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Chapter forty

Trayton

I blink again, squinting against the harsh fluorescent glare. The sterile white walls and the rhythmic beeping of machines tell me I’m in a hospital. My throat feels raw, like I’ve swallowed sandpaper, and there’s a dull ache in my chest with every breath.

“Trayton?” a soft voice calls from beside me. I turn my head, wincing at the movement, to see Bray sitting in a chair next to the bed. His eyes are red-rimmed, dark circles underneath betraying his exhaustion.

“Dax—” I try to speak, but my voice comes out as a hoarse whisper. Bray quickly reaches for a cup of water on the bedside table, helping me take a small sip. The cool liquid soothes my dry throat.

“Where’s Daxton?” I manage to croak out, panic rising in my chest as I struggle to sit up. Bray gently pushes me back down.

“He’s alive, Tray. He’s in the ICU. The doctors say he inhaled a lot of smoke, and he has some burns, but they’re hopeful.”

Relief floods through me, but it’s quickly followed by a wave of fear. “I need to see him,” I insist, trying again to push myself up.

Bray shakes his head. “You can’t right now. You’ve been out for two days, Tray. You inhaled a lot of smoke, too, and you have some pretty bad burns on your arm and back. You’ve had surgery.” I glance down at my arm, which is wrapped in bandages. “The doctors want you to rest.”

Two days? The realization hits me like a punch to the gut. I’ve been unconscious for two whole days while Daxton has been fighting for his life. The thought makes me feel sick.

“I don’t care what the doctors say,” I rasp, my voice still weak. “I need to see him, Bray. Please.”

Bray’s face softens with sympathy. “I know you do, Tray. But you’re not strong enough yet. Give it a day or two, okay? Focus on getting better so you can be there for him when he needs you.”

I want to argue, but exhaustion washes over me in a heavy wave. My eyelids feel like lead weights. “Promise me you’ll tell me if anything changes with him,” I mumble, already drifting off.

“I promise,” Bray says softly. “Now rest.”

As I drift in and out of consciousness over the next day, snippets of conversations filter through. Nurses checking my vitals, doctors discussing my condition, Bray and the others taking turns sitting with me. But my mind keeps circling back to one thought: Daxton.

When I finally manage to stay awake for more than a few minutes at a time, I immediately press Bray for more information. “How is he? Has there been any change?”

Bray’s expression is guarded. “He’s still in critical condition, Tray. The doctors are doing everything they can.”

“What aren’t you telling me?” I demand.

Bray sighs, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “He hasn’t woken up yet. They’re worried about potential brain damage from oxygen deprivation.”

The words hit me like a physical blow.

The world seems to tilt on its axis as Bray’s words sink in. Brain damage. The possibility hangs in the air like a dark cloud, threatening to suffocate me. I struggle to draw in a breath, my chest tight with fear and desperation.

“I need to see him,” I insist, my voice cracking. “Now.”

Bray hesitates. “Tray, you’re still not—”

“I don’t care,” I interrupt, struggling to sit up despite the pain lancing through my body. “I’m going to see him if I have to crawl there myself.”

Bray must see the determination in my eyes because he sighs in resignation. “Let me talk to the nurse.”

An hour later, after much negotiation and a stern lecture from my doctor, I’m being wheeled down the hallway to the ICU. My heart pounds harder with each passing second, anticipation and dread churning in my stomach.

We stop outside a room, and I can see Daxton through the glass. My breath catches in my throat. He looks so small and fragile lying there, surrounded by machines, tubes snaking from his body. His skin is pale, from what I can see, although one whole arm and a part of his face are covered by bandages.

“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” Bray asks gently.

Kal has a firm grip on my shoulder. I later find out that Kal has been pulling strings for me through his dad to get me down here.

I nod, unable to speak past the lump in my throat. Bray wheels me into the room, positioning my chair next to Daxton’s bed. Up close, the damage is even more apparent. His chest rises and falls with mechanical precision, a ventilator breathing for him. The steady beep of the heart monitor is the only sound in the otherwise silent room.

