Page 78 of DFF: Delicate Freakin' Flower

I exchanged a look with Marcus.

Jesse continued, “The guy—Ira—has stitches across his forehead, and his arm’s bandaged up like hell. Gladys…man, she’s bruised to hell and has a broken arm, but she’s holding a cloth and gently washing the blood off Gabby’s face. Keeps stroking her head like she’s her kid. If they’re faking, they’re Oscar-worthy.”

My throat went tight as I turned to Matty. “The tracker—can you confirm it’s coming from her? Not just the building?”

Matty looked up from his screen. “The signal’s not moving. Either she’s wearing it, or it’s fallen off somewhere in there.”

That was all I needed to hear.

“Let’s move,” I decided, already heading for the truck. “She’s in there, and this time, we’re not leaving without her.”

By the timewe reached Orlando Regional Medical Center, my chest felt like it was being crushed from the inside. I jumped out of the truck before it had even come to a complete stop, barely waiting for the tires to settle before I hit the ground running. Marcus and Elijah were right behind me, while Matty stayed on the phone with Remy, squeezing out whatever last-minute intel he could before we reached the front desk.

Inside the ER, the air buzzed with that specific kind of hospital tension—too many voices, the constant shuffle of feet, the faint beeping of machines from down every hallway. The woman at the reception desk didn’t even blink when I stepped up.

“I’m looking for my fiancée.” I only just managed to keep my voice steady and low. “Her name’s Lara Maddox.”

The lie came out effortlessly. I didn’t care what name she’d been admitted under, I just needed to get to her.

The woman gave a quick nod and typed something into her system, then pointed us down a corridor toward a private exam room. “She’s in Room seventeen. Her grandparents are with her just now.”

I didn’t correct her. I just nodded and went to where she pointed, grateful for the easy access but annoyed that she hadn’t questioned it more. Still, I wasn’t about to say anything that might delay me from getting to Gabby.

I spotted them through the narrow window in the door before I even stepped inside—an older man and woman, who I vaguely recalled Remy identifying as Ira and Gladys. They stood on either side of Gabby’s hospital bed with identical postures: upright, alert, and rigid, like a pair of battle-worn, geriatric sentries. The man’s arm was wrapped in a thick bandage, with a row of stitches just visible beneath his temple. The woman’s arm rested in a sling, and her bruises had settled into a mottled pattern of deep violet and fading green. Despite it all, they stood firm, as if they were ready to protect Gabby with their last breath.

When I stepped inside, they both turned toward me, wary and calm at the same time. I kept my hands visible and my voice soft.

“I’m Webb, Gabby’s boyfriend. I get the sense that you’ve been protecting her—and it’s clear you want to keep doing that. I do, too. Would you be willing to talk?”

For a beat, neither of them spoke. Then Gladys, eyes tired but still sharp, gave a slight nod.

“She hit her head,” she rasped, glancing at Gabby’s pale face. “It was Clayton Barris’s fault. He’s a very naughty boy, always has been. I told Colin not to hang around him, but does anyone listen to their mothers?” She sniffed. “I took her to Ira’s to keep her away from all the bad things my son’s been doing.”

The way she spoke made something twist in my gut. Like she believed Colin Maddox wasn’t inherently bad—just misled andmismanaged. Like she’d never accepted the truth of what he’d become. Maybe it was grief, denial, or simply the unbearable weight of admitting her son had become a monster. Whatever the reason, I didn’t push her.

Gabby was what mattered.

She lay completely still on the bed, her skin unnervingly pale and her lips slightly parted as if caught mid-breath. A bulky inflatable cast encased her lower leg, and a rigid foam brace supported her neck, keeping it locked in place. The monitors behind her blinked in steady, rhythmic patterns, offering the only signs of life in the room. But she hadn’t moved since I'd walked in, and the sight of it made my stomach drop.

“What have the doctors said?”

“We’re waiting on a CT scan and full X-rays,” Ira replied, adjusting his glasses. “They’re concerned she hasn’t regained consciousness yet. There’s some swelling, and the impact to the back of her head has made them understandably cautious.”

My fingers brushed against hers—cool to the touch, but not cold, not lifeless. There was still warmth beneath the surface, just enough to stir a flicker of hope. I held onto that, even as the silence around us pressed in.

“She hasn’t been conscious at all?” I asked, barely able to get the words out.

Gladys shook her head. “Not once. She moaned a little when we got her out of the car, but she hasn’t opened her eyes.”

I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone, dialing Marcus.

“Yeah?” he answered quickly.

“I need you to call Parker. Ask him about arranging emergency medical transport—see if there’s a way to move her out of Florida and into Texas, quietly and without drawing attention.” Parker was my cousin's husband and a doctor. It was the only way I could think of to help Gabby and keep her safe right now.

“You think she’ll be safer there?”

“It's what I'm hoping and the only thing I can think of.”

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