70. Permission
Mara
The days that followed blurred into a slow, painful crawl of recovery. Zander’s body fought hard against the damage the bullet had left behind, and every small victory came with a cost. I never left his side for more than a few minutes. I slept in a chair pulled close to the bed, held his hand through the worst of the fever, and watched his face for any sign of distress. The two doctors, Doc from the club and the surgeon Marcus had brought in, worked in shifts, checking vitals, changing dressings, and adjusting medications. They kept saying he was strong. That he would pull through. But strength didn’t stop the relapses.
The first one hit three days after the first one. Zander had been awake longer that morning, talking softly with me about nothing important, just th
