52. Indie
Chapter 52
Indie
T he closest emergency room is thirty minutes away by car. Thirty minutes. There are small clinics and urgent cares closer, but none of those are equipped for a bullet wound to the stomach. I pray to any deity listening that Beau doesn’t bleed out before we make it anywhere.
In the front seat, Ram is still on the phone with the operator, giving directions as we fly down the road. I stopped listening to him a few minutes ago, my mind growing busy with static as I focus on keeping Beau’s blood inside his body.
My hands are stained with it. My fingers are red with his life. Too much blood. Too much. He’s going to die here on my lap. I’m going to watch him die. I’ve watched people die with less of a wound than this.
I’ve watched them die from more.
As I stare down at him, at his white t-shirt stained bright red like a flower, his hair gentle around his face, his eyes closed, I can’t help thinking what a story this would make. What a photo I’d get of him if I took it right now. Despite the pain in my chest, despite the very real possibility of him dying, some part of my mind detaches and looks through a camera lens.
Rodeo Legend Meets His Match.
Giggles Only Go So Far: How One Man Flirted With Death Too Long.
Legend, Glory, Giggles: The Rodeo Clown Has Fallen.
My face twists and I lean down over him. “You don’t get to die on me,” I whisper roughly. “You don’t get to the be on the front page for this. Get your shit together, Beau Rogers, or I’ll never forgive you.”
He doesn’t answer. Of course, he doesn’t answer. I don’t even know if he can hear me.
In front of us, we round a corner, and a helicopter comes into view. The props are still spinning, still geared up, as if they just barely landed. A group of people in uniforms stand outside waiting, a stretcher between them.
“There!” Ram directs Tripp. “Pull over here.”
Before we’ve even stopped, the paramedics are rushing forward with the stretcher. The back door opens just as Tripp throws the truck in park.
“Ma’am, we need you to exit the vehicle,” one of them tells me. “We’ve got it from here.”
I nod and slip out carefully as they immediately pull Beau from the backseat and get him situated on the stretcher. They rush toward the helicopter, and I follow, trying to keep up with them.
They load him into the helicopter quickly, efficiently, and I’m grateful for their professionalism.
“No passengers,” the paramedic nearest me says. “Patient is critical, and we need the space.”
I back off, tears rolling down my face, moving back to the truck where Ram and Tripp wrap their arms around me.
“He’s gonna be okay,” Ram says. “He’s too stubborn not to be.”
The three of us watch the helicopter gear up and lift into the air, before it takes off to the hospital. I watch it, my chest tight, worried that’ll be the last time I ever see Beau alive again.
Wondering if I’ll get to tell him how I feel.
“Into the truck,” Tripp growls. “Let’s go!”
We climb in, and he takes off again. I barely have my door closed before the truck is flying down the road in the same direction as the helicopter. I just hope the Grim Reaper doesn’t beat us there.