Easton stormed through the doors of the hospital waiting room. He spotted Rhys in a chair, hands dangling between his legs.

“Rhys.”

His brother looked up. “Carlson’s in surgery. Took two bullets to the chest.”

Fuck. “Harlow?”

Rhys nodded his head toward the door. Easton covered the ground quickly and shoved it open.

Vander leaned against the wall, his arms crossed. Harlow was at a sink, scrubbing her hands.

They were covered in blood. Her gray sweater was streaked with it.

Easton’s internal organs tried to rearrange themselves. He already knew it wasn’t hers, but the sight of her like this was something he didn’t like. At all.

Vander pushed away from the wall, squeezed Easton’s shoulder, then left.

“Harlow.”

Her head whipped up, meeting his gaze in the mirror above the sink. Her eyes were wide, her face pale.

He wrapped his arms around her from behind.

She leaned into him and made a hiccupping sound. “Easton, there was so much blood.”

“He’s in surgery, baby. He’s fighting.”

“I can’t get the blood off.”

“Here.” He moved to the side and slid her hands under the water again. Soon, the water washed clear.

He pulled her sweater off, leaving her in a pretty, silver-gray bra. He grabbed a cloth off a stack of them beside the sink, and wiped away any remaining streaks of blood off her skin.

Her wounded eyes met his. “Thank you.”

“I’m here, Harlow. Lean all you want.”

Her chest hitched. “I’m afraid that if I do, I’ll fall apart.”

“So, fall apart. I’ll catch the pieces.”

She bit her lip, her voice a whisper. “I’m really afraid that I’ll do that, and then you’ll disappear.”

He pulled her to him, holding her hard, and pressed his cheek to her hair. “I’m not going anywhere.”

She gripped him. “I’m so afraid he’ll die. I’ve been so mad at him…”

“You’ve got to have hope, baby. And he knows you love him.”

Easton felt fresh tears soak his shirt. He stroked her back until he felt her drag in a shaky breath.

“Here.” He lifted the sweater he’d brought with him.

“My spare sweater I keep at work.”

“Vander warned me you might need it.”

She pulled on the pink, scoop-neck sweater. “Thank you.”

He took her hand and pulled her into the waiting room. Rhys was sprawled in a different chair. Vander was standing by the window.

“Any news?” Harlow asked.

Vander shook his head.

Easton towed Harlow to a chair. She clutched his hand like a lifeline.

The doors opened and Saxon strode in, his suit jacket flaring. He lifted his chin.

Vander strode to meet him. “You meet with Pierce?”

Saxon nodded. “But we were too late. It was Pierce’s people who shot Carlson.”

She squeezed Easton’s fingers.