30. Thirty
THIRTY
THEO
T here was so much blood. It seemed like the more I applied pressure, the more it seeped between my fingers, staining the grass dark beside her.
“Hold on, baby,” I whispered, my voice crackling with desperation. “Just hold on. Help is coming.”
I couldn’t lose her. Not like this. Not when there was so much unsaid between us. Regret stabbed through me, sharper than any blade. She was growing paler by the second, her breathing shallow and labored.
“What happened?” Kai asked, concerned as he approached behind me with Haven close to him.
“She was shot,” I choked out. “She pushed me out of the way when the gunman shot at me. She took the bullet meant for me.”
Kai shed his jacket and pressed it against her stomach. “We need to get her inside now. She needs medical attention.”
Gage.
Gage is here.
He can save her.
I scooped her into my arms, prepared to carry her as far as necessary to get her to her brother.
Her eyelids fluttered, and she let out a soft moan as her body went limp in my arms. Panic rose in my throat like bile. Tears mixed with the blood on my hands as I cradled her against my chest, willing her to keep breathing, to stay with me. The metallic scent of blood hung heavily in the air, cloying and thick.
“I’m so sorry,” I choked out between sobs. “This is all my fault. I never should have let that fucker leave that fight alive.”
If only I had listened to my primal instincts, if only I hadn’t stopped beating his face in. Maybe she wouldn’t have been dying in my arms now, her life draining away into the thirsty earth.
My feet pounded against the ground as I sprinted toward the house. Each second stretched endlessly, and I silently pleaded with whatever god might be listening that I wasn’t too late.
Bursting through the door, I weaved through the guests covered in blood and soot and called out for Gage. He turned away from the wounded he was tending to, his eyes widening in shock as he recognized his sister in my arms. He was at my side instantly, his hands already moving to assess her condition.
“Wrenly! Oh god! What happened? What did you do?”
Losing my shit wouldn’t be beneficial right now, so instead, I held my tongue, opting to lay her on the couch beside us so he could examine her more closely. “She was shot . . . in the stomach. She . . . she took a bullet for me.”
“What the fuck? What the fuck did you do, Theo? This is your fault.” Gage started barking orders to staff to bring him supplies. He immediately began examining her wound, his hands moving with practiced precision. Everything seemed to unfold in slow motion as a flurry of activity surrounded us, with Gage trying to extract the bullet with his fingers.
The sounds blurred, like I was underwater. Gage’s accusatory words pierced through the haze, bringing reality crashing back in sharp focus. I clenched my fists, anger and guilt warring inside me. He was right—this was my fault. And the only thing I could do right now was hold her hand. I was fucking helpless, and I didn’t like the way it felt.
I could see the frustration mounting on Gage’s face as he struggled to keep pressure on the wound while also digging around and waiting for supplies. There were too many injured. The staff were too busy tending to others to hear his pleas.
“Where the fuck are my supplies?” He looked around the room before shoving me to get my attention. “Help me get her to my surgery table,” he ordered.
I obeyed, carrying her to his medical suite and gently setting her down on the stainless steel. Her head lolled to the side, her face ashen, her lips tinged blue. Gage tore open her dress, exposing the gaping wound in her abdomen. Blood welled up, spilling over her pale skin.
This wasn’t the first bullet he had fished out, only the first that actually mattered.
“The bullet’s still inside,” he said grimly, his hands already slick with her blood. “We need to get it out before she bleeds to death.”
I hovered nearby, my heart in my throat as I watched him work. He cut away the rest of her blood-soaked dress and tossed it onto the ground. Grabbing gauze, he applied pressure, his jaw clenched in concentration.
“Is she going to be okay?” I asked him.
Gage didn’t look up. His focus was entirely on his sister. “I don’t know,” he said tersely. “The bullet may have hit her liver. She’s losing a lot of blood.
A sob tore from my throat. I held her hand, my fingers intertwined with hers, silently begging her to hold on. Her skin was cold, too cold.
“Let go of her. I need you to keep pressure here,” Gage instructed, guiding my hands to the gauze pressed against her stomach. I pushed down, feeling the warmth of her blood beneath my palms. Gage moved quickly, gathering supplies—scalpels, forceps, sutures.
He injected something into Wrenly’s arm. “A sedative,” he explained. “I can’t risk her waking up during this.” His voice was strained, his eyes haunted. I knew the weight he carried, operating on his sister.
He made a precise incision, his hands steady despite the gravity of the situation. I watched, transfixed and terrified, as he fished around in the wound for the bullet. The seconds stretched into minutes as Gage worked, his hands delving into the ravaged flesh of her abdomen. I kept the pressure steady, my eyes locked on her face .
“Got it,” he breathed, holding up the bullet with the forceps. It glistened crimson under the harsh lights. It clattered into a metal tray, a small, deadly thing that had wreaked so much havoc. “The bullet missed her liver,” he said, relief evident in his voice. “But she’s lost a lot of blood. I need to repair the damage and close the wound.”
