Chapter 17 Zoey
ZOEY
Blood has covered his coat, and the spot is getting bigger with each passing second.
Breathe, Zoey.
When the dispatcher finally picks up, I rattle off where we are and what happened before I let the phone drop to the sidewalk next to him.
“Hunter,” I say again, touching his cheeks, trying to get him to open his eyes.
“Fuck,” a voice hisses from behind me before the person touches my shoulders. “What happened, Zo?” It’s Mason standing over me, but I’m too panicked to feel any type of consolation from his presence.
“I don’t know. He’s bleeding,” I say, sounding like an idiot, but I’ve never heard a sound like that before to know what’s going on.
My mind is spinning, working a thousand miles a second.
“Was he shot?” my cousin asks, and the pieces slide into place.
“Yes,” I tell him. “Hunter.” I cradle his face in my hands, watching his chest move up and down.
He’s still alive.
“I’ll call 9-1-1.”
I don’t turn around, giving my full attention to the man in front of me, who I was kissing only a moment before. “I already did.”
Mason moves to Hunter’s other side, grabbing his wrist. “He has a pulse.”
“Thanks, McDreamy.”
“What?” he asks, still clutching Hunter’s arm.
“Nothing,” I say, hating that I’m being a bitch when my cousin’s trying to help.
A crowd has gathered around us now. Everyone from inside the bar has come out to see what’s going on.
“He can’t die,” I whisper. “He can’t die.”
I repeat those words to myself over and over, trying to convince myself that it’s not possible. It can’t end like this. Not before we’ve had a chance to truly begin.
We kissed. A magical kiss. The best one I’ve ever had, and for it all to end like this would be…darkly tragic. If we hadn’t stopped, if I hadn’t told him to kiss me, we’d be on our way home right now, and none of this would’ve happened.
“He won’t die,” Mason says. “He’s tough.”
He may be tough, but that doesn’t matter when it comes to a bullet. He could be the strongest guy in the world, and a gunshot could end him in the blink of an eye.
“Did you see who did it?” Mason asks.
I shake my head as the memory of that split second plays on repeat in my mind.
I heard the noise, saw Hunter jolt with his eyes wide, before he toppled backward like I’d pushed him over. I didn’t have a moment to look around or do anything before he was on the ground with blood covering the front of him.
Before Mason has a chance to ask anything else, the sirens echo off the old buildings on the street, and a small sliver of me feels a little relief. He has a chance.
“Hunter,” I say again, but he doesn’t open his eyes. “The ambulance is here. You’re going to be okay.”
“He will be,” my cousin says.
I glance around, staring at all the blood, and wonder if I’m lying to myself. How does someone survive when it looks like every drop that could possibly have been inside them is outside their body?
“Ma’am, step away. We’ve got this,” a man says, pulling me gently away from Hunter’s side.
The paramedics are here, and they waste no time in getting to work on Hunter as Mason helps me to my feet and keeps his arm around me.
“Who would do this?” I whisper, asking myself the question because no one has an answer. I’m shaking in Mason’s embrace, and he does his best to make me feel safe.
“Sir. Ma’am,” a uniformed officer says, tipping his head to us both. “Did either of you see who did this?”
I shake my head, unable to tear my gaze away from Hunter’s motionless body. The paramedics are working fast, taking vitals and doing other stuff I don’t understand.
“I was inside, but she didn’t see anything,” Mason replies for us.
“We’ll have to pull the security footage from some of the buildings,” the officer says.
“We have cameras. I own the bar with my cousin,” Mason replies.
“That would be helpful and the quickest route to finding the person who’s responsible.”
The cameras. I totally forgot we installed them five years ago after we convinced everyone they were a necessary expense. The inside and outside of the bar have a state-of-the-art system and over ten different camera angles to keep us safe, along with our customers.
“Will you be okay?” Mason asks me.
“Go,” I tell him. “I’m going with Hunter.”
I won’t leave his side. I can’t.
The paramedics put Hunter on the stretcher, and I step forward, my feet moving without much thought. I follow them to the ambulance and prepare myself for whatever I see inside.
