understanding. “Right. Well, we’re going to fix that. Not the… other thing. But the comfort part. We’ve got a plan.” He looked at Andy. “We’ve upgraded her to a private suite on a different floor. More quiet. Bigger. It’s being prepared. Should be ready in an hour.”
Andy stared at him. “How?”
Ben shrugged. “Called in a favor with a promoter who knows the hospital board. Money talks, especially when it’s for ‘family privacy.’ The others are out gathering supplies.” He gestured to the duffel. “I brought some of your things from the plane. Your bag. And this.” He carefully pulled out the black silk-wrapped palimpsest from the bag. He held it uncertainly. “I didn’t know if you’d want it. But it seemed… important.”
Lily looked at the package. Her expression was unreadable. “Put it on the chair for now,” she said softly.
Ben did, placing it carefully. “Right. Now, orders from the committee. Ronnie and Danny have gone to find proper food. Hospital stuff is garbage. They’re hitting a 24-hour gourmet market. Soup, broth, whatever you can keep down.”
Lily blinked. “You don’t have to—”
“Yes, we do,” Ben cut her off gently. “Matt and Max are at a Target buying you actual pajamas. Silk, cotton, whatever’s softest. Socks. A proper robe. Not this scratchy hospital gown nonsense.”
Andy felt a surge of gratitude so intense it hurt. He looked at Ben. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet. James and Bobby are dealing with logistics. They’re booking a suite at the hotel across the street for us. So we’re close. They’re also on the phone with both management teams, crafting a ‘severe private flu’ story to buy a few days of silence. Mitch is downstairs smoking and intimidating any paparazzi who might have gotten a whisper, but we think we’re clean.”
Lily was crying again, but this time it seemed different. Less despair, more overwhelmed. “You guys… you shouldn’t be doing all this. You have lives. Shows.”
Ben leaned down, his face earnest. “Lily, listen to me. You’re one of us. This scene, it’s a family. A messed-up, dysfunctional, glorious family. When one of us goes down, we all circle the wagons. Especially for something like this. There’s no ‘should’ or ‘shouldn’t.’ There’s just what’s needed. And right now, you need to not worry about a single goddamn thing except getting your strength back. Let us handle the noise.”
Andy watched her face. He saw her resistance crumble. She gave a small, resigned nod. “Okay.”
“Good.” Ben straightened up. “I’ll go check on the room transfer. Andy, you stay. I’ll send updates.” He left, closing the door softly behind him.
The room felt different after he left. Warmer, somehow. The oppressive clinical edge was blunted by the reality of the duffel bag on the chair, by the knowledge that the guys were out there, turning the wheels of the world for her.
“They’re good people,” Lily murmured.
“The best,” Andy agreed, his voice thick.
She looked at him. “You should sleep. You look worse than I feel.”
“I’m not leaving.”
“I know. But there’s a couch in that private suite, right? You can crash there later. For now, just… sit. Stop looking like you’re waiting for me to disintegrate.”
He tried to smile. It felt like a crack in clay. “Old habits.”
Time passed in a slow, syrupy drift. A nurse came in to check Lily’s vitals and the IV. She was brisk but kind. Soon after, an orderly arrived with a wheelchair. “Time to move to your new digs,” he said cheerfully.
The private suite was on the top floor, in a wing that clearly catered to patients requiring discretion. It was more like a small apartment than a hospital room. There was a sitting area with a plush sofa and a armchairs, a large window with a view of the city lights, a separate bathroom with a real shower. The medical equipment was still present but discreetly placed.
Andy helped Lily from the wheelchair to the new bed, which was wider and had a softer-looking mattress. She moved slowly, wincing, holding the back of her gown closed. Once she was settled, she let out a long breath. “This is… insane.”
“It’s what you need,” Andy said simply.
Over the next few hours, the guys arrived in shifts, a quiet parade of support. Matt and Max came first, carrying shopping bags from high-end stores. They unpacked soft, charcoal-grey silk pajamas, thick cashmere socks, a robe so plush it felt like a cloud. Max, uncharacteristically shy, placed a new, unopened pack of her favorite hair ties on the nightstand. “For when you’re up for it,” he mumbled.
Ronnie and Danny arrived next, bearing bags from an upscale market. They had containers of homemade-looking chicken broth, bone broth, ginger tea, plain crackers, and a variety of electrolyte waters. Danny also produced a small, fancy box of dark chocolates. “For later,” he said, setting it on the tray. “When you can stomach more than broth.”
James and Bobby came in together. James handed Andy a keycard. “Hotel suite across the street. Two bedrooms, living room, stocked kitchen. It’s under a fake name. We’re all booked in on the same floor. You’ve got the master. It’s close.” Bobby handed Lily a new, high-end phone charger and a set of noise-cancelling headphones. “In case the hospital noises suck,” he said with a small shrug.
