Page 119 of Killing Me Softly

“Mel?” Lottie rushed in, breathless, wide-eyed, hysterical. “Oh, my God,Mel!”

Aaron barely had time to step back before Lottie collapsed onto the bed, wrapping her arms around Mel as best she could, given the wires, the bandages, the IV drips hooked into her veins.

Mel blinked in surprise, then she smiled, tired butreal. “Hey. How did you…?”

“It’s all over campus!” Lottie grabbed her hand, squeezing hard, as if she was making sure she was real, still there, still alive. “When I heard it wasyou, oh my God, I ran here. I was so fuckingworried.”

She leaned in, pressing a hurried, frantic kiss to Mel’s forehead. Her stitched cheek. Lips. Again and again, as if she couldn’t quite believe she was here to do it. Aaron looked away, realising then what a shit friend he was. Mel had killed for him, and he didn’t even know what had happened between Mel and Lottie. Looking at them now, nothing. But tragedy had a way of erasing past mistakes. Making room for second chances.

Aaron stepped back, giving them space. “I’ll leave you to it.”

Mel peered around Lottie. “Hey, Aaron?”

“Yeah?”

“He’ll be okay.”

Aaron nodded.

And for the first time since stepping into this hospital, the panic sitting like a vice in Aaron’s chest eased. The pain wasn’t gone. It wouldn’t be gone until hesawKenny.Heardhis voice.Feltthe steady rise and fall of his breath beneath his palm. But for the first time, the helplessness didn’t feel as though it was crushing him entirely.

As he made his way back toward the waiting area, his stomach clenched at the sight of Jack talking with a doctor dressed in scrubs, speaking in that careful, controlled way doctors did when discussing life and death as if it was just maths.

Aaron’s blood ran cold.

“Is he out?” He darted over to them. “Is he okay?”

The doctor took in Aaron’s dishevelled, bloodstained state with a wary expression. “And you are?”

Jack answered before Aaron could. “This is his partner.” He placed a firm hand on Aaron’s back, solid, grounding, as if willing him to stay standing. “Take him to him.” Jack then gave Aaron the only thing that mattered. “He’s okay.Go.”

Aaron didn’t wait.

The doctor motioned for him to follow, and Aaron’s legs carried him forward before his mind could catch up. He led him toward the Intensive Care Unit, where the walls were quieter, heavier, more suffocating. The tension felt different. Unlike the chaos of A&E. More fragile.Delicate. Especially when Aaron saw him.

On a hospital bed, pale against the white sheets, dark curls damp and clinging to his forehead, an oxygen mask covering his nose and mouth. The rhythmic hiss of airflow felt too steady,too unnatural and the thick bandages wrapped around his chest, just visible beneath the loose hospital gown, along with an IV-line snaking into his arm, dripping fluids into his veins, made the horror so real.

Aaron’s stomach churned.

The doctor cleared his throat, drawing Aaron’s attention for just a second. “He made it through surgery. We had to repair damage to the pectoral muscle where the knife cut deep, and there was a significant loss of blood. He required a transfusion.” He paused, eyes scanning Aaron’s face. “The knife nicked his lung, but didn’t puncture it fully. He had some respiratory distress, but we’ve stabilised him with oxygen.”

“So he’s okay?”

“He’s weak.Veryweak. But he’s stable, yes.”

“When can he come home?”

“He’ll be in ICU for at least twenty-four to forty-eight hours for observation. His body needs time to adjust from the trauma and surgery. If he remains stable, we’ll move him to a step-down unit, likely spending another four to five days in the hospital before being discharged. His recovery will take time. The muscle damage will limit his movement for a while, and he’ll need at least six to eight weeks before he regains full strength.”

“Is he in pain?”

The doctor gave a small nod. “It’ll be significant at first. We’re managing it with IV meds, but once he’s more alert, we’ll transition him to oral painkillers. He’ll also need breathing exercises to prevent lung complications, and possibly some physiotherapy.”

The words all blurred together—muscle damage, pain, transfusion, weak, weak, weak. But only one thing mattered. Kenny wasalive.

“You can sit with him.” The doctor pointed at the seat beside Kenny’s bed. “He’ll likely drift in and out, but talking to him might help. We only allow one person at his bedside.”

Aaron didn’t need to be told twice.

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