A crimson hole spreads on Lucas’ chest. He teeters and collapses onto me, sending me into a renewed battle with my new friend agony.
I should be toast. But instead, Lucas is a dead weight on my chest. Breathing is damn near impossible with the combined pressure and pain. I can’t hold my head up anymore.
Blackness encroaches on the corners of my vision.
What…how…
Someone’s talking…
Who…
Shuffling and grunting.
The weight’s gone.
Air floods my lungs.
I can breathe.
Small, cold hands find my face and turn it up, but my eyelids are as leaden as my useless arms.
“Gabe!”
That’s my name.
“Gabe, open your eyes.” A tearing sound rends the air. Cool air hits my skin.
The hands move down my body to my chest and across my stomach, then up and down my arms, and legs. “Fuck! Dammit…Gabe, don’t you fucking die on me. I can’t lose you too.”
Lose me?
Fingers press into my neck and someone mumbles something about pulse…blood loss…
Banging.
Cursing.
Something warm next to me. Something wet dripping on me, then more burning and searing pain in my abdomen. I reach over to put my hand there, but someone swats it away.
More tearing.
“I’m sorry, Gabe, but this is going to hurt.”
Hurt?
Already hurt so much.
I reach out toward the voice but my hand is swatted away.
“Knock it off. Don’t move.”
That voice. Only one person is that bossy with me.
Skye.
But, how? The blackness surrounding me encroaches rapidly; it’s so welcoming…
She shakes me, sending ripples of pain throughout my body. “Fuck!”
“Sorry, but you need to stay awake. I need to pack the gunshot wound and wrap it so you don’t bleed out. Don’t you dare pass out on me! I need you to help me get you into the car.”
Car?
I struggle to open my eyes and reach out until my hand finds her arm. “Where are we going?”
She laughs and squeezes my hand before moving it back down to the side of my body. “The hospital, you asshole.”
I force my eyes open. A fuzzy version of her tear-streaked face hovers over me. She shoves something hard between my teeth. The faint taste of wood fills my mouth, mingling with the copper taste of blood.
“Bite down and promise not to hate me after this.”
Hate her? Why would I…
Motherfucker!
My scream is muffled by whatever my teeth are grinding into and, despite my delirium, I can still hear her apologizing over and over again while she presses and prods at me.
“Shit, Gabe. What the fuck were you thinking coming out here?”
I spit out whatever she put in my mouth and swallow, trying to find my voice through the pain. “I came for you.”
Her hands find my face again, and she holds it steady until my eyes meet hers. “I know you did. You always told me you would. And I came for you.”
The words don’t make any sense to me…she came for me?
I don’t have the time, energy, or coherence to analyze them.
Sleep. That’s what I need, to sleep.
I let my eyes slide closed and it feels so damn good.
“No! Gabe, wake up!” I shake his head until his eyes reluctantly slide back open. His dilated pupils don’t react when I shine my flashlight in them and are a sure sign of a concussion. Coupled with the gunshot wound, and the fact I’m pretty sure he’s borderline hypothermic, he is in real trouble. And that’s just the stuff I can see.
Shit.
How the fuck did this happen?
Only I could end up in a cabin in the boonies in the middle of a hurricane with the body of an ex-fuck buddy I just shot and killed and the love of my life dying in front of me.
Well, I’m not losing him too. I can’t. I wouldn’t survive it.
I have less than an hour to get him to the hospital before things are going to go from bad to worse. With the roads the way they are and the weather continuing to deteriorate, there’s a very real chance we won’t make it in time.
No. Fuck that, Skye.
Just get it done.
“Gabe, I need you to tell me where else you are hurt. I need to know what else I need to triage before we get you to the car.”
He groans and lets out a rattling, painful-sounding laugh. “Everything hurts.”
“Be specific.”
