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Tyler
“Single GSW to the left chest.”
“Set up Trauma One.”
“All right. Check for breathing.”
“It’s shallow. Let's get her on the table. One. Two. Three.”
The words of the medical team working on Marisa rushed over me like a swarm of bees. The aching pain in my chest flared up as the image of her lying on that floor flashed in my mind.
I may have been able to wash the blood from my hands, but nothing was going to get the stains out of my uniform. And nothing was going to rid my mind of the images of Marisa lying lifeless and unresponsive during the transit to the hospital.
A sea of men dressed in filthy camouflage filled the waiting area. Davis rushed over when I finally made it back to them. “What’s the word?” His voice was gruff with fatigue and anxiousness. I could see the guilt weighing heavy on his shoulders. It was just like mine—too damn heavy for one man to carry.
We were in the same position. I noticed his cough, trying to conceal the sniffle. His eyes were red-rimmed, and as much as I wanted to console him with good news, I couldn’t.
“She got hit. Lost a lot of blood. They’re working on her. Don’t think it hit any major organs. She’s in surgery. It’ll be a while.”
“She’ll be okay,” he said. I didn’t know if his hopeful optimism was more for him or me. “At least she got the son of a bitch who shot her.”
“Yeah,” I said. It was the only consolation in all of this. The man who had her was already dead when I entered the bungalow. “What about López? Any news on him yet? They grab him up yet?”
He shook his hanging head. “No word yet.”
United, Jackson, Mark, Liam, Ben, and Quinn stood together, a shield of friendship and protection.
Ben said, “She’ll pull through, Tyler.”
“Yeah,” I murmured. Hands came to my shoulders and back as a safeguard. I was inconsolable. I wanted answers. I wanted information. I wanted López in the ground. I wanted Marisa not to be on a damn operating table. “Listen, guys, it’ll be a while yet. Go back to Jackson’s.”
“Nah, man. We’re staying put.” Mark’s resolve to be here for me meant more than he could know.
“No, seriously. You guys go. Come back in a couple hours. All we can do now is wait. And we all”—I looked down at myself, then at them still all dressed in our gear—“we’re gonna freak people out looking like we do.”
“Way I figure it, nobody’ll think twice about messin’ with us,” Quinn said, trying to lighten my mood.
“We’ll be back,” Jackson said, knowing I wanted some time by myself. “Call us if there’s any update.”
I tried my best to smile as I gave them a nod. It was a futile attempt. Thankfully, these guys all understood the state I was in. “Will do,” was all I said before talking to Davis privately.
“I need her dad’s number.”
“Sure thing,” he said.
I waited while he got the contact information for me.
“Davis,” I said his name on a sigh as he forwarded the info to my cell.
“I’m staying put. Don’t even try to argue with me.”
I slumped down into an available chair, let my head hit the back of the wall, and shut my eyes against the bright lights.
“I am, however, going to get us something to drink,” I heard him say.
I kept my eyes closed. He knew I accepted his words without having to acknowledge him.
When I heard his footfalls a few minutes later, I opened my eyes, sat up, and accepted the coffee he handed me. I drank half of it down in three gulps, savoring the burn. Davis sat beside me, quiet and empathetic of my need for quiet. Silence filled the room and my head. Emptiness filled my heart.