“Ma’am,” the paramedic says, and before he has a chance to add anything, I make my feelings known.
“I’m going with him.”
He nods, his lips tight. “Just give us room to work.”
I climb in after they load Hunter, and then the paramedic gets in with me.
The back is filled with a lot of machines and supplies, and as soon as the front door slams, we’re moving.
I hold on to something, hoping I’m not going to break an expensive piece of equipment, but it’s either me or whatever the hell it is at this point.
It all passes in a blur as we hit pothole after pothole, jostling everyone inside. I don’t even know how the paramedic is able to get an IV into Hunter with all the bumps, but he does and makes it look effortless too.
“Are you next of kin?” the man asks me, but I’m too zoned out, unable to take my eyes off Hunter. “Ma’am.”
“No,” I whisper, and my stomach sinks.
They need someone who’s legally able to speak for him, and that person isn’t me.
“Do you know how to contact his next of kin?” He doesn’t look at me as he checks Hunter’s wound, covering it with some gauze and applying pressure.
“I could call his sister,” I say, but it’s as if I’m having an out-of-body experience. It’s like I’m floating above us, watching everything unfold instead of actively participating.
“Call her. The hospital will need to talk to her.”
“His phone,” I tell the man and swallow, knowing I can’t get it myself. “It’s in his pocket.”
“You know his code?” the paramedic asks as he reaches into Hunter’s coat pocket and gets his cell phone.
“No.”
He lifts Hunter’s hand and places his thumb on the screen, unlocking it. “Here you go.”
“Thanks,” I say, but I’m a little shocked at how easy it was for him to do that. In my state of mind, I never would’ve thought to do that.
I go to Hunter’s contacts and find Lizzy’s number. My finger hovers over the screen as I take a deep breath. How do I tell her? She’s going to lose it.
I hit call, and it’s already ringing by the time I place the phone on speaker.
“What’s up, big brother?” Her voice is full of cheer, and every bit of me wants to hang up and not ruin her night.
“Hey, Lizzy. It’s Zoey.” My voice is quiet, like it’s going to soften the blow somehow.
“What’s wrong?” she says quickly. “Where’s Hunter?”
“Don’t panic,” I say. It’s what everyone always says, and it’s the dumbest thing in the world because it has the opposite effect. “He was shot, but he’s alive.”
She gasps. “He was what?”
“He was shot, but he’s alive.” I make sure to repeat that part of my previous statement. “I’m in the ambulance with him and we’re on the way to the hospital, but they’re going to need to talk to you since you’re next of kin.”
There’s a ton of noise on her end of the line. I imagine she’s packing things or just in a general panic, unsure of what to do. “Is he awake?”
“Not at the moment.”
“I’m coming. I’ll find a flight and be there.”
“Ma’am, this is Tom. I’m the paramedic. We’ll need you to be available to take a call from the hospital. They’re going to need permission to treat him, depending on the severity of the bullet wound.”
“Of course. I’ll keep my phone on. I won’t get on a plane until I hear from them. Which hospital?”
The paramedic rattles off the details to her.
“I’ll stay with him, Lizzy, and text you what’s going on. How long is the flight?”
“Forty-five minutes. Hopefully there’s a flight leaving soon. I could be there in a few hours.”
“Okay,” I say. “I’ll keep you posted.”
“Fuck. This is crazy.”
“I know. I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t say you’re sorry. He’s not dead,” she says.
“He’s not. He’s not going to die,” I tell her, but I’m not sure I completely believe the words I’m saying.
“I’ll be there soon. Bye,” she says.
“Bye,” I reply, but I think she’s already disconnected the call.
I take a moment and enter her contact information into my phone, because as soon as his screen turns off, it’ll lock again.
The sirens turn off, and the ambulance starts to slow. “We’re pulling in. Things are about to get busy. Stay out of the way and follow.”
“Got it.” I brace myself as we come to a halt.
He made it here. He’s still breathing, even though the paramedic has changed the gauze a few times because it’s become saturated.