But Wrenly’s breathing was growing shallower by the second. Her pulse fluttered weakly beneath my fingertips. “Gage . . .” I choked out, my voice breaking.
“She’s lost too much blood. I need to transfuse her.” He was already setting up the IV. “Her blood type is O negative.” He ran toward the refrigerator, reading each unit of blood. “I don’t have any O negative here. Fuck!” he yelled angrily, slamming his fists against the shelves, grabbing blood bags and sending them flying across the room.
“I’m O negative,” I replied automatically.
His eyes met mine, a silent understanding passing between us. I nodded in response, already rolling up my sleeves. He wasted no time, grabbing a fresh needle and tubing. He worked swiftly, inserting the needle into the crook of my arm and taping it in place. Dark red blood snaked through the clear tubing, flowing from my veins and into hers. I watched, transfixed as my very life force passed into her still form.
With the transfusion underway, Gage returned his attention to her wound. His skilled hands moved deftly, repairing torn tissue and suturing the layers of muscle and skin back together. The minutes ticked by, marked only by the slow beeping of the heart monitor and our tense, shallow breaths. A wave of dizziness washed over me, and I gripped the table’s edge, steadying myself.
Gage glanced up at me, concern etched on his features, but I shook my head.
“Keep going,” I urged. “Take as much as she needs.”
Finally, he stepped back from the table. He stripped off his blood-soaked gloves and ran a shaking hand through his hair. “I’ve done all I can,” he said quietly, his voice heavy with exhaustion and worry. “Now we wait.”
She looked so pale, so fragile, lying there on the blood-stained table. I reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her clammy forehead. “Come on, baby,” I whispered, my voice weak. “You gotta pull through this. I need you.”
The hours crawled by as we kept vigil at her bedside. Gage monitored her vitals and adjusted the IV as needed. Throughout the night, he checked on her frequently, his face etched with worry. The transfusion had helped stabilize her condition, but she still hadn’t regained consciousness.
“Her blood pressure is improving,” he said, a trace of relief in his voice. “That’s a good sign.”
I nodded, too tired to trust my voice. Fatigue weighed heavily on me, but I was determined to be there when she woke.
He rested a hand on my shoulder. “You should get some sleep. I’ll watch over her.”
I shook my head firmly. “I’m staying right here.”
He sighed but nodded as he checked her bandages for fresh signs of bleeding before disappearing to tend to his other patients.
As dawn’s gray light filtered through the window, he returned with tubes to draw her blood.
“I’m running some tests,” he explained, noticing my curious expression. “Checking for infections, organ function, and so on.”
I nodded, feeling numb.
As the hours passed, Gage worked methodically, analyzing samples and taking notes on his clipboard. Finally, he turned to me, his expression unreadable.
“The tests look promising,” he said cautiously. “Her liver function is normal, and there’s no sign of sepsis. But she’s still in critical condition. The next twenty-four hours will be crucial.”
“Thank you,” I managed, my voice hoarse from disuse. “For everything.”
He just nodded, his eyes haunted. I knew he was reliving his own trauma, and now he had the weight of operating on his sister heavy on his shoulders. He came and went, checking her vitals and changing her bandages with practiced efficiency. But beneath his professional demeanor, I could see the cracks forming. His eyes were red-rimmed, and his jaw was clenched tight. He was barely holding it together.
Me too, brother. Me too .
When night fell again, he pulled up a chair beside me. “You should try to sleep,” he said again, his voice heavy with fatigue. “I’ll keep watch.”
I shook my head. “I can’t. Not until she wakes up.”
He sighed, running a hand over his face. “Wrenly is a fighter. She’s pulled through worse than this.”
“I know,” I whispered, my thumb stroking the back of her hand. “But I can’t help feeling like this is my fault. If I had just taken out that bastard when I had the chance . . .”
“Don’t do that to yourself,” he said firmly. “Wrenly made her choice. I’m willing to bet she didn’t think twice about stepping in front of that bullet for you, and when she wakes up, I have no doubt she will tell you that herself.”
I swallowed hard, fresh tears burning my eyes. “I can’t lose her, Gage. I . . . I love her.”
He was quiet for a long moment. When he finally spoke, his voice was thick with emotion. “I know you do. And she loves you too.”
I looked at him, surprised by the certainty in his words.
He met my gaze steadily. “She’s never been afraid to go after what she wants. And she wants you. As much as I hate to admit it, I saw how she looks at you. Like you’re her whole world.”
A sob caught in my throat. I brought her hand to my lips, pressing a fervent kiss to her knuckles. “I should have made sure she knew . . . like really knew . . .”
“I’m certain she’s aware,” Gage reassured me. “If there’s one thing I know about my sister . . . she’s perceptive to things like that. And once she wakes up, you’ll have all the time in the world to remind her.”