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Suddenly, I hear yelling and then something breaking. I jump and push inside, needing to see what’s going on.
My eyes widen, and my mouth gapes as I take in the scene.
Hayes is lying on his back on the couch with Gage and Lennox over him. Gage is holding him down, and Lennox is doing something to his shoulder. The apartment is in complete disarray. The floor is littered with pillows, broken glass, and bullet shell casings.
I race over to Hayes from the back side of the couch. I open my mouth to ask what happened, but then I see the blood—on all of them.
Hayes has the most blood on him, with it pouring out of his lower abdomen. The fact that he’s the one doing the moaning on the couch and the other two are working over him tells me he’s the one I should be concerned about at the moment.
“Fuck, stop!” Hayes yells as Lennox digs into the wound.
Lennox ignores him and definitely doesn’t stop.
Hayes thrashes, while Gage tries to hold him down the best he can, panic-ridden on his face.
I grab Hayes’s hand. “Hayes, look at me.”
He does. “Shit, you look like hell,” he says.
His hand squeezes mine hard as his arm trembles. I hold him steady, ignoring the cramping in my own hand. Whatever is wrong with him is serious, but at least he hasn’t passed out—I tell myself that has to be a good thing. As long as Hayes is breathing and making jokes, then he’s going to be fine.
“You don’t look much better,” I smirk back at him as he tries to smile through the pain, but he can’t.
His face goes white, and I look from Hayes to Gage, who notices as well. Lennox continues doing whatever he’s doing, his hands moving quickly, and his focus entirely on attending to Hayes’s wounds.
“Hayes, stay with me. Tell me about your latest date. I’m sure you take women on the best dates,” I say.
He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. No moans. No snide remarks. Nothing.
Fuck.
“Hayes,” I say, my voice cracking as I gently smack his face.
He turns his head toward me, but that’s all he can manage.
I lean toward him, not sure if my idea will help, but it can’t hurt. It will either help or give him one moment of peace before he dies. I can give him that.
My lips brush against his—they’re still warm.
“He needs blood,” Lennox says grimly.
“We should call an ambulance. Neither of us is his blood type,” says Gage.
“I can donate. I’m O positive,” I say.
Lennox and Gage both look at me.
“Give him my blood.” I run around to the other side of the couch, where Lennox has started gathering the transfusion equipment.
I roll up my sleeve and hold out my arm.
Lennox takes the needle, looking at me for a second. I can see his anger at me boiling in his eyes, even now.
“Do it,” I say, before feeling the needle pierce my skin.
Lennox attaches another needle to Hayes, pushing my blood into him.
“Hayes is going to be okay,” Gage says, putting his hand on my shoulder. “He’s breathing, and Lennox is good at playing doctor. With your blood pumping through his veins, he’ll be good as new.”
