Chapter Twelve
687 Words
Cade stood frozen, staring at the closed ICU doors as if sheer will could make them open. Every second that passed felt like an eternity. A bead of sweat ran down his temple, and his breaths came fast, shallow, panicked. A few feet away, Ward gripped his phone so tightly his knuckles whitened. Cade turned to him, desperation cracking his voice.
“Ward...” Ward looked up. “What does… what does ‘Code Blue’ mean?” Cade asked, voice trembling. Ward didn’t answer immediately. That pause was its own answer. Cade’s eyes went wide, his chest tightening. “Ward,” he said again, more insistently.
Ward swallowed, forcing the words out, careful but honest. “It means his heart stopped.”
The world tilted.
“Stopped?” Cade whispered, staggering back a step before catching himself on the edge of a chair.
Ward nodded once. “They’re working on him.”
Cade ran both hands through his hair, pacing in a small circle, wild, untethered. “How long…how long does something like that-” His voice broke and then vanished altogether.
Ward’s gaze stayed fixed on the ICU doors. If he looked away, he thought, something worse might happen.
“I don’t know,” he said finally.
Cade let out a strangled sound, half-laugh, half-sob, raw and ragged. “I just kissed him. I just-we won the game and I-I told him I would protect him…”
His knees buckled. Ward moved without thinking, catching him, holding him upright. "Hey. Hey, man. Breathe."
“You have to tell me he’s not-” Cade said, pressing his forehead into Ward’s shoulder, voice breaking off into shaking breaths.
Ward gripped his shoulder firmly, steady, honest. It was the only anchor in a world that had gone completely off its rails.
Cade didn’t cry. He just shook, every tremor of his body an echo of the fear he couldn’t put into words.
The ICU doors remained closed, indifferent, unyielding, and the waiting room held its breath with him.
Alarms screamed. A flat, merciless tone filled the room.Pierce Reed lay motionless on the bed, chest bare, blood staining the sheets beneath hastily placed gauze. Tubes snaked across him. The ventilator hissed, futile and insistent. A doctor was already on him.
“No pulse. Starting compressions,” the doctor said. His hands slammed down on Pierce’s chest once, twice, again.
A nurse cut away the rest of Pierce’s shirt while another slapped AED pads into place.
“Charging,” she called.
The room moved with terrifying efficiency.
“How long has he been down?” another doctor asked.
“About a minute. Maybe less,” a nurse answered.
“Keep going,” the first doctor said.
Compressions resumed, violent and relentless. Pierce’s body jerked with each push.
The monitor held a flat line.
“Clear!” a nurse shouted.
A shock hit. Pierce’s body convulsed. Nothing.
“Again,” the second doctor said.
The nurse charged to two hundred.
“Clear!”
Another shock. Silence followed. The flat line stretched, unbroken, a beat too long.
“We’re past the window,” the second doctor said. His hands slowed. A terrible pause hung in the air.
“We need to-”
“No,” the first doctor interrupted. He planted his hands back on Pierce’s chest, harder this time, almost furious.
“He’s twenty. He just got here. I’m not calling it yet.”
Compressions resumed, bone-deep and brutal. A nurse leaned closer, watching the monitor. Nothing. Nothing. Then a blip appeared. Barely there.
“Wait,” the nurse said.
Another blip. Irregular. Weak.
“I’ve got something,” she said. The room froze.
“Pulse check,” the first doctor said, moving his hands to Pierce’s neck. A long beat passed. Then…
“I’ve got a pulse,” he announced.
Relief crashed through the room, restrained, professional, but real.
“It’s thready,” the second doctor said.
“It’s something,” the first said.
The monitor stabilized into a weak but steady rhythm. Not safe, but alive. The ventilator adjusted automatically. Orders flew. Pierce didn’t move, but his heart kept going.
- Writer
