Rogue. Rebel. Reckless.
Sammy’s voice breaks through my clouded mind as he chastises the press. “Back off!” he grunts as he supports my dead weight, arm around my waist. “We’ll give an update when we have one.” Flashes reignite the sky.
Again, the whoosh of doors, but this time I don’t cringe. The beast on the inside is much more palpable then the one outside. My breath begins to even some and my heart decelerates. I am pushed down into a chair, and when I look up Sammy’s eyes meet mine, searching for something.
“What in the hell do you think you were doing? They could’ve eaten you alive,” he swears. It is such a flagrant show of emotion from the otherwise stoic bodyguard that I realize my mistake in going outside. I’m still finding my footing in Colton’s very public world; and then I feel horrible because while I’ve been in the waiting room surrounded by everyone, I realize Sammy’s been out here by himself making sure that we’re left alone and undisturbed.
“I’m sorry, Sammy,” I breathe an apology. “I just needed some air and … I’m sorry.”
Concern lingers in his eyes. “Are you okay? Have you eaten anything? You almost fainted there. I think that you need to eat some—”
“I’m fine. Thank you,” I say as I stand slowly. I think I surprise him when I reach out and squeeze his hand. “How are you doing?”
He shrugs nonchalantly, although the gesture is anything but. “As long as he is okay, then I’ll be fine.”
He nods at me as he turns to reclaim his post at the hospital doors before I can say anything else. My eyes track his movements for a moment, the callous comments from the press reverberating through my mind, while I build up the courage to walk back to the waiting room.
I close my eyes for a moment. I will myself to feel anything other than the numbness that consumes my soul. I try to pull from my depths of despair the sound of his laugh, the taste of his kiss, even his stubborn nature and staunch resolve—anything to cinch together the seams of my heart that Colton’s love stitched backed together.
Not inconsequential, Rylee. You could never be inconsequential.
The memory whispers through my mind and is like flint re-sparking to life tiny flickers of hope. I take a deep breath and will my feet to move forward down the long corridor to where everyone else waits impatiently. I am just passing the nurses station when I hear Colton’s name mentioned by two nurses whose backs are facing me. I slow my stride, trying to catch any bit of information I can. I try to force my mind from fretting that we’re being lied to about the gravity of the situation, when I hear the words that punch the air from my lungs.
Makes my heart stop.
Causes a shiver to ricochet through my body.
“Who’s in OR One with Mr. Donavan?”
“Dr. Irons is lead on the case.”
“Well hell, if there’s anyone I’d want operating on me in this circumstance, it sure as hell would be Ironman.”
Spiderman.
I gasp, the nurses turn to take notice of me. The taller of the two steps forward and angles her head at me. “Can I help you miss?”
Batman.
“What did you just call Dr. Irons?”
Superman.
She looks at me, a slight crease in her brow. “You mean our nickname for Dr. Irons?”
Ironman.
All I can do is nod my head because my throat chokes with hope. “Oh, he’s known around here as Ironman, sweetie. Do you need something?”
Spiderman. Batman. Superman. Ironman.
I just shake my head again then take the three steps toward the waiting room, but sag against a wall and slide down to the floor, as I become overwhelmed with hope, overpowered by the presence of Colton’s beloved superheroes.
A childhood obsession now turned into an adult’s grasp on hope.
I rest my face on my bent knees as I cling to the notion that this coincidence is more than just that—a coincidence. I rock my head back and forth, their names falling from my lips in a hushed chant that I know for the first time ever has been uttered with absolute reverence.
“Colton used to say that in his sleep as a little boy.” Andy’s voice startles me as he slides down the wall next to me, a heavy exhale falling from his lips. I shift some so I can look over at him. He looks years older in the hours since the race started this morning. His eyes hold a quiet grief and his mouth tries to lift in a soft smile but fails miserably. The man I’ve only known to be full of life has been sapped of his exuberance. “I haven’t heard that in forever. Actually forgot about it until I just heard you say it.” He chuckles softly, reaches out and pats my knee as he stretches his legs out in front of him.
“Andy …” His name is a murmur on my lips as I watch him struggle with emotion. I desperately want to tell him about the signs—the random occurrence of his son’s dearly loved superheroes—but worry he’ll think I’m losing my grip on reality just as I fear Beckett thinks I am.
As I worry I might be.
“I’m surprised he told you about them. It used to be this secret code he’d chant as a little boy when he had a nightmare or was scared. He would never elaborate … would never explain why those four superheroes were so comforting to him.” He looks over at me, the soft smile falling. “Dottie and I could only ever imagine what he was hoping those superheroes would save him from …”
The words drift between us and settle in questions we both want to ask but neither say aloud. What does Andy know that I don’t and vice versa? He dabs the back of his hand at his eyes and exhales a shaky sigh.