Another.
Another.
Garrett bellowed as we crashed to the floor, his weight pushing all the air out of my lungs. We must have hit the display case, which smashed to the floor next to us, glass shattering everywhere.
He pushed off me with a groan, and I sucked in a sharp breath.
I lay stunned for a second, trying to hear something, see something. I rolled my head to the side and saw Garrett. He was on his back. His right hand was pressed against his left shoulder, above the plate carrier, and blood was seeping between his fingers. His jaw clenched, and his eyes—those dark, complicated eyes—rested on mine.
No! No! No!
I scrambled the couple of feet to him.
A body moved through the room. It was fast, a blur of black with glints of metal.
“Garrett?” I choked out. I pressed over his hand—pressedhard. His blood was warm, and it kept coming, welling between my fingers no matter how much pressure I used. “Oh my god, Garrett, stay with me.”
He’d jumped in front of a gun for me. He kept doing this. He’d put himself between his mother and his father’s broken bottle. Between Jean’s team and insurgents in Afghanistan. And now between Dr. Caulfield and me. He gave everything for the people he cared about. Everything. Every time.
And he doubted he was a hero.
Arthur landed on his knees on Garrett’s other side, his hands joining mine on the wound, his larger palms pressing down over my fingers. “Aleš is a medic. He’s twenty seconds out.” He looked down at Garrett. “Galahad. Stay awake. That’s an order.”
“I’ve got a pulse,” came Radek’s voice from behind me. He must have been the blur heading for Dr. Caulfield.
Garrett’s eyes drifted to Arthur. Then to me.
“Move your hands,” whispered Arthur. “I’ve got him.”
I slid my fingers out from under Arthur’s and wrapped them around Garrett’s.
His face relaxed, like a lifetime of hurt was fading away, so the real Garrett was there. “Grace,” he breathed. Or maybe he only mouthed it.
My ears were ringing, and my eyes were burning. “I’m here.”
His bloodied fingers tightened around mine. His lips moved, and I leaned closer. “You’re my grail, sunshine. You know that?”
I couldn’t lose him. I couldn’t lose him. “Garrett?”
“Hey.” Arthur gripped Garrett’s jaw, turning his face. “Eyes open. Aleš is coming. You donotget to check out before we go through another five rounds of contract negotiations, asshole.”
But Garrett’s gaze floated back to me. His fingers loosened around my hand, and his eyes unfocused, and they closed.
The world spun around me, and bile crept up my throat. “No! Garrett, no,please!”
Aleš arrived at a run and dropped to his knees with us. He nodded, and Arthur lifted his hands, allowing for a rapid assessment. Aleš moved fast, hands on the wound, on Garrett’s neck, lifting Garrett to feel the back.
“Pulse is weak, but present. Entry wound, clear exit.” His fingers traced down from the wound, and his jaw tightened. “Trajectory’s wrong, though. Bleeding’s not consistent with muscle. Could be the axillary. The bullet might have redirected under the scapula.”
Arthur swore softly. “Should we call a bird?”
“Ground transport will be better out here. No reliable LZ. Motol’s thirty-eight minutes. Have them get vascular scrubbed and waiting.”
Arthur touched the comms at his throat. “Merlin, advise we’ll have at least one requiring surgery, probably two.”
Aleš hauled several packages from his vest, dropped them on Garrett’s chest, and asked Arthur, “You have him?”
Arthur nodded. “Don’t let Caulfield die.”
