Page 138 of The Devil of Downtown

“Faster,” I say to Kent, who obeys without question, weaving in and out of traffic like his life depends on it.

The hospital looms out of the rain, my only silver lining. Last time I was in this situation, they didn’t even make it to the hospital, and I’ll take any small mercy I can right now.

My heart is in my mouth as I push through the entrance. I give Ivy’s name at the front desk, my voice sounding wrong in my own ears. I analyze the nurse’s face as she checks the screen, terrified to see something I won’t like, but she remains impassive, looking up at me with polite distance.

“She’s in observation. Family only at the moment.”

“I-I,” I say, hesitating long enough for her to doubt me. “I’m her partner.”

Or I was before I fucked it up.

She shakes her head. “You’ll have to wait outside the ward. It’s on level three.”

I sit outside the ward, on a hard plastic chair, the closed double doors before me a monument to my stupidity. Every time the door swings open, my heart kicks violently. A vending machine hums somewhere behind me, the sound needling my nerves.

A nurse passes. Then a porter with an empty gurney. Not her.

Minutes drag. Or hours. Time has no edges here, just the soft churn of waiting rooms and the indistinct murmur of voices drifting from behind the glass.

Eventually, the door swings open, and Sloane comes out with Jennie beside her. I’m on my feet before I’ve realized I’ve moved.

They both look wrecked in different ways. Jennie’s face is thick with grief, mascara-streaked tears still fresh on her face. But Sloane’s expression carries a hint of relief. At least now she’ll look at me. Earlier, she could barely meet my eyes.

“She’s stable,” Sloane says immediately.

The air rushes back to my lungs so fast it almost hurts.

“She has a concussion,” she continues. “And significant chest wall bruising and muscle strain. They said the pain can feel worse than a break, but it’ll heal faster. They’re keeping her overnight for observation. They sedated her because of the crash trauma, so she is sleeping.”

I swallow. “Can I see her... please?”

Sloane hesitates.

Then, quietly, she admits, “She asked for you.”

The words land harder than anything else she’s said.

My chest tightens. “When?”

“When she was half-awake. She didn’t even open her eyes properly.”

I don’t trust my voice, so I nod.

“I have to pick up Elsie, and I’ll take Jennie home. You can go in, but don’t try to wake her yet.”

I don’t wait a second longer. I push through the doors before I lose my nerve.

The second my eyes land on her, it hits me harder than I expect. How hopelessly in love I am. How close I came to throwing it all away. How utterly broken I’d be if today had ended differently.

Even if she never wants to see me again, I can live with that. I can live with anything as long as she’s okay. There are some things you can’t come back from. Losing Ivy would be one of them.

She looks smaller in the bed than she should, dark hair swallowed by white sheets, monitors beeping softly beside her. There’s a bruise on her temple, darker than it has any right to be. I swallow back a fresh stab of guilt. Ivy told me she loved me, and I dismissed her callously. If fate had worked differently, that could have been her last memory of me.

“Ivy,” I say, voice soft, almost like I’m dreaming.

Her lashes flutter but don’t lift, like she recognizes the sound of me.

I sit and take her hand. It’s warm. Solid. Fucking alive.