My voice is barely functional. “Just come back.”
Sirens wail in the distance, and the ambulance tears up the dirt road and skids to a halt in front of the house. Two paramedics jump out. They’re moving fast.
I don’t want to let go. I physically do not want to release her from my arms.
“Sir. Sir, we need to take her now.”
Ace is beside me. His hand on my shoulder. “Hunter. Let them work.”
I lay her on the stretcher. Her red hair spills over the edges. Her face is ashen beneath the blood. The paramedic checks her pupils with a penlight, and I watch her eyes respond.
“Head trauma. Possible concussion. Significant laceration to the right temple. Pulse is ninety-eight and thready. We need to move.”
They lift the stretcher.
“I’m going with her,” I say. It’s not a question.
The paramedic looks at my face. At the blood on my hands. At whatever he sees in my eyes.
“Get in.”
I climb into the ambulance and take her hand, holding it against my chest. Hating the fact that her rings aren’t there.
Ace stands in the open doors.
“I’ll finish this, brother,” he says.
“Thank you.”
The doors close, and through the small rear window, I watch the house shrink in the distance. And somewhere on that property lies the body of the man who used to be my brother.
I close my eyes. He did this to her. One of the people in my life I’d never thought would hurt me like this.
Lola’s hand is cold in mine. I bring it to my lips and press a kiss against her knuckles. “Stay with me, firefly,” I choke out. “We’re going home. And we’re going to have that big wedding you want. And all the kids.”
I promised her the world. And instead, being with me has left her fighting for her life.
The monitor beside me beeps, and it brings me some sort of comfort. She’s still here. And I will not let go of her hand until she opens her eyes and tells me she’s okay.
I don’t care if it takes hours. Days. The rest of my life.
I’m not letting go.
I’m standing in the middle of a corridor watching two nurses wheel Lola through a set of double doors that close behind her with a sound like a coffin lid.
And then she’s gone.
They need to run scans. Assess the head trauma. Check for fractures. Bleeding. Swelling. Words that a doctor said to me in a calm tone while I stood there with my wife’s blood drying on my shirt.
I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t process. Just stood there like a fucking statue while they took her away from me.
I press my back against the corridor wall and slide down until I’m sitting on the floor. My legs have given up. The adrenaline that kept me upright for the last six hours has finally emptied out, and what’s left is a man sitting on linoleum with his head in his hands, trying very hard not to fall apart.
I killed my own brother. I nearly lost my wife and son.
I’m failing.
My hands are shaking. My chest is so tight I can barely breathe. Every time I close my eyes, I see Lola lying there, bloodrunning down her face. The gash on her temple. The way her eyes were glazed and unfocused.