“Monica’s tough,” Jack told her.

From Monica’s bedside, Walt chimed in, “We don’t call her the Ice Queen for nothing.”

“Ice Queen doesn’t sound flattering.”

“She’s tough, Jessie,” Walt told her. “She’s going to be all right.”

Yet there was a hint of doubt behind Walt’s eyes.

The private jet didn’t hold the necessary equipment to hold a gurney in place, so they improvised with what they had. The basket that had brought Monica to the surface was strapped into the couch of the plane. They secured an oxygen tank that helped deliver what Monica needed. Dr. Klein had met Walt at the airport with necessary medicine. Even to Jessie, Monica appeared as if she were sleeping and not struggling.

Yet when the constant beep of the monitor that displayed her sister’s heart rate to the doctor slowed, Walt adjusted something… appeared frazzled. When Monica started to lose the contents of her stomach, the good doctor turned white.

Walt tried to hide his unease and mumbled under his breath, cursing the fact that he didn’t have enough of what he needed to make everything perfect for his patient. His friend.

They landed in Miami. A medevac team met them and helicoptered Monica and Walt to the hospital.

When Jessie and Jack arrived at the hospital much later, they were ushered into a private waiting room for the longest hour of Jessie’s life.

As much as Trent wanted to assure his brothers that he was alive, the desire to follow Monica and make sure she was being cared for was stronger.

“Where did they take her?”

Someone threw a blanket over his shoulders, which surprisingly he accepted. The cold night and rain should have been a comfort. They weren’t.

Jason hooked an arm around his shoulders. “The airport. Someone said Miami, but I’m not sure.”

Trent turned one-eighty and met with the bulk of a man he’d never seen. “Where did they take Monica?” he demanded.

“Miami General,” the man said with a slight southern accent.

Trent twisted around. The world lost balance and someone was holding him up.

“Hold on, brother.” It was Glen talking this time. “Let’s have someone check you out.”

“I’m fine,” he insisted. He patted his pockets for the keys of his Jeep. He remembered them on the floor of the cave next to their food supplies. “Damn.”

“Trent?”

Why were there two of Jason?

“What?”

Three… there were three of him.

The world tilted again and someone called his name.

Everything came into a fuzzy focus and then everything inside Trent’s stomach emptied.

Maybe I’m not fine.

Trent recognized the inside of the family jet. It had been years since he’d been there, and wasn’t exactly happy with being there now. Within one breath, he went from rescued survivor to patient. It was as if the mere mention of gastrointestinal issues made everything inside him twist on itself.

At some point, someone started an IV on him and he would swear that something soothing had been placed in his veins. The world dulled in flight. The noise of the engine lulled him to sleep. He hadn’t slept much in the past several days, afraid he’d miss the sound of someone passing by. He slept now.

An ambulance met them at the airport and took him to an emergency room. He noticed the faces of everyone there, pictured Monica in her environment, shouting orders… running around. “Is Monica here?” he asked the treating doctor.

“The other survivor?” he asked.

Trent nodded. “Yeah. The nurse.” It had taken Trent a few hours to follow behind her.

“She’s here.” The man didn’t elaborate, which made Trent even more uncomfortable. “What about the doctor who brought her in? Walt? Is he here?”

“I’ll see if I can find him.”

When Walt didn’t come to his bed fast enough, Trent pushed himself off the gurney to search out the man himself. Wearing a blue and white hospital gown with his ass hanging out the back end, he stepped outside the curtained room, and came up against his brothers.

“What are you doing?” Glen grabbed Trent’s arms as he leaned up against the wall with an IV pole in his hand.

“Where’s Monica? I told her she’d be OK. No one’s talking to me.” He was getting damn tired of people looking the other way and not answering questions.

“Mr. Fairchild.” A woman appeared at his side. Her brown hair and pointed finger indicated a wheelchair someone had pulled up behind him. “Sit down before you fall and make everyone in this terribly busy ER work harder.”

Trent sat… OK he fell into the chair. The woman he had to assume was a nurse stood over him, her hands poised on her hips. “You’re looking for Miss Mann?”

“That’s right.”

“She’s in the ICU. And if you want to see her you’re going to have to let us stabilize you first. No one is going to let you go up there and fall all over her.”

He could envision that this was how Monica scolded her patients. “How is she?” he asked.

“Stable.”

Like that told him anything. “Is her family here?”

“In the waiting room. I’ll tell them you’re asking for them.”

Trent exchanged glances with his brothers. “Thank you.”

“Can I get you back in your bed now?” she asked.