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Chapter 301
Chapter 301:
Cole pushed off the counter and stumbled down the hallway toward Treatment Room 3, his heart hammering against his ribs in a frantic, joyous rhythm. He was going to walk in there, drop to his knees, and tell her he was a fool. He was going to beg for her forgiveness.
He rounded the corner and stopped.
The door to Room 3 was open. The bright fluorescent light illuminated the small space clearly.
June was sitting on the edge of the examination table in her charcoal dress, now dusted and marked with a few drops of dried blood. A nurse was carefully placing a small bandage over a cut on her forehead.
She was whole. She was safe.
Cole stood in the hallway and did not step forward immediately. He simply stood there, greedily drinking in the sight of her chest rising and falling. Hot, stinging tears pressed against the back of his eyes. The relief was almost intoxicating.
𝘛h𝘦 𝘣𝖾𝘀t 𝗋𝗲v𝗂𝖾𝗐ѕ о𝗻
He drew a deep breath, preparing to step into the light and call her name.
But before he could move, the nurse finished applying the bandage. June slid immediately off the table. She did not look relieved. She looked frantic.
She walked quickly out of the room and turned left down the corridor, her focus so absolute that she didn’t glance toward the small alcove by the elevators where Cole stood, half-concealed behind a row of vending machines.
He frowned. He stepped out from behind the machines and followed her silently down the long, sterile corridor.
June walked at a rapid, desperate pace. She bypassed the exit signs and headed straight for the heavy, secure double doors at the end of the corridor.
The sign above them read: INTENSIVE CARE UNIT.
Cole followed her, his footsteps silent on the linoleum floor. The euphoria in his chest began to cool, replaced by a creeping, cold confusion. Why was she going to the ICU?
June stopped in front of a large glass window looking into one of the isolation rooms.
Cole halted ten feet behind her. He looked over her shoulder, through the glass.
His stomach plummeted into a bottomless abyss.
Lying in the hospital bed, surrounded by a terrifying array of beeping monitors and IV poles, was Crawford Love. His head was wrapped in thick white bandages. A cervical collar braced his neck. His left arm was encased in a heavy cast. A ventilator tube was taped to his mouth, forcing air into his crushed lungs.
Cole stared at the broken man in the bed. In his blind panic over June, he had forgotten entirely that Crawford had been behind the wheel.
Then the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor hitched. Crawford’s eyelids fluttered. He was fighting his way back from the medically induced coma.
June gasped. She practically threw herself at the ICU door, seized a yellow sterile isolation gown from the cart beside it, shoved her arms through the sleeves, and rushed into the room.
Cole stood frozen in the hallway. He could not move. He was physically paralyzed by what was unfolding behind the glass.
He watched June rush to the side of the bed and lean over Crawford. The cold, mechanical, untouchable woman who had treated Cole’s burns with absolute clinical detachment was gone completely.