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“Get Trent. Now. Don’t argue. Do it.”
Boris, eyes wide with shock, nodded and stumbled away from Millie’s room. Trent was the closest they had to a doctor at the ranch right now. But Chuck couldn’t just sit here and wait for his brother to get here. He had to act now.
He listened at her mouth — he couldn’t hear any breathing. He checked her wrist. There was no pulse.
“No,” he said. “I refuse to accept this.”
And then, he started CPR.
“Come on, Millie. Don’t do this, babygirl. Don’t you dare,” he ordered her as he pressed down on her chest. He pushed her sternum with his palms, counting out loud.
1, 2, 3, 4, 5.
He blew into her mouth.
“Come on, Millie,” he said. “Breathe.”
He set his mouth over her nose and mouth and breathed into her. This wouldn’t be the last time he kissed her. Not like this. He wouldn’t lose her like this.
1, 2, 3, 4, 5.
Chuck lost count of the number of times he repeated these steps. Over and over again, breathing for her, pumping her blood for her. He didn’t stop to think about the vomit, about her pallor, about her lifelessness.
He wouldn’t lose her. Herefusedto lose her.
“You can’t give up,” he whispered to her. “Don’t do this to me.”
And then, he heard it. A weak, piteous cough.
“Millie?!”
She breathed in — a desperate inhalation that brought color back to her cheeks almost immediately. And then she moved, cinching into the fetal position before coughing again, and spitting something out of her mouth.
Chuck felt relief flood his body.
She’d choked. She must have done. On her own damn vomit, poor thing. He looked down at the fast-pinkening body of the woman on the floor, and he shook his head and scratched his hair. She was breathing. Her heart was beating. She was alive.
Chuck squatted down, and when he spoke, he realized that he was holding back the tears.
“Sweetheart,” he said, “I want you to know that you’re safe. I’m never going to let anything like this happen to you again. We’re gonna make it all good.” He threaded his fingers through hers, gently taking her hand in his.” No more shame. No more feeling like you don’t deserve anything. No more problems that you need to run away from. No more pain that you need to numb.”
Millie didn’t respond, but then, a moment later, he felt her little hand squeeze gently around his.
“Chuck!” His brother’s voice rang out from the corridor, and a moment later, he was there, with Boris in tow. “She’s breathing,” Trent said.
“I think she choked,” Chuck explained. “After CPR, she coughed up some more vomit and started breathing again.”
“She’s alive?” Boris asked weakly.
“She’s alive.” Chuck held back. He wanted to berate the man, tell him that this was the result of his judgment, of his constant sniping and criticizing. But he knew now wasn’t the time.
To his shock, he saw tears in Boris’ eyes. He couldn’t have explained why it was such a surprise to see the older man crying, but it seemed so strange to him.
Trent got to work. He knelt by Millie and started to check her vitals: pulse, airways, responsiveness. She was still out cold, completely obliterated by the vast quantity of alcohol she’d consumed.
“Has the danger passed?” Chuck asked, as his brother started to shift Millie around.
“Not entirely,” Trent said. I’m using the Bacchus maneuver so that if she does vomit again, she won’t choke.” He eyed the bottle of whisky by her side. “Was that full?”