With trembling fingers, I reach out to touch his hand, careful to avoid the IV line. His skin feels cool beneath mine.

“Hey, Dax,” I whisper, my voice trembling. “I’m here. I’m so sorry I couldn’t get to you sooner.”

Tears blur my vision as I gently squeeze his hand. There’s no response, no twitch of his fingers or flutter of his eyelids. Just the steady, artificial rise and fall of his chest and the rhythmic beeping of the machines.

“The doctors say you need to wake up,” I continue. “So you have to fight, okay? You have to come back to me.”

I lean in closer, ignoring the pain that shoots through my body at the movement. “I never got to tell you,” I murmur. “But I love you too, Dax. I love you so much that it scares me sometimes. So please, please wake up. I need you.”

The silence that follows is deafening. I hold my breath, desperately hoping for some sign that he heard me, that he’s fighting his way back. But there’s nothing—just the steady beep of the heart monitor and the whoosh of the ventilator.

“Talk to him more,” Kal encourages softly from behind me. “They say coma patients can sometimes hear…”

I nod, swallowing hard against the lump in my throat. “Remember when we first met?” I begin, my voice wavering. “You were so quiet, so closed off. But I saw something in you, even then. A light that you tried to hide.”

My thumb traces gentle circles on the back of Daxton’s hand as I speak. “I remember how your eyes would light up when you were tattooing me.” I’m thick with emotion. “How you’d get lost in patterns, this little crease forming between your eyebrows as you concentrated.” I pause, taking a shaky breath. “I never told you, but I used to watch you sometimes when you were drawing. The way your hands moved across the paper, bringing beauty to life… it was like magic, Dax. You’re magic. I fell in love with the way you saw the world.” Tears start to fall, and I don’t bother wiping them away. “I need you to wake up, okay? I need to see those eyes again, to hear your voice. There’s so much I want to tell you, so much we haven’t done yet.”

I lean closer, my lips near his ear. “I love you, Daxton. Please come back to me.”

The steady beep of the heart monitor fills the silence that follows. I hold my breath, desperately searching for any sign of response—a squeeze of his palm, a flutter of his lashes. But there’s nothing. Exhaustion and pain wash over me in waves. I slump forward, resting my forehead against the edge of Daxton’s bed. Tears fall freely now, soaking into the crisp white hospital sheets.

“I can’t lose you. Not when I’ve just found you again.” I’m broken.

A gentle hand on my shoulder startles me. I look up to see a nurse standing there, sympathy etched on her face.

“I’m sorry, but visiting hours are over,” she says softly.

I look up at the nurse, desperation clawing at my throat. “Please, just a few more minutes.” Her eyes soften with compassion.

“All right,” she concedes gently. “Five more minutes.”

As she leaves, I turn back to Daxton, clinging to his hand like a lifeline. “Did you hear that, Dax? We don’t have much time. You need to wake up now, okay?” My voice cracks. “Please, just open your eyes.”

“You should get some rest,” Kal says. He looks so helpless. I reluctantly nod and give up my place beside Daxton’s bed.

“I’ll watch over him, Tray.”

“Do you promise, Kal?”

“I promise you.”

“Thank you.” I know he can’t be here out of visiting hours, but something tells me Kal will make sure he can be here at all hours. Nothing is ever too much when it comes to me and Bray. Kal will crawl each inch of this earth to make sure we’re both okay. That’s just what kind of person he is. He would do just about anything for the people he loves.

“I love you, brother,” he says, closing his eyes and gently kissing my forehead.

Bray wheels me back to my room, the burden of uncertainty feeling as heavy as a lead blanket. As I settle against the pillows, I can’t shake the dark thoughts that invade my mind. What if he doesn’t wake up? What if he does and he’s not the same? The guilt threatens to overwhelm me. If only I’d gotten there sooner…

The days merge into a blur of pain medication and restless sleep. Bray and Kal take turns staying by my side and Daxton’s, keeping me company during visiting hours and filling in the gaps when I’m asleep. Cope sometimes sits with me but spends more time with Daxton, which I prefer. I don’t want him to be alone.

