Chapter 52
Hannah
There’s blood on my hands.
Not new.
Not shocking.
Not even unusual.
But this—
This feels different.
“Clamp,” I snap, holding pressure against Clay’s side as another wave of blood seeps through the gauze.
Too much.
Still too much.
Someone presses the instrument into my hand.
Good.
At least they’re keeping up.
“Pressure’s still dropping,” a medic says, voice tight.
“I can see that,” I fire back, not looking up. “Then fix it.”
My hands don’t shake.
They don’t hesitate.
They can’t.
Because if they do—
He dies.
And that’s not happening.
Not after everything.
Not after what he did.
My jaw tightens as I work.
Because I can still see it.
The way he moved through that compound.
The way he took hit after hit and didn’t slow down.
The way he kept putting himself between us and them—
Like it didn’t even matter.
Like his life was expendable.
“Idiot,” I mutter under my breath.
My fingers press harder, adjusting, compensating.
Fighting.
“Doctor?” someone asks, uncertain.
“I’ve got it,” I snap.
Because I do.
I have to.
Clay shifts under my hands—barely conscious, barely holding on.
“Hey,” I say, sharper now. Closer. “Stay with me.”
His breathing stutters.
Unsteady.
Not good.
Not good at all.
My chest tightens—but I shove it down hard.
No room.
Not here.
“You don’t get to do this,” I tell him, low and fierce. “You don’t get to drag us out of there and then check out the second it’s over. That’s not how this works.”
His brow furrows faintly.
Like he hears me.
Good.
“BP—”
“I know!” I snap again. “Push more fluids. Now.”
They scramble.
Faster this time.
Good.
Because if they don’t—
I will run them over myself.
I shift slightly, pain slicing through my side where the bruising is worst.
I ignore it.
It doesn’t matter.
None of it matters.
Not the pain.
Not the exhaustion.
Not the fact that I shouldn’t even be on my feet right now.
All that matters—
Is him.
My gaze flicks over his injuries again.
The bruising is worse than I thought.
Deeper.
Spreading too fast.
Internal bleed, definitely.
“Damn it,” I breathe.
My hand presses more firmly against his ribs.
“Stay with me,” I say again, softer this time.
Because something inside me—
Something I don’t want to look at too closely—
Is starting to crack.
And I can’t let that happen.
Not now.
Not when he needs me steady.
Not when he needs me to fight for him the way he fought for us.
A flicker of memory hits—
Him turning back.
Again.
And again.
Even when he didn’t have to.
Even when he should’ve run.
My throat tightens.
I swallow it down hard.
“Why would you do that?” I whisper, almost to myself.
But I know the answer.
Because that’s who he is.
Because he doesn’t leave people behind.
Because—
“Doctor, we’re losing him—”
“No, we’re not.”
The words come out sharp. Absolute.
I look up then.
At the medic.
At the doubt creeping in.
And I shut it down.
“Not on my table,” I say, deadly calm. “Do you understand me?”
He nods immediately.
Good.
“Then move.”
I look back down at Clay.
At the man who should’ve collapsed long before he did.
At the man who didn’t.
My hand shifts slightly—just enough to brush against his.
Rough.
Calloused.
Still warm.
“Hey,” I say again, quieter now. Just for him.
“You don’t get to leave this earth.”
His fingers twitch.
Just barely.
But I feel it.
My breath catches.
“There you are,” I whisper.
Relief hits—but I don’t let it slow me down.
Not yet.
Not until he’s stable.
Not until I know he’s not slipping away.
“Stay with me,” I repeat, softer now—but no less certain.
Because I’m not losing him.
Not after he saved me.
Not after he—
The thought stops short.
Too much.
Too soon.
Doesn’t matter.
I lean in closer anyway.
Close enough that if he can hear anything—
It’ll be this.
“You’re not done yet,” I murmur.
“And neither am I.”
His breathing steadies—
Just a fraction.
But it’s enough.
For now.
And I hold onto that.
Like it’s everything.
Because right now—
It is.