“My head, my shoulder, my foot…”
I move the beam of the flashlight up over his right shoulder but don’t see anything. On his left, I find what appears to be another entry wound and very distinctive pink, fern-shaped burn marks. Lichtenberg figures are only caused by one thing. “Jesus, Gabe, did you get struck by lightning?”
He nods and winces at the movement.
You have to be fucking kidding me.
I crawl down to his feet and check the bottom of his combat boots. The soles are melted and the leather singed. A very distinct smell of burned hair and rubber lingers.
“That’s how…he got me in here…in the first place…I was…knocked out. Shoulder was dislocated.”
“Was?”
“I…put it back.”
The gasping breaths he takes between words spur me back into action. He’s in far worse shape and even more danger than I thought. A lightning strike could have done major damage to his heart and brain.
I grab his right hand and put it over the wound in his abdomen just below his ribcage on the left side. “All right, Gabe. I need you to press here with as much force as you can. Keep applying pressure. We need to get you vertical and to the car. You need to help me here.”
He mumbles something unintelligible.
He’s incoherent, which makes sense considering the concussion and lightning. Another bad sign. I kiss him gently on the lips before I slide my left arm under his shoulders so I can get him sitting up.
“Here we go.” I pull, and it’s like trying to lift a two-hundred-and-twenty-pound dead weight. He barely budges an inch from the floor, and his hand falls away from where I placed it. Maybe I should be spending more time at the gym instead of drinking.
Shit.
I turn his head to the side toward me. “Gabe!” I slap him—hard. He jerks and groans.
“What the fuck?” His slurred words shake along with his body, and his wide, unfocused eyes meet mine.
Knowing how painful this is going to be for him gives me pause for a second. I hate doing it to him, but it’s our only option. I grab his right hand and press it against his wound again. “Sorry. I need you to help me here. Keep your hand pressed against that and apply as much pressure as you can. We need to get you up.”
This time, I pull on his shoulders, and he moves up, grinding his jaw and clenching his eyes shut until he’s sitting up. His head and body sway, and I tighten my grip on his shoulders, steadying him.
“Just take a couple deep breaths, Gabe.”
He turns his head and glares at me. “You make…that…sound…easy…”
My vision blurs as the tears I managed to turn off return in full force. “Come on. Suck it up, Gabe. We need to move now. On three. One…two…”
A strangled groan accompanies my “three,” and I help him to his feet, doing most of the work and supporting almost his entire weight. He wobbles and tips toward me, dropping his head against mine.
“Skye…I can’t…”
Oh no.
I grip his jaw in between my thumb and finger and force him to meet my eyes. “Stop it. You can, and you have to. Let’s go.”
Being commanding and overbearing generally doesn’t benefit me in my daily interactions, but it’s paying off now. He nods and takes a step forward.
Lucas’ body lies on the floor where he fell after I shoved him off Gabe. I try not to inspect the red stain on his shirt, but my eyes naturally drift there, then up to his face. It’s too soon for him to have the pallor of death. With his eyes closed and his mouth open slightly, someone might even think he’s sleeping peacefully.
How did things go so horribly wrong?
How did I not see what a psycho Lucas was until it was too late? I never in a million years expected to find Gabe in this condition. Lucas was a little off and a lot obsessed, but violent? The possibility never crossed my mind.
This is all my fault.
Being with Gabe has caused nothing but problems, and we haven’t even told Savage yet. Maybe he’s right; maybe this was never a good idea. Maybe there are too many reasons to stay away.
I tear my eyes away from Lucas for the last time and help Gabe inch toward the open door. Rain pours, and the wind practically topples us over. I urge Gabe forward past Lucas’ Jeep and toward Mom’s Tahoe.
Gabe is fading fast. I open his door and help him slide in. His teeth grind together so hard, I can hear it above the storm.
Even if I had something to give him for the pain, I can’t risk him passing out. They’re going to need to operate as soon as we reach the hospital. I need him alert, no matter how painful it is for him…and me.