“O negative,” John instructed the nurse to replace Wyatt’s blood loss.
After a few agonizing moments of waiting for the fluids, pain medicine, and new blood to pump through his system, Wyatt’s eyes finally opened and he let out a whooshing breath as he glanced down at his arm, which John was cleaning of excess blood, giving him access to the cut so he could seal it.
“Rise and shine, cowboy,” Samuels said jovially, yet his expression was pure relief.
Wyatt blinked and swallowed, his head resting on the white pillow, his skin grayish. “I feel like I got hit by a bus.”
“Nope, just a knife-wielding maniac,” Steph said from the doorway. “Reyes—Mendez needs someone to look at his nose.”
“On it.” Reyes glanced at Wyatt. “Fuck, man, that was crazy.”
“Yeah,” Wyatt murmured, looking dazed.
“Glad you’re alive, cowboy,” Steph said, eyes brimming with emotion as she and the other nurses stepped out, leaving John, Wyatt, and Samuels in the room alone.
Adrenaline depleted, emotions now slammed into him like a crashing wave, and John’s eyes burned with tears. He let them fall, wiping them on his shoulder as he worked on sealing Wyatt’s wound. The cut didn’t look deep enough to cut through muscle, but it was enough to cause significant blood loss.
“Can you move your fingers?” John asked, his voice rough, unable to look at him.
Wyatt hesitated.
“Move your fucking fingers, Lawson.”
He did, wiggling them and then touching the tips together onto his thumb. Good movement, so no muscle damage.
“Can you feel the tips?” John asked.
“Yeah.”
No nerve damage.
John released the breath trapped in his lungs, wiping the other side of his cheek on his shoulder.
“John… look at me,” Wyatt said softly.
He shook his head, swallowing the lump caught in his throat. “I can’t.”
He didn’t want Wyatt to see his fear—his pain—his love.
Fuck.
He loved him so fucking much. And he knew Wyatt would read it all over his face.
“You’re off the rest of the week and next,” John bit out. “I don’t want to see you in my hospital until you get a call from Steph to come back.”
“John…” Wyatt’s tone sharpened. “I’m fine.”
“Dr. Donnelly to you, young sir,” Samuels countered, his eyes flicking back and forth between them.
“I’ll have Dr. Samuels finish this up,” John said, and Samuels moved around the gurney to start the repair of the wound. “Once Steph clears you, I want you to go home. Tanya will probably reach out tomorrow for a full report on the incident.”
“John…!” Wyatt declared, emotion flooding him. “I’m okay. I’m okay… look at me, please.”
His shoulders trembled, but finally he did. And then the floodgates opened, breaking him open and ruining every defense he had around his heart. Wyatt practically leaped out of the bed, grabbing John’s wrist and yanking him back to him, their eyes colliding.
He felt Wyatt’s uninjured hand grab the back of his neck and drag him down for a kiss, yet it wasn’t hard—it was reassuring and packed with everything they both wanted to say in that moment.
His heart, his aching, damn heart, was lost. Completely, utterly gone. Wyatt had it now. And he couldn’t fucking breathe without him.
