Chapter 13 - A BULLET FOR HIS BLOOD
"Clear the hall! Trauma team moving!"
The shout ripped through the red-lit corridor.
Dr. Vance and three emergency surgeons burst into the room with a gurney.
They hoisted Adrien’s limp body onto the canvas.
His shirt was completely soaked in dark crimson.
His face was the color of winter ash.
"Entry wound below the left clavicle," Dr. Vance shouted, cutting away the fabric of Adrien’s suit with medical shears. "Pulse is rapid and thready. He's in hypovolemic shock. Get him to OR One immediately!"
I tried to follow, but a nurse held me back.
"Mrs. Moretti, you have to stay with your son!"
I looked down.
Leo was clinging to the hem of my jeans, shivering uncontrollably.
His little fingers were stained with his father's blood.
"Is Daddy going to heaven?" Leo whispered, his big gray eyes wide with terror.
I dropped to my knees on the bloody floor.
I pulled him into my arms, burying my face in his neck, rocking him with all the strength left in my body.
"No, sweetheart," I choked out, tears scalding my cheeks. "Your daddy is the strongest man in the world. He gave you his blood yesterday. He's not leaving us today."
Twenty minutes later, Miller led us to the private surgical waiting lounge on the second floor.
Boston SWAT teams had secured the entire perimeter.
Dozens of officers with tactical rifles stood at every exit.
The elevator doors opened.
Frank stepped out.
Behind him, running down the hall with little legs pumping as fast as they could, were Julian and Noah.
"Mommy!" Noah wailed.
Julian ran right behind him, his small face pale and determined.
Both boys collided with my legs.
I wrapped my arms around all three of my sons on the waiting room rug.
Three small bodies.
Three matching heartbeats.
"Marcus brought us in the big armored truck," Julian said, his voice shaking. "We heard bad men came to the hospital. Where's Dad?"
I looked at Julian.
He noticed the blood on my sweater immediately.
His stormy gray eyes—so impossibly identical to Adrien’s—widened in shock.
"He got hurt protecting Leo," I said softly, holding their trembling hands. "The doctors are operating on him right now."
Julian looked at Leo.
Leo reached out and took Julian’s hand.
"He put my crown on," Leo whispered to his brother. "He fought the monsters."
Julian turned and walked toward the heavy double doors of the operating room.
He stood there, all five years of him, staring at the glowing red IN USE sign.
He pressed his small palm against the stainless steel door.
"Don't die, Dad," Julian whispered against the metal. "You promised to take us to the harbor."
The minutes stretched into hours.
The hospital clock clicked forward with brutal indifference.
3:00 AM.
4:00 AM.
5:30 AM.
Noah fell asleep with his head in my lap.
Leo lay curled on the sofa, covered by a warm fleece blanket, holding Julian’s hand.
Julian refused to sit down.
He stood by the window, watching the police cruisers down on the street, his jaw clenched in that stubborn, unmistakable Moretti line.
At 6:15 AM, the double doors of the surgical suite swung open.
Dr. Vance walked out.
His surgical cap was off.
He looked exhausted, his shoulders sagging with fatigue.
I stood up so quickly the room spun around me.
"Dr. Vance?"
The surgeon looked at me.
Then he looked at the three boys.
A slow, weary smile broke across his tired face.
"The bullet missed the subclavian artery by four millimeters," Dr. Vance said. "We repaired the muscle damage and stopped the internal bleeding. He's in the recovery suite."
My knees gave out.
Frank caught me before I hit the floor.
"Is he awake?" I sobbed, laughing through my tears.
"He's groggy from the anesthesia," Dr. Vance chuckled softly. "The first thing he muttered when the tube came out was asking if his wife had washed the blood off her hands."
A wild, joyous sob tore from my throat.
Julian pumped his little fist in the air.
"I told you!" Julian yelled. "He's too tough!"
"Can we see him?" I asked, wiping my streaming eyes.
"Five minutes," the doctor nodded. "Only immediate family."
We walked into the recovery room.
Adrien lay propped up on three pillows.
A thick white bandage was strapped across his shoulder and chest.
An oxygen mask covered his mouth, but when the door clicked open, his eyes immediately found us.
The fog of the drugs seemed to vanish the moment his gaze landed on his family.
He reached up with a heavy hand and pulled the oxygen mask down to his chin.
"Clare," his voice was a dry croak.
I rushed to the bedside, throwing my arms gently around his uninjured side, burying my face in his neck.
"You idiot," I wept against his warm skin. "You absolute idiot. Why did you step into the hallway?"
"Because you were behind me," he whispered, pressing his lips against my hair. "And my sons were under that bed."
The three boys approached the edge of the mattress.
Noah climbed up first, curling into the crook of Adrien’s right arm like a kitten.
Leo took his father's hand, holding it tight with both of his.
Julian stood at the foot of the bed, looking at his father with solemn respect.
"You look like a pirate with all those bandages," Julian noted.
Adrien let out a soft, wheezing laugh that made him wince in pain.
"Come here, Julian," Adrien murmured, extending his right hand.
Julian climbed onto the bed, sitting beside his brothers.
Adrien looked at all three of them.
Then he looked up at me.
"I spent five years building ships that sailed to every corner of the world, Clare," he whispered, tears glistening in his eyes.
"And now?" I smiled through my tears.
May you like
"Now I know that my entire world fits on one hospital bed."
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