Whispers of You (Lost & Found #1)(89)

45





HOLT





My brothers stormed Jude—Roan from behind, Lawson and Nash from the sides after tying Shadow to a tree so she wouldn’t get caught in the crossfire. But I only had eyes for Wren.

She crumpled as the sound of the shot still echoed in my ears.

Roan was on Jude, hauling him off her as he kicked and screamed.

I fell to the ground, my hands hovering over Wren, scared to even touch her.

“Holt,” she croaked.

I’d never been more relieved to hear a single sound. “Where does it hurt?”

“My ribs,” she wheezed.

I frantically searched her for any signs of blood. But the only thing I saw was her split lip. “Did the bullet hit you? Does it hurt anywhere else?”

Gently, I tugged up her shirt and sucked in a breath. Her side was already turning black and blue.

“It wasn’t Jude’s bullet,” Nash called with a grunt as he wrestled Roan away from Jude. “It was Roan’s.”

Jude howled in pain as Lawson forced him to his stomach and cuffed his hands behind his back. It was then that I saw the blood staining his shirt. Roan had clipped him in the shoulder.

A little of the terror gripping me eased.

“Holt.”

Wren’s voice was barely audible, and my gaze jerked back to her. Panic streaked her eyes as her hand gripped mine. Her lips were a blue shade that stopped my heart.

“Can’t. Breathe.”





I counted the linoleum tiles as I paced up and down the hospital hallway. The number never changed. Twenty-three up. Twenty-three back. But I kept counting. It was the only thing I could do.

The burn was back. The one that had lit my sternum every day since Wren’s attack ten years ago. It had eased since being back in Cedar Ridge, with every day since seeing Wren for the first time and with every little whisper of her she shared with me.

But it had come back in full force now. As Nash and I had done mouth-to-mouth to keep Wren breathing and carried her to the road on a stretcher. As we’d waited for the helicopter to land. And now, as they were cutting Wren open… The burn was turning me to ash.

A hand landed on my shoulder. I looked up to meet my dad’s gaze. He squeezed hard. “She’s going to be okay.”

But he didn’t know that. Not for sure. Wren’s lung had collapsed. The tear in it was so bad they needed to stitch her back together. And she hadn’t regained consciousness since those last words she’d spoken to me. “Can’t. Breathe.”

Dad squeezed my shoulder again, even harder this time. “Don’t go there.”

It was the only place I could go. There and to the dark depths of the knowledge that this was all on me. All because I hadn’t been the kind of friend someone as sick and twisted as Jude had needed. All because I’d hurt him.

“I don’t like that look in your eyes,” Dad said, tugging me farther down the hall. “Talk to me.”

“How can you even look at me?” The question was low, hoarse. As if sandpaper coated the words.

My dad’s eyes flashed. “None of this is on you. Not a damn thing. That boy is sick.”

“He poisoned you. You almost died because I was a crap friend.”

Dad shook his head vehemently. “I almost died because a disturbed person targeted my son. My family. You did nothing but try to help.”

I wanted to hear him. To believe his words. But too much fought against them.

“Holt,” Dad said gruffly. “I’ve seen the change in you over these past couple of weeks. I’ve seen Wren’s love change you. She made you see what no one else could—that this was never on your shoulders.”

It was true. Wren had shown me that we had to face things together, no matter what came our way. Because we were our strongest selves when we had the other backing us up. And even in those most difficult moments, life was never sweeter than when she was by my side.

My throat tightened, and tears burned the backs of my eyes. “I just need her to be okay.”

My dad took both of my shoulders, dipping his head to meet my gaze. “Wren is going to be just fine. So long as she wakes up to you.”

Pain dug its talons into my chest. “I’m not bailing on her.”

“I know that,” he said. “And it’s a good thing because I don’t like to think that I raised an idiot. And if you keep blaming yourself for this, that’s exactly what you are.”

I wanted to laugh. I knew it was what my dad wanted from me, but I couldn’t get my throat to make the sound. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Footsteps sounded, and my gaze caught on the man with the tanned skin and warm smile who had introduced himself to us before Wren’s surgery. I was already moving toward him.

Dr. Sanchez came to a stop in front of me. “Ms. Williams came through the surgery wonderfully.”

I waited for the relief to hit, but it didn’t come. It wouldn’t. Not until I saw those green flecks sparking in her eyes. Not until I heard that uninhibited laugh.

“You fixed her lung?” I pressed.

He nodded. “The tear was moderate. We were able to repair it using minimally invasive techniques, so her recovery from the surgery itself shouldn’t be too bad. But it will take some time for the lung to reinflate.”