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It took him about twenty minutes after I called, scared out of my mind.
A pretty woman with long, dark hair in a raincoat follows Griffin inside. “Katya, this is my sister-in-law, Darcy. The one I told you about. She’s a nurse.”
“Where is he?” Darcy, who speaks with an Irish accent like the rest of them, pushes Griffin out of the way.
“In our bathroom. He’s breathing, but he’s not coherent. His eyes won’t focus. He’s lost a lot of blood. I tied a towel around his arm. The bleeding has slowed but won’t stop.”
I bring them into our bedroom and hold the bathroom door open. My heart is pounding, my stomach ready to revolt from all the blood.
“Oh God.” Darcy drops to her knees and digs into a knapsack. “Griffin, lay him flat on his back and lift that arm.”
I stand back, feeling helpless. He’s my husband. I’m supposed to take care of him. “What can I do?”
Darcy’s green eyes lift to mine. “Are you familiar with smelling salts?”
“No. Show me.” I reach for the tiny white tube in her hand.
“Just snap the top off and hold it under his nose. He’ll jerk his head back.”
“I’ll hold his big noggin.” Griffin comes up on the other side of him. “He’s a strong son of a bitch.”
“Then what?” I sink to the bathroom floor, the tube in my shaking hand.
“I’m going to stitch him up,” Darcy says without flinching.
“Heneedsto go to the hospital,” I say.
“Lachlan doesn’t do hospitals, Katya.” Griffin’s voice goes dark.
“What if he lost too much blood?”
“I’ll know once he wakes up.” Darcy nods for me to continue.
Thanks to my sweaty palms, it takes a few tries before I’m able to snap the tube open. Once I shove it under Lachlan’s nose, his head jerks up. Like a mechanical bull, he bucks and roars.
“Mate, it’s me, Griffin. Relax, you passed out. You lost too much blood, you git. Darcy is here to stitch you up.”
“Lachlan, sweetheart, look at me.” I hold his head. “You’re going to be fine.”
“What happened?” he groans.
“That gash on your arm,” I remind him. “You lost too much blood and passed out. I called Griffin.”
His lips go flat, but they melt into a faint smile. “Good girl.”
Griffin slides away. “He sounds fine. I don’t think he needs a transfusion or anything.”
“Should we move him?” I ask.
“It’s cramped in here, but the light is amazing.” Darcy crouches down beside the torn-up arm and flicks a giant needle. “Hey, Lachlan. It’s Darcy Quinlan. I have to stick you with an anesthetic. I won’t lie, it’s gonna hurt.”
“Do it,” Lachlan rasps.
“Keep your eyes on me,” I say softly, stroking his forehead.
I catch Darcy raising the needle and brace Lachlan, but he doesn’t budge. God, he’s tough.
“Howdid this happen?” I ask him. “How did someone get so close to you, you git!”
