Fracture

32. Levi

CHAPTER 32

LEVI

“Stop fucking touching me!” There’s hands all over my face, and a hot liquid running into my eye. My head is pounding, and everything is blurry. “Get the fuck off me! Where’s Dylan?”

“Sir, you need to calm down, you’ve been shot.” The man’s voice is stern, hovering over me as the room sways back and forth.

No, not the room, the ambulance. The ambulance they bundled me into, while I was screaming and lashing out. They took Dylan from me, after that rat bastard Michael Gray got back up like a fucking horror movie serial killer, and fired off one last shot at me. The cops shot him, I’m pretty sure of that, but he managed to hit me with his last bullet.

Now my head is pounding and I don’t know where Dylan is, I don’t even know if he’s alive.

“Where’s Dylan?” I ask again. “Is he alive?”

“I’m just worried about you right now.” There’s pressure on the wound on the side of my head, a sharp sting as some liquid washes over it.

“Please, is he alive?” My voice cracks, my hands balled into fists.

“I need you to calm down so I can control this bleeding.”

It’s useless.

I lie on that stretcher and pray, I pray so fucking hard. I beg God and the world and the universe and whatever other mythical creatures that might exist in that vastness above me to just let him live . To let him be alive for both of us. We can’t do this without him. He doesn't deserve this. Not after everything he’s been through.

Let him live. Let him be happy with us. Please. I’ll do anything .

The hospital is blurs of white and blue, nurses and doctors in scrubs racing past me as they wheel me through the corridors. Lights pass overhead, one after the other in quick succession, filtering through the blurry haze of my one good eye.

I’ve lost too much blood. I feel lightheaded, too weak to fight and too dizzy to get up.

“Is he here?” My voice is barely a whisper. My hand shoots out to grab the arm of the person beside me. “Is he here?”

“Who?” A soft voice responds, and a warm hand is over mine. “Is who here?”

“Dylan. Dylan. Is he here?”

There’s no answer, just a pat on my hand that’s meant to be comforting, and more shouted commands. No one tells me anything. They just put needles in my arm, and a mask over my face, and call for a surgeon.

Even as thick black starts to pull me under, I ask them where Dylan is. I ask them over and over, until I go to sleep.

The warm hand is still there.

But it’s quiet now. So quiet.

The hand squeezes mine gently, and there’s a small sound, like a sob.

I try to open my eyes. Slowly, slowly, my left eye opens.

“Levi?”

I know that voice. I squeeze the hand holding mine, hoping to god it belongs to that voice.

The hand squeezes back, and there’s another, louder sob.

“Levi?”

I try to focus on the figure sitting beside me, on the honey-coloured hair that’s backlit by a dim lamp. I try to turn my head towards her, but there’s wires and masks in the way.

“Don’t move,” she says softly. “Baby, don’t move. Just stay there. I’m here. It’s OK.”

“Stella?”

“I’m here, Levi. I’m here.”

The relief that washes over me is fleeting, and my hand tightens around hers.

“Where’s Dylan?”

Stella doesn’t answer, just starts to sniffle, her other hand curling around mine. Panic grips me.

“Stella,” I plead, my voice like gravel. “Stella, please, where is he? Please, please…”

“He’s still in surgery.” Zee’s calm voice sounds from my other side, and their hand rests on my arm. “We don’t know anything yet.”

Surgery. That means he’s not dead. That means he could still make it. Surgery is good. It has to be good. He’s strong, he’ll make it. He won’t die. He can’t.

“I’ll go see if there’s any news,” Zee says softly, giving my arm a squeeze, and their footsteps pad out of the room.

I can see better now, I can focus on Stella, sitting beside my bed. She’s still in a hospital gown, her face peppered with fading bruises. She’s in a wheelchair.

“What are you doing out of bed?”

She smiles softly, tears glistening on her cheeks. “You think they’d keep me away from you?”

“You should be resting.”

“I’m fine,” she assures me, reaching out to stroke my cheek. “I promise, I’m fine.” Her smile fades just a little, and her eyes flicker to the door. “Don’t say anything,” she murmurs. “The cops are sitting outside. If they ask you anything, you don’t say a word.”

Of course, the cops.

Even if Dylan makes it, this whole shit show is going to come raining down on us. There’s no ashes or flames to cover what we did in that house. I close my eye, and take a deep breath.

“I’m sorry, Stella.”

She shuffles onto the bed beside me, burying her face in the crook of my neck. My arms are too heavy to lift, so I can’t pull her close. But she lies against me, holding my hand and crying softly.

“It’s going to be alright,” she murmurs. “I promise. We’ll make it alright.”

“All I ever wanted was to make things right.”

“Don’t talk about that now.”

“I need to, pretty girl.” I kiss her head, stroking her fingers with mine. “All I ever wanted to do was protect you. And I let you down.”

She wraps her arm around me gently, tears soaking my shoulder as she cries.

“I want a life with you, and Dylan,” I tell her quietly, her body shaking. “I want to wake up next to you every day and know I have you to come home to at the end of it. That’s all I ever wanted, Stella. You, and him. Us. Together. And I fucked it up.” I entwine my fingers with hers, and she looks up at me, tears continuing to pour down her face. “I love you so much, and I’m so, so sorry.”

“I’m not.” She shakes her head, biting her lip. “I’m not. I’m going to make this right. I promise.”

Stella looks over at the door, and I gingerly move my head to watch Zee walk into the room. Their face is drawn, their eyes filled with sorrow. Stella’s sharp intake of breath sets my heart racing.

“No,” Stella gasps, her hand flying to her mouth.

Zee quickly raises their hands. “He’s out of surgery, but he’s in the ICU.”

“Is he going to be OK?” Stella asks, gripping my hand harder.

Zee exhales heavily and shrugs. “They don’t know. They said he’s in pretty bad shape.” They dash a hand against their face. “They said all we can do is wait.” They slump into the chair beside my bed, running their hands over their face.

We all lapse into silence. There’s nothing else to say right now. Nothing else happens in that room, but tears and prayers, and the hope that, just this once, someone is fucking listening.