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We’re racing down the runway before I realize I haven’t taken another breath.

36.Laney

The echoof Eddie’s voice still lingers in my ears as I walk down the corridor, the phone cool in my pocket, tucked close like it’s holding the warmth of him.

Just hearing him—steady, calming, there—has soothed something jagged inside me. I can breathe again. Not easily. Not fully. But enough.

Enough to put one foot in front of the other.

The hospital lights hum above me, sterile and bright, casting soft shadows on the floor. I move slowly, letting my shoulders loosen, my arms swing freely for the first time in hours. I still feel raw, but I’m not unraveling anymore.

Eddie did that.

He anchored me.

Told me to hang in.

Promised he’s coming.

I believe him.

I round the next corner, heading toward the exit, when two figures blur past me so fast I nearly step into the wall.

A nurse in powder-blue scrubs.

And a woman in a dark fitted suit, clutching a file.

The woman’s voice is urgent, clipped with excitement. “We’ve got a match—Joseph Ryan, pediatric nephrology. It just came through.”

I freeze.

My heart slams against my ribs.

Joey.

Oh my God.

I turn on instinct, feet reversing, pulse racing as I follow them. They don’t even notice me in their focused rush toward the ward, but I keep my distance, my breath caught somewhere between a gasp and a prayer.

The nurse slaps her badge to the access panel and the doors glide open.

I slip in behind them.

Inside, just outside Joey’s room, I see Dr. Scott standing with Lucas and Sam. They look exactly how I left them—exhausted, worn raw, like they’ve aged ten years in one night.

Then the woman steps up and speaks. “We’ve found a match for your son.”

The world tilts.

Sam goes completely still.

Lucas doesn’t blink.

Dr. Scott’s head snaps toward the woman. “What did you say?”

The file is handed over. “A new crossmatch just came in. Expanded donor intake. Type O. Perfect match. Local. Donor signed up after the Berlin show.”

My hand flies to my mouth.