Page 87 of Under Fire

“She just needsyou.”

The way the word rolled off Brooke’s tongue told Warren everything about the situation, reminding him of his inherent failures.

“She’s only ever just needed you.”

Brooke’s final words hit him more slowly than the last, making him feel sadness he never noticed before.

“Got it,” he replied solemnly.

His jaw clenched so damn tight, he thought his teeth would snap. The image of Katy falling, crying for him and him not being there—it was killing him. The image of leaving the plane behind didn’t fucking matter anymore. She was more important.

The morning started to become a haze. He was operating on high octane stress.

Once Warren finally got to Katy, he picked her up and assessed her. He had already decided on the way that he had to take her to the hospital and packed both mother and child into the back of his truck. Goddamn head injuries were a bitch. He wasn’t fucking around anymore.

His stress levels were off the goddamn charts as his truck was barreling back down the LA boulevard. Parking his truck at the hospital, he re-evaluated the little girl that he swung into his arms, re-checking her curly blonde hair for blood. Brooke stood behind him as he focused, seeming more than willing to let him lead.

The time ticked by—and he knew he wasn’t going to make it back in an hour. The master chief was shooting him messages, asking what his status was, but Warren hadn’t replied.

“Are you sure you can see normal?” Warren asked the little girl as he jogged toward ER, holding her tiny body tightly against him. Guilt had already consumed him.

“Yeah.” She winced into the sunlight.

Brooke kept up right beside them, fumbling in her purse, probably for insurance information.

He ripped off his shades, placing them over Katy’s eyes, serving to make her look like an adorable bug. He knew what it felt like when your head was throbbing and the sun was burning. He’d been there many times.

Crashing into the ER, he called out to the front desk staff.

“I’ve got a child that needs attention, stat!”

Nurses rushed around the desk to assess her, pulling a hospital bed from the side, asking what was going on.

“She fell down a flight of stairs.” Warren’s shaking tone surprised him. “She whacked her head.”

As he placed her on the rolling bed, Katy started to cry, clearly overwhelmed by the situation—likely more overwhelmed by Warren’s sudden frenzy. He was fucking losing it. Nothing the staff was doing was fast enough. It didn’t matter that she tried to assure him. He wanted a goddamn doctor to sit down right in front of him and promise him the kid would be fine.

His cell vibrated in his pocket for the hundredth time. He didn’t have time for fucking messages and didn’t give a fuck anymore.

“Do you need to leave?” Brooke asked.

Katy’s gaze whipped back and forth between him and her mother, surely trying to process.

“It’s okay,” Warren assured Katy, trying to compose himself.

He gripped her hand as the staff rushed them to one of the rooms in the ER where the doctor would see them.

Once in the room, the nurses started checking her vitals, scanning her over and testing for serious injury.

“Are you the father?” The nurse paused.

“Not exactly,” Warren replied.

Brooke and the nurse exchanged glances.

Warren fumbled to explain, but the nurse had moved on, talking to Katy. Through tears, Katy answered the nurse’s questions, one by one, but fell apart, unable to cooperate any further. Her wrinkling face broke out in a sob, calling for Warren.

“Katy”—Warren leaned down, grabbing her up to him, holding her against his chest—“you’ve got to answer. I know it’s hard but—”

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