The doors open, and numerous people are almost yelling at one another, calling out information as they whisk Hunter and the gurney out of the back of the ambulance.
They’re running through the emergency room doors by the time I jump down from the back of the ambulance.
I do my best, barely able to keep up with them and staying out of their way the best I can.
“Ma’am,” a nurse says, or at least I think she’s a nurse. “Why don’t you wait outside the room? I could use some information.”
My eyes are on Hunter as they cut off his clothes, including his blood-soaked sweater. “Okay,” I whisper as she takes my hand, guiding me out of the emergency room trauma bay.
I follow her down the hallway to a private room with a couch and low lights. It’s soothing—or at least as calming as a room can be for people in my circumstances.
“Would you like some water?” she asks as I sit down.
My leg shakes, and I cover my knee with my hand, trying to stop it from moving. If I could pace a path across this small room, I would, but there’s too much furniture in relation to the square footage.
“Name?”
“Zoey Gallo.”
The woman smiles. “Hi, Zoey. I need his name.”
“Of course. Shit. Sorry. Hunter.”
“Hunter what?”
I stare at her, and she stares back.
Damn. Do I know his last name? My mind can’t process much, and I’m not sure if I ever heard his last name. If I came off stupid after telling her my name, it’s about to get worse. “I don’t know.”
“Do you know his date of birth or age?”
“Um, thirties,” I say, wincing. “We only met a few weeks ago, and he’s my neighbor. I didn’t get a ton of details.”
“It’s okay. Do you know if his next of kin has been contacted?”
I nod. “I called his sister. I have her number.”
“May I have it?”
I pull out my phone and find Lizzy’s number, reading each digit to her twice. “She’s on her way here from Ohio.”
“I’ll make the doctors aware so they can call her right away.”
“Thank you.”
The door to the small room opens, and a woman walks in. “Hello. I’m Dr. Katz. Are you here with Hunter?”
I nod again, unable to find my words.
“He has internal bleeding from the gunshot wound. He needs emergency surgery to stop the bleeding. Are you next of kin?”
Damn. I never knew it was that important that you have a next of kin. Who is mine? Lulu or my parents? I’m not sure, but I hope it’s Lulu because I wouldn’t want my parents to make any decisions if they are ever in a panic like I am now.
“No. His sister, and she’s on her way from out of state.”
“Here,” the woman I had been talking to says, handing Dr. Katz a slip of paper with Lizzy’s contact information.
“Will he live?” I ask, staring up at her as I wait for the floor to fall out from under me.
“We’ll know more once we’re in surgery. He’s lost a lot of blood.”
She gave an answer, but not one to my question.
She holds up the slip of paper. “I need to make this call.”
I nod again, dropping my head to stare at my hands in my lap.
He may die. Fuck. He may really die.
On the ambulance ride, I felt like he was getting help and that he’d pull through. The same feeling stayed with me when we got here and an entire team started to evaluate and work on him. But after the nonanswer from Dr. Katz, I’m not so sure.
The nurse stands up from the chair next to me. “I’ll be back soon to check in on you.”
“Can I go out to the waiting room?” I ask.
I can’t stay in here by myself, sitting in silence. I’ll have a bigger panic attack than I already am, and I’ll end up in a bed down the hall, which is the last thing anyone needs in this situation.
“Sure. We’ll come out when we know more. He’ll be in surgery for a few hours at least.”
“Hopefully his sister will be here by then,” I tell her as I stand.
“Let us know when she is. The waiting room is down the hall on your right.”
I give her a small smile. One I’m not feeling at all, but I’ve been programmed to smile even when it’s not appropriate or heartfelt.
I keep my eyes trained on the hallway as I pass by room after room of patients in various stages of pain and injury. It’s overwhelming. I don’t know how anyone can work in an emergency room and keep their sanity or happiness after seeing what they see.
When I step into the waiting room, Mason is there, along with my parents, Tate, Lulu, and Oliver.
I run to my dad and collapse in his arms. I mumble out a few words, none of them making sense through the tears, and completely fall apart.