Mitch was the last to visit. He didn’t bring anything physical. He just stood at the foot of the bed for a moment, his gaze direct. “No one got wind of it,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “The story’s holding. You’re safe here.” He gave a single, firm nod, then left.
Each visit was brief, unobtrusive. They didn’t ask probing questions. They didn’t linger to make awkward conversation. They just delivered their piece of comfort, offered a few words of encouragement, and vanished, giving her space. It was a masterclass in practical, masculine care. They were roadies for her recovery, setting up the stage for her to heal.
By midnight, the suite was quiet. Lily had managed a few sips of broth and some tea. She’d changed into the new silk pajamas with Andy’s help, his hands careful and impersonal as he averted his eyes, focusing on the buttons. The difference was immediate; she looked more like herself, less like a patient.
She was propped up on pillows, staring out the window. Andy was on the sofa, having finally been convinced to sit down. He’d texted Ben that all was quiet.
“Andy,” she said softly.
He was on his feet instantly, crossing to the bed. “What? Pain? Do you need the nurse?”
“No. Sit.” She patted the edge of the mattress.
He sat carefully. The lamp light softened the harsh lines of worry on his face.
“I keep thinking about it,” she said, her eyes still on the window. “The… possibility. I didn’t know it was there. But now that it’s gone, I feel its absence like a hole. Is that crazy?”
“No,” he said. “It’s not crazy.”
“I don’t even know how to grieve it. It wasn’t a baby. It was a… biochemical accident. A cluster of cells conceived in a shitstorm. But my body thinks it’s a loss. Every ache down there reminds me.”
He took her hand again. He had no platitudes. No “everything happens for a reason.” He just listened.
“And you,” she said, finally looking at him. “You watched. What did that do to you?”
He swallowed hard. He hadn’t wanted to burden her with this, but she was asking. “It made it real,” he said, his voice low. “Up until then, it was just chaos. The hotel, the sex, the fight, the plane… it was all noise. Watching them work on you, seeing the blood… that was the signal cutting through the static. That was consequence. And I felt responsible for every second of it.”
“The doctor said it wasn’t viable. It wasn’t your fault.”
“Doesn’t matter,” he said, shaking his head. “My intentions, my actions… they created the environment where it could even be a possibility. My rage, my fucking pride.” He looked down at their joined hands. “I turned our tragedy into a spectacle for our friends. I used your pain to make a point. That’s what I’ll never forgive myself for.”
Lily was silent for a long moment. “I let you,” she whispered. “I participated. I could have stopped it. I could have walked away the second we landed in Seattle. I didn’t. We’re both to blame, Andy. We’re a fucking matched set.”
He looked up, meeting her eyes. The shared guilt hung between them, a tangible thing. It was awful, but it was also a connection. A brutal, honest one.
“What happens tomorrow?” she asked.
“You rest. You heal. The guys will stick around for a couple days, make sure you’re stable. Then… I don’t know. You’ll have to call Adam. You’ll have to face your life. I’ll have to face mine.”
“And us?”
The question was so quiet he almost missed it. He had no answer. The ‘us’ was a bombed-out city, littered with the wreckage of the last two weeks and now this fresh, profound loss. There was no path through it that he could see.
“I don’t know,” he admitted, and it was the truest thing he’d said all night. “But I’m not leaving until you’re on your feet. That’s the promise I made up in that gallery. I don’t know what comes after, but I see this through. All the way.”
She nodded, seemingly accepting that. “Okay.” She shifted slightly, wincing. “You should go to the hotel. Get a proper shower. Sleep in a real bed. I’ll be fine. The nurses are here. Ben’s just a phone call away.”
He wanted to refuse. But he was running on fumes, and she needed to sleep without feeling his watchful anxiety. “Only if you’re sure.”
“I’m sure. Go.”
He stood, reluctantly letting go of her hand. He hovered for a second. “I’ll be back first thing in the morning. Call if you need anything. Anything at all.”
“I will.”
He grabbed the hotel keycard and his jacket. At the door, he looked back. She had already closed her eyes, her face pale but peaceful in the low light. The palimpsest was on the side table beside the box of chocolates and the hair ties. A still life of care and catastrophe.
He slipped out into the hall. Ben was there, leaning against the wall, scrolling on his phone. He looked up. “All good?”
“She’s sleeping. I’m heading to the hotel. You?”
“I’ll hang here for a bit. Make sure she’s settled. Then I’ll crash over there too. We’ve got a rotation going. Someone will always be close.”
Andy felt another lump in his throat. He clapped Ben on the shoulder, a wordless thank you, and walked towards the elevator.
The hotel suite was pristine and anonymous. Andy stood under the scalding shower for twenty minutes, trying to wash the smell of hospital and fear from his skin. It didn’t work. He toweled off and fell onto the enormous bed in just his boxers. The silence was deafening.