Win signed the consent form with a frantic scratch of the pen, his signature an erratic, shaky line. Dr. Taylor took the folder and immediately moved toward the operating suite, barking orders to the nurses. Win tried to follow, desperate to stay by King's side, but the medical team blocked his path.
Mike, who had witnessed the entire exchange, stepped forward and clamped a firm hand on Win's shoulder. "Win, let them go. They've got this." He then steered Win firmly away from the swinging doors of the treatment area.
Mike then murmured, "Win, can we talk for a while?"
"Not now, Mike, just leave it," Win mumbled, his voice hoarse, clearly avoiding any conversation. He was a storm of silent prayer and paralyzing guilt.
They stood in the hallway until the moment the gurney carrying King was wheeled toward the Operating Room. Win tried one last time to push past the orderlies, his eyes glued to King's pale, unconscious face. Mike hauled him back, his grip like iron.
