Page 152 of Wasted

But this man was pulling a surgical cap off his head. Maybe a surgeon? He angled directly toward the waiting room.

“Guys.” Hank signaled to his siblings as he rose from the chairs to join Cillian.

The short man stopped in front of them, surveying the crowd. “Are you all the family of Victoria Weston?”

“Yes, sir.” Hank nodded.

“I’m Dr. Britton, the surgeon who operated on Victoria. She’s out of surgery, and I expect a full recovery. The damage wasn’t as severe as we’d feared.”

The words shot deep into Cillian’s heart, flooding him with more happiness than he’d ever felt in his life.

He didn’t hear much else, only that she wouldn’t be able to see visitors until tomorrow.

“Praise the Lord.” Spring’s words echoed the gratitude that threatened to bust through Cillian’s ribs.

He would see Victoria again. Get to hold her, tell her how much he loved her.

If she let him. The reminder curbed his enthusiasm. She could still say they couldn’t be together. Still reject him. After all, her father still didn’t approve of Cillian and never would.

If Victoria chose to part ways once again, if she asked Cillian to leave her life forever, he would do it. Even though the idea sucked the air from his lungs and left him with a hollow pain.

But either way, he would be grateful that God had saved her life. And that he’d get to see her again, even if it was for the last time.

He and Victoria’s siblings lingered at the hospital for a while longer until they were told they should go home and return the next day.

But Cillian couldn’t leave. Not even when Spring mentioned that he might want to change and shower before seeing Victoria. She had a point. He probably looked more than a little scruffy.

But he couldn’t leave. He had to know. Had to find out what their fate would be. What his fate would be. He had to see her before her father could forbid it or have her moved somewhere Cillian wasn’t allowed to go.

So he waited. Slept a little in the hard chairs. Stretched and walked when the growing anticipation of Victoria’s decision messed with the calm relief he’d felt before.

“Are you Cillian Doherty?” A female voice jerked him to a halt in the middle of pacing. He spun toward the woman, apparently a nurse, judging from her garb and nametag. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Thought you must be.” She smiled. “Victoria’s awake, and she asked to see you.”

Cillian’s chest swelled. She’d asked for him before anyone else? That had to be a good sign.

“Take this hallway, then turn right and look for Room 212. It’ll be on your left.”

“Thank you.” He forced himself to stay at a quick walking pace as he started in the direction she’d pointed. But his feet, his heart, had other ideas. He sped up, reaching a jog as he turned right into another hallway. He scanned the room numbers that counted up to…

212.

He hurried to the closed door. Rapped on it. Probably way too hard.

A muffled voice said something from inside. Victoria?

She’d better have said he could come in because nothing could stop him right now.

He pushed open the door and walked inside, frantically taking in the room until?—

There. Victoria lay in a bed around the corner to the left, her upper body propped partially upright, allowing him to see her face.

Gorgeous, incredible Victoria. Her auburn hair fell free to her shoulders, making her look more beautiful than ever.

“You look worse than I feel.” Sarcastic humor laced her comment, matching the slight curve of her mouth.

He walked to the bed, a grin stretching across his face as his heart thumped against his ribs. “I thought I was the one who was supposed to be the thrill-seeking risk-taker. And here you go, getting shot.”