Page 80 of Push My Buttons

As the hospital entrance looms, a single thought pounds in time with my heartbeat: Please let her be safe. Because if anything happens to her—if she’s hurt because I waited—I’ll never forgive myself.

And neither will Jace.

Chapter 30

Jace

Iburstthroughthehospital doors, my heart pounding so hard I can feel it in my fingertips. The fluorescent lights overhead buzz with an intensity that makes me wince—too bright, too harsh, too everything. The cacophony of sounds hits me all at once: phones ringing, people talking, the squeak of rubber-soled shoes against linoleum. I force myself to breathe through it, to focus past the sensory overload.

Wren. Find Wren.

I spot Theo at the reception desk, his voice rising with each word. His normally perfect hair is disheveled, like he's been running his hands through it repeatedly. His tie is askew. These details register with crystal clarity while the rest of the room blurs into background noise.

"—don't understand," Theo is saying, his hands planted firmly on the counter. "She has to be here. The ambulance brought her in over an hour ago."

The receptionist—a middle-aged woman with tight curls and glasses on a chain—looks unimpressed by his intensity. "Sir,as I've explained three times now, I cannot release patient information without proper identification."

I approach quickly, my shoes making a pattern against the floor that I count unconsciously. Seven steps to reach them. Seven is a good number. Solid. Predictable.

"This is bullshit," Theo snaps, slamming his hand on the counter. "We're all she has! And you won't even tell us where she is?"

"Sir, I understand you're upset, but hospital policy—"

"I don't give a fuck about your policy!" Theo's voice rises, drawing stares from the waiting area. "A woman we love is somewhere in this hospital, injured, alone, and you're hiding behind bureaucratic—"

"Theo," I say quietly, placing a hand on his arm. His anger is making it harder for me to think, to process. The lights seem brighter now, the sounds louder. I need him to calm down so I can figure this out. "This isn't helping."

He turns, relief washing over his face when he sees me. "They won't tell me anything. Say they can't find her in the system."

I turn to the receptionist, forcing myself to make eye contact even though it makes my skin crawl. Eye contact is important in these situations. People respond better when you look at them directly. I've learned this through years of careful observation.

"Our... friend," I begin, the word feeling inadequate but safer than alternatives, "was brought in by ambulance. Her name is Wren Maddox."

The receptionist sighs, fingers clicking on her keyboard. "Let me try again, what is the spelling?"

"W-R-E-N. M-A-D-D-O-X." I enunciate each letter carefully, watching her type.

"Date of birth?"

I freeze. I don't know Wren's birthday. How can I not know her birthday? We've been living together for weeks, sharing a bed, sharing our bodies, and I don't know when she was born?

Theo jumps in. "July 17th, 2002."

The receptionist types, then shakes her head. "I'm sorry, but there's no Wren Maddox in our system," she says, looking genuinely apologetic.

The words don't make sense at first. No Wren Maddox? But Maya...

Then it hits me with the force of a physical blow. "Try Lilliana Cain," I say, my voice dropping to barely above a whisper.

Theo's head whips toward me, eyes wide with surprise that I would reveal this. But what choice do we have? If she's in the hospital, her doctors need to know who she is, what medications she might be on, her medical history.

Her eyes widen slightly—recognition flashing across her features. The Cain name still makes headlines occasionally, still carries the weight of her brother's infamy.

"One moment," she says, typing again, her eyebrows lifting slightly. "Yes, that matches some information the paramedics collected from a bystander. Miss Cain was brought in via the ER about an hour ago. She's currently in the ICU on the third floor.”

My heart stutters in my chest. ICU. Intensive Care Unit. The words echo in my mind, each syllable heavy with terrible implications.

"Can we see her?" Theo asks, his voice cracking.