Chapter 86
Walker
Alazy pink coats the horizon as I wait in the back of an ambulance, mildly annoyed to see the one carrying Bryce leave with lights flashing. The bastard was on the organ donor list, so they’re rushing him to surgery, hoping that some of his organs are salvageable.
If they are, it’s probably the best that could come from that monster.
The bumper of the old car sliced his femoral artery, but his abdomen was intact, except for the bruises we’d put there.
So far, the police are buying our story though, because really, there isn’t much untrue about it.
Clara, RJ, and Trips all show signs of a fight, the bruising on Clara’s neck nearly as bad as the gash on her leg, also from the bumper.
That old metal beast nearly took both of them out, and I’m so goddamn relieved that it was Jansen driving.
I’m not sure I could have reacted that quickly, swerving toward Bryce and away from Clara.
I didn’t mention that part to the cops. I’m not even sure Jansen knows that’s what he did. But it’s what happened. In that split second, he chose Clara at the expense of Bryce, exactly the way it should be.
They’ve patched her up and cleared her to go home.
In a handful of minutes, though, they’re sending me to the hospital, because it’s pretty obvious my leg needs surgery.
I’m actively not looking at it. Every time I do, I get queasy.
An old oak tree stopped the spin of the car, and, well, my right leg happened to be in the exact wrong position.
Despite being cleared, Clara perches next to me in the ambulance, trying her best to stay out of the way, the drugs they gave me for the pain making her beautiful face fade into a blur of colors the longer we wait.
The rest of the guys crowd around the back of the wagon, having already been in the house to get shoes and coats and shit. Not that we have much in the way of clothes. Damn fire.
“Clara?” I ask, needing her close, a sudden lurch of a hole in my chest only able to be filled by her love.
“I’m right here,” she says, scooting closer, grasping my hand as the EMTs get everything locked down for transport.
I cling to her, then wave my hand around, some part of me recognizing that the drugs are hitting me hard. “Guys?”
The back end dips, and then Trips of all people holds my other hand, his grim face coming into focus. “You’re okay, Walker. You’re going to be fine.”
“I’ve never had surgery before.”
“Do you want us to call your parents?” Jansen asks, the weight of his hand on my good ankle telling me where he is, even if I can’t see that far right now.
“Yeah,” I say, my head too heavy to move anymore.
“I’ve got it,” RJ says.
Walkies click and mumble as the EMTs try to get the guys out of the ambulance. I don’t want them to go. If they could come into surgery with me, I’d be giddy. I might be giddy. It’s probably a bad idea to ask if Emma could do my surgery, since she did such a good job on Jansen.
I’m glad the cops aren’t around right now.
At least, I don’t think they are.
“Shit, Mattie, calm down,” Trips’ voice says, his anger soothing in a way his sincerity wasn’t. “I’m on my way.”
Clara’s voice is close, and I wish I could open my eyes to see her. “I’m going with Walker.”
“I don’t want you alone in the waiting room, beautiful,” Jansen says.
“Then I’m coming with you, Trips,” RJ says.
My tongue feels like Jello. “Bryce is dead. Do we still need buddies?”
There are lips on my cheek, and I smile, enjoying the feeling. “Nobody should be alone. Even with Bryce gone. Not after everything that’s happened.”
The doors to the ambulance close in a clatter, and then we’re slipping our way to the hospital, the sensation of the wheels spinning on the ice before they catch with a jolt making the horrible pain that lives in a pillow outside of my mind tunnel through to my brain, and I groan.
But Clara’s with me the whole way. And that’s all I need to know.
My girl’s holding my hand, her stalker is dead, and maybe, just maybe, we’ll finally get to start her happily ever after.