It's been nine f*****g hours, and we still haven't heard a word other than Caelan is still in surgery.
Shamrock is sitting on one of the benches, Faylinn curled up asleep with her head in his lap. Grey and Willow sit on the floor with their backs against the wall, each with a magazine. Claddagh is napping in a chair. I sent Dire and Carrigan home to their son a few hours ago. I told Dire I'd text him as soon as we heard something. Kicker is asleep on one of the other benches.
And I'm sitting here, staring at the door that leads back into the hospital, jumping every time it opens.
I glance at the clock— three in the morning— and then back at the door. Through the little square windows, Medic's face gets closer, and I quickly shove out of my chair and yell for Shamrock. My stomach
