Chapter 73
Brooke
“Please,” my voice breaks in my throat. “Please, Travis. Don’t do this. You can’t leave me.”
My hands are slick with blood. I press down harder. Naomi is on the ground beside me, shaking, her jacket piled under her palms, already soaked through. She keeps whispering his name, over and over, and she sounds terrified of stopping.
Travis’s face is gray. His lips have a blue tint. His eyes flutter without landing anywhere.
Beau drops into a crouch on Travis’s other side and presses two fingers to his neck. His jaw tightens.
“His pulse is slowing. We’re moving now. My doctor is ten minutes out.”
My breath catches so hard it hurts.
“No.” Panic bleeds into my voice. “No, no, no.”
Beau grips my shoulder, firm. “Brooke. Look at me. You can’t freeze.”
I swallow hard and nod.
Beau turns his head toward the trees. “Elise. Ryan. Move. Now.”
They stare for a beat, shock locking them in place, then Naomi’s voice cuts through it.
“Go! Do exactly what he says.”
They move.
Krueger is barking back near the road, frantic and furious, and the sound slices through my nerves.
Beau and I lift Travis together.
Travis groans. It's barely audible. The sound knocks the air out of me.
“I’ve got you, I’m right here. Please stay with me.”
I think of Mila for half a second, and then I push it away because I can’t handle it. I survived losing her because Travis stayed. Because he kept me going. Because he kept showing up even when I didn’t deserve it.
I can’t do this again.
We move him across leaves and dirt toward the vehicles. Beau moves fast, clearing the way, calling instructions back over his shoulder.
Beau opens the back door of the van. “Careful with his right side.”
We lay Travis across the back seat. I climb in with him. Naomi and the kids climb in beside me, pressed tight because there isn’t room for anything else.
Beau gets in the driver’s seat and starts the engine. Gravel spits under the tires as he turns us around.
Naomi keeps pressure on Travis’s side with her jacket and her forearm. Her face is streaked with tears.
“Travis. Please keep your eyes open, please!”
I lean over Travis and press my forehead against his for a second.
“Please,” I whisper again. “I can’t lose you.”
My phone vibrates in my pocket.
I don’t look. I can’t look. I keep both hands on Travis, one pressing down, the other gripping his wrist even though his pulse feels faint.
Beau drives fast. The road jerks under us. The headlights cut through trees and darkness. Naomi’s breathing turns ragged every time Travis’s body shifts.
We hit another patch of gravel and Beau brakes hard.
Headlights swing across a different clearing. A truck is already there, parked off the road. A man steps into the light wearing gloves and a headlamp. A bag is slung over his shoulder. Another person is behind him with a second bag and a folded stretcher.
Beau is out before the engine fully stops. He yanks the back door open.
“Stab wounds,” Beau says. “Multiple. Blood loss.”
The doctor nods once. “Bring him in.”
They don’t waste time. They pull the stretcher out onto the ground and flip it open. Naomi and I climb out, hands still pressed to Travis, then we help lift him. Beau takes most of the weight. The assistant grabs the other end.
Travis groans again, then goes quiet.
They get him onto the stretcher and drag it onto a tarp spread across the dirt. The doctor kneels and cuts Travis’s shirt down the middle with trauma shears. Fabric falls away. The blood loss looks worse under the headlamps.
“Multiple stab wounds,” the doctor states. “Upper abdomen and flank. Possible liver involvement.”
The assistant moves quickly, connecting the tubing as the machine begins its steady mechanical rhythm, and the blood flows through the line and into the container.
I stand at the edge of the tarp, hands clenched so tight my nails bite into my palms. Naomi is beside me, fingers hooked around my arm.
The doctor presses hard against Travis’s side. Travis twitches.
“Stay with us,” I whisper, stepping closer. “Travis, look at me. Please.”
His eyes flutter. They don’t focus.
The portable monitor beeps.
Then it slows.
Beau stands at the foot of the tarp, watching everything. He looks tense in a way I don’t see often.
“Pressure’s dropping,” the assistant says.
“Fluids,” the doctor orders. “Now. Prep blood.”
A needle goes into Travis’s arm. Another line goes in. The doctor moves fast.
Blood starts welling again from one of the wounds.
“Damn it,” the doctor mutters. “He’s bleeding internally.”
My breath turns into a sob I can’t stop.
“No, no, no!” I cry. “Please!”
“I need room,” the doctor says sharply.
“I’m not leaving!” I snap, tears spilling hard now.
Beau steps in, hands on my shoulders, firm. “Brooke. You breaking down doesn’t help him.”
I don’t fight him when he guides me back a step. I can’t take my eyes off Travis anyway.
The doctor inserts a tube. Travis jerks, then goes still.
The monitor slows again.
The beeps spread farther apart.
“Travis,” I sob, and my voice breaks completely. “Please. Please don’t leave me. Please.”
My knees buckle. Beau catches me, holding me upright while I shake and cry. My whole body feels out of control.
The doctor presses two fingers to Travis’s neck. “Come on,” he murmurs. “Stay with me.”
Seconds drag.
Then the monitor stutters.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
The rhythm comes back, weak but present.
The doctor exhales once. “He’s still here.”
I cry harder, forehead pressed against Beau’s shoulder, shaking so badly I can barely stand.
“I’m not done,” the doctor adds, already moving again. “He’s not stable. He’s alive, but he’s critical.”
Alive.
The word lands and my lungs finally pull in air.
I look at Travis. Pale and unconscious but still breathing.
“Hold on,” I whisper through tears. “Seth is going to finish this. And you’re going to be here when we get you out of this.”
My phone vibrates again.
This time I notice. The screen is smeared with blood where I touched it earlier. My fingers don’t cooperate at first, but I swipe it anyway.
“Seth?”
“I’ve got Grant,” Seth says.
The pressure in my chest eases just enough that I can think again.
I sink onto the ground beside the tarp, close to Travis’s shoulder, eyes locked on the monitor.
“Is he alive?”
There’s a pause on the line.
“Yeah,” Seth replies. “For now.”
My grip tightens around the phone. My jaw clenches so hard it aches.
“Good.” My voice is colder now. The shock hasn’t left me, not really, but something sharper has slid underneath it. Something focused. “Because I’m not done with him.”
The doctor moves past me again, adjusting lines, checking vitals. Travis doesn’t wake. He’s still pale. Still fragile. But he’s here. He’s alive.
“As soon as he’s stable,” I continue, eyes never leaving Travis’s face, “I’m coming back to the house.”
Seth doesn’t interrupt me.
“And when I get there,” I add, “I’m going to make it as painful as possible.”
“I’ll wait.”
The call ends.
I lower the phone slowly and set it on the ground beside me. My hands go back to Travis, one resting over his, the other lightly against his arm like I’m afraid he’ll disappear if I let go.
If Travis dies from this, I don’t know how I will survive what comes after.
But I know exactly what I will do.
I will make Grant suffer until his last breath.