Page 79 of DFF: Delicate Freakin' Flower

“On it,” Marcus assured me before he hung up.

I stayed by her side, gently brushing a strand of dried blood from her temple as the burn in my throat grew sharper, making it harder to swallow.

“We used my daughter’s name,” Gladys admitted softly. “Lara. She died in the ocean when she was fifteen. When they asked for a name, it was the only one I could think of that Colin would never expect. I hope that’s okay.”

I swallowed hard, unable to speak for a moment. Finally, I looked up and met her gaze. “It’s more than okay. You saved her life.”

She gave a faint, tired smile, then looked down at Gabby again and gently stroked her hair, just as Jesse had described. “We’d like to stay with her,” she added. “For as long as we can.”

I nodded. “You will. For as long as she needs.”

But inside, I was already forming a new plan—because until Gabby opened her eyes, nothing felt safe. Nothing felt over. And I wasn’t letting her go, not after how close we’d come to losing her.

The sharp shriek of alarms shattered the quiet. I jumped to my feet, heart slamming into my ribs, as the monitors around Gabby erupted in a chorus of warning tones. A nurse rushed in seconds later, followed by two more staff and a man in dark blue scrubs with a stethoscope already around his neck.

“What’s happening?” I demanded, moving toward them, only to be stopped by a firm hand on my chest.

“Please step back,” one of the nurses ordered quickly.

Another nurse was already adjusting lines, and the man in the lead barked out orders I couldn’t track fast enough. Something about possible internal bleeding and her vitals dropping.

A moment later, a doctor rushed in with a trauma cart and shouted, “Page surgery now. Get her down to OR three!”

“Internal bleeding?” I repeated, my voice hoarse.

“Ruptured spleen,” one of them told me, moving fast. “It’s most likely a result of the accident. It didn’t show up on the initial imaging, but then her blood pressure dropped too suddenly for us to wait. We need to go—now.”

“And the head injury?” I asked, afraid of the answer.

The guy I was talking to was so involved in what he was doing for Gabby that he answered it automatically, likely not meaning to be as blunt as it came out. “Fracture to the skull, which we'll monitor closely. But we need to stop the bleeding first.”

And then they were moving, wheeling her out in a flurry of bodies and clipped voices. I stood in the hallway, watching the blur as her bed vanished around a corner, feeling helpless in a way I hadn’t felt since the moment I realized she was gone.

Ira stepped up beside me. “Come on, son. Let’s wait somewhere we can sit. You won’t do her any good pacing a hallway.”

The three of us ended up in a small family waiting room filled with tired beige chairs and stacks of outdated magazines no one wanted to read. The overhead lights buzzed softly, casting a dull glow over everything, while the air carried a sharp mix of coffee and disinfectant—an unpleasant experience for the nose. I sat hunched forward, elbows resting on my knees, eyes fixed on the floor as if it might offer answers no one else could.

“Do you think it'll be risky because of the fracture?” I murmured.

“She’s strong,” Ira assured me gently. “She made it this far.”

Gladys sat quietly in the chair beside me, her uninjured hand working a tissue into frayed ribbons in her lap. Her gaze was distant, unfocused as if she were listening to something only she could hear—memories, maybe, or thoughts too heavy to speak aloud. After several long minutes of silence, I finally turned to her.

“Do you know what Maddox is planning next?”

Her lips parted, but no sound came out at first. Then, in that soft, wistful tone of hers, she replied, “Colin’s not a bad boy, he’s just…been led astray. Clayton was always trouble. That boy whispered in his ear for years—never let him be the man I raised him to be.”

Ira’s head turned sharply, and when he spoke this time, his voice was firm. “Gladys, it’s time.”

She looked at him, startled.

“It’s time you accept the facts,” he told her gently. “He’s not a boy anymore, and he didn’t just fall in with the wrong crowd. Heisthe wrong crowd.”

Tears welled up in her eyes. “But if I say it out loud…if I admit it…”

“Maybe it’s the only way. Help Webb stop this before someone else gets hurt.”

She nodded slowly, then turned to me with tears sliding down her cheeks.

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