"You do," Nina says.
I turn to her. "What?"
"He started putting this together the day after you arrived. He was building a place for you. It was a surprise, but," she wipes away fresh tears, "I think you need it now."
Something catches in my chest, but I don't have time to examine the feeling. I rush to the cabinets, yanking them open. I grab IV bags, tubing, antiseptic, gauze, suture kits, gloves, IV kits. Fucking everything.
I throw some supplies into Nina's arms like a hurricane.
"Take these. Go!"
We bolt back upstairs. She almost slips on the way up but I catch her.
We rush into the room and Declan hasn't moved, but his breathing seems more labored. I dump my supplies onto the table beside him. Nina follows suit and steps back.
"Everyone back up," I order. "Give me room, please."
I rip open packages with my teeth and get to work.
First, I clean the wound. It's hard to do with how much blood is still pumping. It's not arterial, thank God, but it's close.
I grab a curved needle and start stitching, sloppy and fast. It's just to stop the bleeding. I'll do a better job later, but it'll do. For now, I pack gauze over it and tape it tight.
I turn to one of Declan's men standing behind me. "Put your hand here. Don't let go until I tell you."
He nods, placing his palm where I indicate.
I grab a bag of saline solution and thrust it at another man. "Hold this up."
I find a vein in Declan's arm, his beautiful arms that were wrapped around me just this morning, and slide the IV needle in. I tape it down quickly, securing the line.
"Higher," I instruct the man holding the saline bag. "It needs height to flow properly."
It won't be enough. He needs blood.
I roll up the sleeve of my robe and tie a tourniquet around my upper arm, tapping the crook of my elbow until a vein rises.
"Whoa, what are you doing?" Shane asks, eyes wide.
"I'm O negative. I'm going to give him my blood." I slide the needle into my vein, connecting it to the bag with anticoagulant.
"Jesus Christ, your own? Will it work?" Shane's voice is skeptical.
"I've done it once, but..." I pause, meeting his eyes. "I fucking hope so."
I flex my hand repeatedly, open and closed, watching my blood flow through the tube into the collection bag.
Every second feels like it's slipping through my fingers.
Declan is still pale, still unconscious.
"Don't let go of that wound," I snap at the man applying pressure.
He startles. "I'm not, I swear."
Halfway through filling the bag, my vision starts to blur around the edges. My legs feel like they're made of water. My fingertips tingle, turning cold.
I won't show weakness. I can't. So I keep going, watching Declan's chest rise and fall with each shallow breath.
