Page 61 of Wild Hearts (Ruby Ridge #1)

carter

. . .

T he hospital doors blast open, letting in a rush of chilled air that cuts through the panic.

The medics don’t stop moving. They wheel Catalina through the entrance with clinical urgency, their voices sharp, clipped, already calling out her stats as if saying them louder might somehow keep her alive.

Overhead, the fluorescent lights blur together. They flicker past in quick succession, painting her skin in ghostly shades that make her look even more fragile than before.

The smell is the next thing that hits me.

It’s sharp and bitter, the unmistakable mix of bleach and antiseptic, so thick it burns my nostrils.

It’s meant to feel clean, but it doesn’t.

It smells like fear. Like endings. Like every memory I’ve tried to bury behind hospital walls, it comes back to punch a hole straight through my chest.

“Sir, you have to wait here,” someone says behind me, their tone practiced but detached, like this is just another day.

The stretcher turns a sharp corner, as the wheels shriek against the linoleum as they pull her out of reach. Her oxygen tubes twist around her like tangled thread, and the doors swing shut behind her before I can even find the right words.

“No—wait!” I shout, pushing forward with everything I have. “I’m going with her. I’m not fucking leaving her again.”

Two nurses step into my path before I can make it more than a few feet. They’re calm but firm, hands raised like they expect me to lose control.

“Sir, please,” one of them says, trying to sound patient even though her eyes are already scanning the hallway for backup. “You have to let the doctors work.”

“I need to be with her,” I growl, “you don’t fucking understand! She needs me!”

“She’s in good hands,” the redhead says, her tone confident. “You need to go sit and wait in the lobby like everyone else.”

I push through them without thinking, the panic clawing too hard at my throat to care about consequences—until a man shockingly taller than me steps directly into my path.

He’s all broad shoulders and authority, with his uniform pressed, and his stance squared like he’s done this dance a hundred times.

His hand already rests near his belt, fingers twitching like he’s ready to grab the radio—or worse.

“Sir,” he warns, “if you don’t calm down right now, you’re going to be escorted out of the building.”

My fists tighten at my sides, the muscles in my arms twitching with restraint I barely have left. I take a single, reluctant step back, side-eying the guard.

The lobby is empty and painfully quiet except for the voices shrieking from the TV. The walls are painted that sickly shade of green hospitals love to pretend is calming, but all it does is make my skin crawl.

A television blares in the background with news of another SigAlert on the 405, followed by a weather report delivered by a chirpy meteorologist who sounds far too cheerful for the relentless rain coming to Los Angeles.

I sit in the far corner, hunched over with my elbows on my knees, as I bury my hands deep in my hair, pulling at the strands with anxious fingers.

Fuck, Catalina, hold on.

The double doors whoosh open to my left. The soft, mechanical slide feels too gentle for what’s breaking inside me.

Footsteps hit the hallway floor, each step growing louder until they slide to a stop in front of me. My eyes fall to a pair of fresh white sneakers, planted firmly.

Maverick .

Maverick’s eyes are wild, he’s clutching his chest, breathing erratically. Reed’s not far behind, his face tight, pale, unreadable in a way that terrifies me more than anything else.

Right on cue, like fucking hurricanes, Layla and Amelia barrel through the entrance. They’re in pajamas, with messy hair, no makeup, and panic written all over their faces .

They come at me fast—four voices crashing into each other in a storm of panic and accusation.

“Where is she!?”

“Is she okay!?”

“What the fuck happened!?”

Amelia’s eyes slice through the noise, landing on me with accusation. “Why the fuck are you here?”

Layla crosses her arms. “Yeah, when we saw her last she didn’t elaborate on Amelia’s question during her celebration, so to us, you guys are just fucking.”

I look up slowly. My hair’s damp, sticking to my forehead in tangled waves, like I’ve been running through hell and didn’t bother to look in a mirror before climbing out.

My face is pale, eyes are bloodshot, wild, the kind of eyes that haven’t blinked since they watched the person they love stop breathing.

My hands are fists in my lap, shaking with rage I can’t direct anywhere useful.

“Excuse me?” I rasp, holding on to the tiny bit of restraint I have left before I snap.

Amelia’s face twists with something. “We thought this was just some fling,” she says, quieter now. “Some meaningless thing that started at your ranch.”

I laugh, but there’s no humor in it.

“Do I look like a man who’s here for a fucking fling?” I ask, the words coming out sharp. “You think I’d be standing here looking like this if that woman didn’t shatter my fucking soul?”

She takes a half step back, her mouth opens like she wants to take it back.

Too fucking late.

Maverick tries to cut in. “Carter?—”

I swipe my palm down my face, dragging the tears with it, as I smear them into my skin .

“You don’t know shit.” I exhale, but it shakes too much to sound like relief. “I’m here because she tore my life apart and I fucking let her. She walked into my world like a goddamn wildfire and I didn’t want to put her out.”

I pause, swallowing down the sob building in my chest. “I watched her cry and still smile like her heart wasn’t breaking.

I watched her try to hold herself together when every fucking thing in her life was falling apart, and, she still made room for me.

” My throat tightens as I tap my fist to my chest. “She lives right fucking here.”

I look at them, really look at them, as my voice splinters.

“She made me feel like I was more than a broken shell. Like I fucking mattered. I’m not good with words, I fucking know that.

I’m cold, angry. I’ve never been easy. But she stayed.

And now she’s in there—” I jerk my chin toward the ER doors, my voice catching on the edge of it, “and I might fucking lose her.” I blink once, but the tears still fall.

“And if I do, then I don’t know who the fuck I am anymore. ”

The silence afterward is deafening. Layla’s already crying, Reed won’t look up, and Amelia looks like she’s trying to breathe through her heartache.

I sit back down, burying my head in my hands, whispering to no one in particular.

“She’s everything. And I don’t know how to survive the world if she’s not in it.”