CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Nick settled in beside Sloane, her small, cold hand sandwiched between his. She wasn’t just unconscious, she was slack — pallor beyond ashen as her shallow breathing skipped every other beat, as if it took too much energy just to inflate her lungs.
Chase and Rowan rattled off vitals, cutting away Sloane’s clothing, hooking up IVs and monitors. They moved with terrifying speed, confirming Nick’s fear that Sloane had minutes left.
Chase spared Nick a quick glance, the man’s gaze sweeping the length of him. “Colter? How bad are you hurt?”
Nick waved it off, falling onto his ass beside Dalton when his legs buckled, Sloane’s hand still grasped in his. “You focus on Sloane.”
“Saving her won’t do you any good if you’re too dead to appreciate it. So… how bad?”
“Minor. Nothing that’s gonna kill me before we reach the hospital. Just… I can’t lose her, Chase. Not like this. Not when I just realized…”
He couldn’t say it. Couldn’t admit that he loved her out loud in case Karma decided cash in now. Claim her in return for all the times he’d cheated death.
Chase grunted. “You’ve got what looks like a graze, multiple lacerations, and I count at least four bullet strikes to your vest. Can you breathe okay?”
“Breathe? How the hell am I supposed to breathe when Sloane’s…” Nick wouldn’t say that, either. Wouldn’t chance Fate by putting it out into the universe. “That should be me.”
Chase shook his head. “It still might be if you’ve punctured a lung. Just stay down, and let us work.”
Like he had any other choice than to sit there, holding her hand, willing her chest to rise while the monitor played out a frantic rhythm.
Outside, the wind buffeted the chopper, everything rattling as Foster banked over, trees flying past the window. Rain streaked the glass, the occasional flash of sheet lightning flickering across the horizon.
Dalton moved closer, looking as if he planned on catching Nick when he inevitably passed out, when Sloane’s heart monitor flatlined, the steady, eerie tone stopping Nick cold. He tried to shift forward, to yell, beg, something to get her to fight, only to have Dalton hold him back.
His buddy kept Nick’s ass planted on the seat, one hand cinched around his shoulder. “I know you want to help her, but the best thing you can do is let them work. Chase and Rowan are the best.”
Nick looked the man in the eyes. “I’m not doubting that. I’m scared their best won’t be enough.”
Dalton sighed, fingers still digging into Nick’s shoulder as Chase stopped dealing with Sloane’s wound, placed his hands on her chest.
He started compressions, counting out each punishing blow, Sloane’s entire body heaving from the violence of it. Rowan had an oxygen bag over Sloane’s mouth, squeezing it every five cycles, forcing air into her lungs.
Chase muttered under his breath, sweat beading the man’s brow. “Push a milligram of epi.”
Rowan grabbed a syringe, measured out some clear liquid, then injected it into the IV port as Chase kept working, watching the monitor, hands still compressing her chest.
A beep.
Or maybe the steady tone just stopped for a moment, took a breath, then another, until a jagged line bounced across the screen, weak, but there.
Chase rattled off numbers, but all Nick heard was that tone, tapping out a staccato rhythm. Mapping out his entire future with every ping. Chase adjusted her IV, shaking his head as he packed more sponges against her side. “She’s lost way too much blood. Not sure she can wait ten more minutes. Nick? Any idea what blood type she is?”
Nick stared at the blood-soaked rags, throat closed tight, heart barely moving.
“Nick!”
He blinked, everything sliding left and right before slowly coming into focus. “What?”
Chase glanced at Dalton, then back. “Do you know what blood type Sloane is?”
The words took a moment to work through the fog inside his head, but he nodded as he shoved up one sleeve. “Yeah, mine — O neg.”
Chase scoffed. “You can’t afford to lose anymore, buddy. Rowan’s O neg?—”
“Rowan needs to help you keep Sloane breathing. I’m fine. So I’m dizzy for a spell, or weak. I have time, Sloane doesn’t, so take the damn blood.”
