Chapter 384
[ 445 words ]
Chapter 384:
“I can stitch it myself,” she murmured, her voice weak against his chest. “I’m a nurse…”
“Be quiet,” he cut her off, his voice tight with a barely suppressed rage that was directed not at her, but at his own failure to prevent this. “You’re a patient.”
They were ushered into the VIP suite, a spacious room that looked more like a luxury hotel than a hospital. Julian and Brenna were already there, a mobile medical cart at the ready.
Brenna gasped when she saw the blood-soaked jacket and Caroline’s pale face, her eyes instantly filling with tears. “Oh, Caroline…”
Julian, however, was all business. He was in his element. “Put her on the bed,” he ordered, already pulling on a pair of sterile gloves.
Jarrod gently laid Caroline down, but he didn’t move away. He loomed over the bed, a massive, protective presence that blocked Julian’s access.
𝗥𝘦a𝗱 𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝗇у 𝘥𝖾𝘃ic𝘦 𝘰𝗇 𝘨𝘢𝘭𝘯𝗼𝗏𝘦l𝘴.𝘤𝗈m
“Sir, I need you to step back,” Julian said, his voice firm but respectful. “I need room to work.”
Jarrod looked down at the wound, at the skilled, efficient way Julian and Brenna began to clean and assess it, and a profound sense of uselessness washed over him. He was a commander, a strategist, a soldier. He could neutralize threats and control chaos. But here, in this sterile room, faced with the consequences of that chaos, he was utterly powerless.
He took a step back, then another, until his back hit the cool glass of the floor-to-ceiling window. He clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white. This had happened on his watch. He had been standing right outside the door. He had failed to protect her. The thought was a physical weight, crushing the air from his lungs.
He turned his back to the room, staring out at the city lights below, his broad shoulders slumped in a posture of defeat she had never seen before.
As Julian worked, he frowned. He irrigated the wound, his trained eyes examining the edges of the cut. The incision was clean, the depth unnervingly uniform. It wasn’t ragged or hesitant. It didn’t look like a wound inflicted during a struggle. It looked, to a trained medical eye, almost surgical.
He glanced up at Caroline, a question in his eyes. She met his gaze for a fraction of a second before looking away, her expression shuttered.
Brenna, focused on handing Julian instruments, noticed his hesitation. “What is it, Julian? Is it bad?”
“No,” he said slowly, his eyes still on Caroline’s averted face. “It’ll heal clean.”
He finished stitching the wound and applied a sterile dressing. After giving Brenna a list of instructions for care, he gathered his things.
“I’ll check on you in the morning,” he said to Caroline.
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