An obnoxious clanging sound permeates the tense silence of the waiting room as Luke’s cell starts vibrating across the coffee table.
He snatches it up, notes Krista calling and quickly sends it to voicemail and shoves it in his pocket. It pauses for a beat and then starts vibrating again. Then again.
Finally, he puts it to his ear. “Not really a great time, Krista,” he snaps.
“Luke, I just heard. How is he? How are you?
“How did you hear already? Logan hasn’t even gotten to the hospital yet.”
He hears his producer sigh on the other end of the line and can almost picture her grimace. “Paparazzi listen to police scanners.”
This was the last thing he wanted to deal with right now.
“You’re a doctor,” Lucas states quietly, his eyes focused on his hands and the bloody towel he held against Jax’s chest hopefully preventing his best friend from bleeding to death.
“I’m a trauma surgeon.”
“Is he going to make it? He can’t die.”
Ash is silent for a moment, knowing professionally she can’t make that promise. But the raw emotion in his whispered plea is affecting her more than usual. She looks at him, waiting for Lucas to meet her gaze.
“We’re not going to let him die.”
He stares into her eyes for a moment, resolve banking the fear, and nods slightly.