(Scarlett’s POV)
The hospital waiting room smells like antiseptic and fear. I sit in an uncomfortable plastic chair, my engagement ring catching the harsh fluorescent lights every time I fidget with my hands.
Dorian sits beside me, his fingers laced through mine, but I can barely feel his touch.
All I can think about is the blood streaming down Jasper's face as the paramedics loaded him into the ambulance.
He saved my life.
He threw between me and a speeding car without hesitation.
And now he might die because of it.
"The doctor said head wounds always look worse than they are," Dorian says quietly. "All that bleeding doesn't necessarily mean—"
"I know." My voice comes out hoarse. "I know, but I can't stop thinking about what would have happened if he hadn't been there."
"But he
