Page 90 of Jenna's Protector

Jenna?

I can’t take care of both of them.

The not-knowing is a special kind of torture, a nightmare I can’t wake up from.

Time loses meaning in the harsh light of the waiting room. Minutes bleed into hours, marked only by the relentless ticking of the clock on the wall.

I pace the linoleum, my boots clicking against the floor in a staccato rhythm. It’s a poor substitute for the pounding of my heart and the blood rushing in my ears.

Memories of Jenna flash through my mind, a slideshow of moments I’d give anything to have back. Her smile, warm and bright as the sun. The feeling of her hand in mine, her skin soft andcool. The trust in her eyes, the way she looks at me like I can do no wrong.

Each memory is a twist of the knife in my gut, a reminder of what I’ve lost.

What I’ve failed to protect.

If I’d been there…

If I’d gotten to her sooner…

The thoughts chase themselves in circles, a never-ending loop of guilt and recrimination.

I should have been there.

I should have kept her safe.

But I wasn’t, and I didn’t.

Now she’s gone, and Max is fighting for his life.

And I’m here.

Useless.

Helpless.

The weight of it presses down on me, a physical force that drives the air from my lungs. I feel like I’m drowning, like I’m being crushed under the weight of my own failure.

I lean against the wall, my head falling back against the cold plaster. The fluorescent lights buzz overhead, a mocking counterpoint to the silence of the waiting room.

Please, Max. Please pull through. I can’t lose you.

It’s a prayer and a plea, a desperate bargain with a universe that feels cold and uncaring. I’ll do anything, give anything if it means Max survives.

Hang on, Max. Just hang on. And Jenna, wherever you are, whatever is happening… I’m coming. I’ll find you. I’ll bring you home.

It’s a promise I make to the empty air, and to the uncaring walls of the waiting room. A promise I seal with blood and tears and the shattered pieces of my heart.

Blake suddenly appears in the doorway, his face etched with worry. He takes one look at me and strides over, his hand coming to rest on my shoulder.

“How’s Max?” His voice is steady, sure. An anchor in the storm.

“In surgery. If I’d been any later…”

“Max is in good hands, but Jenna needs you now. Every second counts in a kidnapping. You know this.”

I do know it. It’s a knowledge that sits heavy in my gut, a certainty that chills me to the bone.

“I can’t leave Max on some operating table. He’s my best friend.” My voice breaks on the last word, the admission of just how much Max means to me.