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“Can’t fall asleep. Connor said so.”
“He’s right, but we’ll let the EMTs take care of you, okay?”
Caleb blinked, and then two EMTs were standing over him. One shined a light into his right eye, then his left. “That fucking hurts,” Caleb mumbled, sounding drunk.
“Pupils slow and dilated,” one of them said.
“Can you tell us what happened?” the other asked Caleb.
Caleb snorted. “I got beat up. What do you think happened?”
“He hasn’t lost his sense of humor,” the EMT said dryly. “That’s a good sign.”
“Everything fucking hurts. Literally everything.”
“Can you tell us what day it is?”
He had no clue. He’d been at work when Joey had gotten him, but what day had it been? Thursday? Friday? “Close to the weekend.”
“And who is the president?”
Who the fuck cared about the president? “Can we focus on me, please?”
“We are, buddy, but we’re trying to see how you’re doing.”
Ah, okay. “Bad. I’m feeling horrible. I think I have a concussion. Connor thinks so too.”
“Certainly sounds like it, but we’ll let the doctors make that call. I’m gonna check your abdomen, okay?”
He lifted Caleb’s shirt.
“Jesus Christ,” Roman said, sounding broken.
“I’m gonna press on your abdomen now. That may hurt, but I need you to tell me if it’s unbearable.”
Unbearable? What did that even mean? His whole body was unbearably painful. But when the EMT pushed on Caleb’s abdomen, his vision went white, and a wave of nausea barreled into him.
“His abdomen is distended and extremely painful to the touch,” the EMT said. “We need to get him to a hospital now. He may have internal bleeding.”
Internal bleeding? “That doesn’t sound good.”
“It’s not, so we’ll get you checked out as soon as possible. Who’s riding in the ambulance with him?”
“I am.”
Caleb’s eyes drifted close again.
“You’re the guy from the news tonight, that district attorney.”
The guy from the news? What was the EMT talking about?
“Correct.”
“This your boyfriend?”
“Also correct. Can we go now?”
“Yes. Let’s load him up.”
