Page 53 of Anchor
“We were halfway to the airport,” Tuck said. “Killian turned us around.”
Pete didn’t stop walking. He scanned Reid once then kept moving toward the scrub station. His tone was clinical, precise. “I’m going in. Foley’s cutting; Casey’s assisting. I’ll work the lines and vitals.” He didn’t wait for agreement. This was his domain.
Reid pushed to his feet. “Pete?”
Pete stopped just long enough to grip Reid’s shoulder, grounding him with that one heavy touch. “She’s not alone in there.” Then he turned, stripped his jacket, and disappeared through the scrub room door.
Reid slipped back into the seat, frozen, the doors sealing behind him. Tuck eased closer, lowering himself into a chair, his presence solid, steady as bedrock.
Reid flexed his bloody hands, jaw tight. “I couldn’t stop it, Tuck. She was right there, and I couldn’t stop it.”
Tuck leaned forward, forearms on his knees, matching Reid’s posture. “You kept her breathing. You got her here. And now some of the best people we’ve got are working her case. You did your part. Now you let them do theirs.”
Reid didn’t answer. His eyes locked on the sterile double doors, like staring hard enough could break them open. The two men sat in silence, side by side, the years and battles unspoken between them until the wall clock ticked loud enough to remind Reid that time was still moving, even if it didn’t feel like it.
Reid’s eyes fixed on the sealed OR doors. Somewhere beyond them, hands were inside Claire. He hated himself for even letting the thought form.
Tuck rose, slowly and deliberately first. He put a hand on Reid’s shoulder and gave it a small squeeze. “Come on.”
Reid didn’t move.
“You’re no good to her like this.” Tuck’s voice had that quiet gravity that made men listen, even when they didn’t want to. “She’s gonna wake up, and when she does, you’re gonna want her to see you standing there not looking like a bloody mess.”
Reid’s eyes flicked down to his shirt, stiff with blood. His hands were the same. He hadn’t even noticed the dried streak across his forearm where her body had pressed against him.
Tuck nodded toward the far corridor. “Annex is open. A hot shower and your locker are calling.”
Reid hesitated, his gaze snapping back to the OR doors.
Tuck stepped in front of him. “Casey, Foley, and Pete are the best we’ve got. You trust them in there. But when she opens her eyes, she’s not gonna see them first. She’s gonna see you. And you’ll want to be clean, solid and steady.”
For a long beat, Reid didn’t answer. Then he gave a slow, rough exhale and stood.
Tuck didn’t smile, just clapped him on the back once and led the way down the hall.
CHASE HQ TRAINING ANNEX – 1325 HOURS
The annex locker room was empty. Stark white tiles and stainless fixtures. Reid stripped off the ruined clothes and stepped under a scalding hot spray. He braced both palms against the tile as water sluiced the blood off his skin, red spirals spinning down the drain.
He closed his eyes. He could still feel her body in his arms. Her voice cut short when the shot hit. The blood on his shirt was too warm, soaked him too fast. He hadn’t even felt his own lungs working until Flint barked that she was still breathing.
The water burned, but he didn’t move. He let it sear him, let it wash away everything except the one thing he held on to:she’s alive.
When he stepped out, clean clothes were waiting. Boxer briefs, Black BDUs. Chase crest over the heart of a black shirt. The uniform of leadership.
He felt like a fraud. He didn’t protect her.
He pulled them on piece by piece, his movements slow and methodical. Suiting up, not for battle, but for her.
By the time he rejoined Tuck, the haunted edge had dulled just enough. He wasn’t calm, not by a mile. But he looked like a man she could open her eyes to and see something steady.
EIGHTEEN
CHASE MEDICAL – OPERATING ROOM –1325 HOURS
The lights seared down on them, sterile and merciless. The monitors screamed their alarm.
“Pressure’s fifty systolic and falling,” the anesthesiologist called out, voice sharp with urgency. “She’s bottoming out.”