They needed to examine my arm, so they removed the bandages. The pain was excruciating, and when I looked at my scarred skin, I felt nauseous. But I keep reminding myself that it could be worse.

On the fifth day, I’m finally allowed to move around on my own, though the pain in my arm and back still throbs with each movement. I spend every moment I can by Daxton’s side, talking to him, reading to him, pleading with him to wake up. The doctors’ updates are a mix of cautious optimism and guarded concern. His vitals are stable, but there’s still no sign of him regaining consciousness.

I insist on visiting Daxton every day, even when the doctors advise against it. I can’t bear the thought of him waking up alone, confused, and scared. So I sit by his bedside, talking to him, reading to him, playing his favorite music. Anything to let him know I’m here, waiting for him to come back to me.

On the fifth day, as I’m holding his hand and describing a tattoo design I think he’d like, I feel a slight twitch against my palm. My breath catches in my throat as I stare intently at Daxton’s hand, hardly daring to believe it.

“Dax?” I whisper, my voice trembling with hope. “Can you hear me?”

For a long moment, there’s nothing. Then, so faint I almost miss it, his fingers curl weakly around mine.

My heart leaps into my throat. “Daxton!” I cry out, louder this time. “Squeeze my hand if you can hear me.”

Another squeeze, slightly stronger this time. Tears of relief and joy stream down my face as I frantically press the call button for the nurse.

“He’s responding!” I tell her breathlessly when she rushes in. “He squeezed my hand!”

The next few minutes are a whirlwind of activity as doctors and nurses flood the room, checking Daxton’s vitals and running tests. I’m gently but firmly pushed aside, my hand reluctantly leaving Daxton’s as the medical team works.

“Mr. King, we need you to step out for a moment,” a nurse says kindly but leaving no room for argument.

“But I—” I start to protest, my eyes never leaving Daxton’s still form.

“We’ll update you as soon as we can,” she assures me, already guiding me to the door.

I find myself in the hallway, my heart pounding with a mixture of hope and fear. Bray, Kal, and Cope appear moments later.

“What’s happening?” Cope asks, his eyes wide with concern.

“He squeezed my hand. He responded to me.”

Bray and Kal exchange a look of hope. “That’s great news, Tray,” Kal says, placing a comforting hand on my shoulder.

We wait in tense silence, minutes stretching into hours. Doctors come out and go back in. Not giving us any information. Finally, the door opens, and a doctor emerges, looking straight at me.

“Mr. King,” he says, addressing me. “Daxton is showing signs of regaining consciousness. This is a positive development, but I want to caution you that the process can be slow and unpredictable.”

“Can I see him?” I ask immediately.

The doctor nods. “Briefly. He’s still very weak and may drift in and out. We have removed the tubes for now to see how he gets on with his breathing. Try not to overwhelm him.”

I nod vigorously, already moving toward the door.

As I step back into Daxton’s room, my heart races with anticipation. The machines still beep steadily, but there’s a palpable change in the air—a sense of awakening.

I approach the bed slowly, almost afraid to believe what I’m seeing. Daxton’s eyes are still closed, but there’s a flicker of movement beneath his eyelids. His chest rises and falls with slightly more irregular breaths.

“Dax?” I whisper, gently taking his hand in mine. “Can you hear me?”

For a moment, there’s nothing. Then, ever so slowly, his eyelids begin to flutter. My breath catches in my throat as I watch, hardly daring to move.

Finally, his eyes open—just a sliver at first, then blinking sluggishly as they adjust to the light.

They’re unfocused, clouded with confusion, but they’re open. Those beautiful eyes I’ve been desperate to see again.

“Dax.” I breathe, squeezing his hand gently. “It’s me. It’s Trayton.”

His gaze drifts toward me, struggling to focus. A small crease forms between his brows as he tries to process what he’s seeing. I wait, barely breathing. He frowns more, and the sinking feeling slowly pulls me under. I wait with bated breath.

Please know who I am, please.

And then he smiles. One . My whole list for today is complete.

“Tray.”