Love Rents A Room
Chapter 133: Still Unconscious

Chapter 133: Still Unconscious

Jeffrey drove like a man possessed, his knuckles white against the steering wheel, his foot pressing recklessly on the gas. Nothing else mattered. Not the honking cars, not the speed limits, not even the flashing red lights he ignored.

Because she was still bleeding.

His heart slammed against his ribs as he glanced sideways. Joanne—his Joanne—strapped in the passenger seat, her head slumped against the headrest, her face as pale as death.

"Jo..." His voice cracked, hoarse from calling her name over and over again. "Jo, please..."

But she didn’t stir.

His stomach twisted in knots.

Few more agonizing minutes, he heard it. Sirens.

The ambulance had finally arrived, but the relief that should have come with it never did.

He swerved his car sideways, blocking the road without a second thought. This was the highway to the city and he didn’t care about the traffic. The paramedics barely had time to react before he threw open his door and ran to them, his voice frantic.

"It’s about the call from Rockchapel stadium, isn’t it? She’s in the car. She’s still bleeding!"

They rushed to her immediately, their movements swift, efficient—too damn clinical. Too calm. Jeffrey’s breath came short, his body locked in pure panic as they spoke in hurried medical jargon.

Words he couldn’t understand. Words that made his heart stop. One of them glanced at him, eyes grim.

It was serious.

He swallowed hard. The ground beneath him felt unsteady, but there was no time for fear. He helped them move her onto the stretcher, his hands trembling as he brushed strands of hair away from her blood-streaked face.

She still didn’t wake.

They lifted her into the ambulance, and Jeffrey didn’t hesitate.

He abandoned the car on the side of the road and climbed in after her, grabbing her hand, clutching it like a lifeline.

"Sir, we need space to~"

"I’m not leaving her," he snapped. He moved aside but held her hand for dear life.

They didn’t argue.

Someone worked quickly to stabilize her while another pressed a gauze pad against her wound. The bleeding had slowed, but it hadn’t stopped.

Jeffrey tightened his grip around her fingers, his free hand cupping them, trying to warm her cold skin.

Just this morning...

Just this morning, she was smiling as she sent him off. That radiant, teasing smile that always took his breath away.

She said she trusted him.

And now...

This was how he returned to her?

Covered in her blood?

His chest ached.

He had spent the morning sitting idly, listening to those old fools badmouth her. He had sat there, silent, doing nothing while they dragged her name through the mud.

And when he finally came to her, hoping to see that smile again...

He found her like this.

Broken. Bleeding. Unconscious.

His breath hitched.

"Is that why you won’t look at me, Jo?" His voice was barely above a whisper. "Do you know what I did? Are you angry at me? I’m so useless..."

She didn’t respond.

He pressed his forehead against her hand, his shoulders trembling. "Please..." His voice was pleading, raw with anguish. "Please, be fine. My love... Please, return to me."

Come back.

She had to come back.

By the time they reached the hospital, Jeffrey was moving in a trance.

He barely registered the rush of nurses and doctors, the beeping machines, the hospital smell that clung to the air.

He followed as they wheeled her into the ER, unable to let her out of his sight. He couldn’t.

But then... he reached a wall.

A firm hand stopped him. "Sir, you need to wait outside. No one’s allowed past this door."

"No, I~"

"You need to wait."

And just like that, she was gone—disappearing behind those sterile white doors.

He stood there, unable to move, his entire world stripped from him in a matter of seconds.

A clipboard was shoved into his hands. "Sir, we need you to fill this out."

Jeffrey stared blankly at the form, at the lines of questions. Something inside him twisted.

How did he know all of these answers?

Her blood type.

Her allergies.

Her emergency contacts.

He had never done this before, but his pen moved without hesitation. Because they had talked. About everything.

The realization hit him like a freight train.

The night he was in the hospital, passing those damned kidney stones—she had filled out the form for him. Without asking. Without needing help.

Because she already knew.

And now here he was, doing the same for her.

A sharp, aching pain settled deep in his chest.

They were closer than they thought they were. They were already one in spirit.

And now...

He missed her.

She was just behind those doors, but he already missed her.

The waiting area felt like hell. Every second stretched into eternity.

And then, there was a slight disturbance. The cops had arrived as they received the reports.

They wanted a report. An update. They wanted to know how she was doing.

Jeffrey barely heard them. Because right now, there was only one thing on his mind.

Joanne.

Was she safe?

Would she wake up?

-----

Meanwhile, in the stadium, one figure stood still amidst the chaos, his sharp gaze scanning the scene like an eagle surveying its territory.

Jonathan Meyer held his daughter close, cradling her trembling frame against his chest as she sobbed into his coat.

The commotion had yet to die down. People still milled about, whispering, speculating and gossiping as if Joanne’s suffering was nothing more than the latest scandal for their amusement.

The game had been postponed.

The air buzzed with tension as cops moved through the crowd, questioning everyone, jotting down statements. Officers were stationed at every exit, their expressions grim.

For a town that had enjoyed relative peace these past few years, this public incident had shaken its very foundation.

And yet...

The vultures still whispered.

Jonathan’s jaw clenched as he overheard snippets of conversations.

"Did you see the blood?"

"I heard she was barely breathing—"

"Who would do such a thing?"

His grip on Charlotte tightened.

"Dad..." Her voice was a fragile whisper, thick with fear. "Is Joanne... dead?"

Jonathan’s breath caught. His daughter’s words felt like ice threading through his veins.

"They’re saying- there was so much blood..." Charlotte hiccupped, pressing her tear-streaked face into his chest. "Dad, I’m scared... Joanne’s so nice... Who would hurt her?"

Jonathan exhaled sharply, steadying himself before pressing a firm kiss to the top of Charlotte’s head.

"No, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice low but resolute. "No, she’s not. Joanne’s a fighter. She’ll get through this."

Charlotte sniffled, gripping his coat with tiny fists.

"But... who did this to her?"

Jonathan’s gaze darkened, scanning the crowd, his sharp eyes memorizing every face, every nervous shift, every too-curious glance.

That was the question, wasn’t it?

Who dared to lay their hands on her?

Who dared to spill her blood?

His expression hardened. His free hand clenched into a fist at his side.

Whoever it was...

Hell awaited them.