“We’re done here. You need more answers, meet us at the hospital.” I abruptly ended the questioning, not caring if they were finished. How much detail was necessary? Psycho’s suicide put a stray bullet in my woman. End of story. “Tack, bud, we have to go.”
Lil managed to do a one eighty, pulling herself together. She stepped right in. “My car’s out front. Tack can drive with me, we’ll follow right behind.” She grabbed his hand and forced his gaze. “Your mom wouldn’t want you to see them working on her in the back of an ambulance. She’s going to be fine, I know it. You don’t need that image burned in your brain.”
Seven minutes. What did you think of? Heaven.
I always did.
The ambulance ride lasted all of seven minutes. Seven minutes of roaring sirens and radio calls relaying vital signs and medical details. Seven minutes of staring at Talia’s closed lids and soft lips. Seven minutes of replaying every song she ever sang, every laugh that stole my breath away. Seven minutes remembering how a few hours earlier I asked her to be my other half, my forever plus one, yet I couldn’t answer a single damn question about her medical history. Because I never bothered to ask. Seven minutes of regret. Seven minutes of holding her IV pierced hand, wondering how the night went from good to great to horrific, all within a blink of an eye. Seven minutes of serious bargaining with the man upstairs.
We needed more time. We planned for a lifetime of more time. And now the clock was ticking. Every minute counted. Hell no, these were not our last seven minutes. She was a fighter. She was strong.
Seven minutes. What did you think of? Hell.
I always would.
It was the longest seven minutes of my life.
Chapter 21 Cast Iron Armor
When the claustrophobic rig pulled into the ambulance bay, I blinked and tried to refocus. I was in the middle of, no, I was living a sick nightmare. Only a twisted mind fuck would explain the army of masked faces standing gloved and crossed-armed with fluorescent yellow gowns layered over their scrubs. For a split second I could have been on my couch watching a shit episode of Grey’s Anatomy, but then the metal double doors swung open and the small battalion engaged in force.
There was a three count and Tal’s stretcher was up and out. Everyone wore clear plastic goggles, warping their faces, but it didn’t matter as soon as I locked eyes with the only person I trusted. More meaning was exchanged with that look than could ever be said with words.
“Go,” Chase barked and the medic holding IV fluid bags above his head instantly started spewing coded information. “Thirty-seven-year-old female GSW to the mid-back, no exit wound, standard nine millimeter per officer on the scene. Bystander reported brief verbal and mobility before LOC, EBL twenty-five hundred, BP sixty over thirty, heart rate fifty and thready, respirations thirteen. Immobilized on the scene, two sixteen gauge ante-cubes placed with two liter bolus’ of LR. Unknown past medical surgical, no known allergies, unknown meds.”
It was the fastest hand off in history, and I prayed whatever he just said meant something to someone, because it meant shit to this bystander.
Two yellows flanked her on both sides; one plugged in equipment and repositioned big red carts around her stretcher. The other went straight for the only piece of fabric still remaining, her underwear. With one last cut she was completely naked and exposed. I hated it. The small EKG leads were affixed to her chest and a mask pumped oxygen into her lungs. She looked even paler against the bright white backdrop. She lay so still as the room swarmed around her, matching the feeling in my gut. My eyes jutted back and forth, watching the monitor, then her chest, then back to the commotion of people constantly touching her. The same medic from the house was holding pressure over her wound. He hadn’t budged. Someone tried to replace him, but he insisted he had ‘good compression.’ He was the only one as still as she was. I watched as the clear liquid that had been pouring into her vein was replaced with a tube filled with a dark red substance. That swarm in my gut began to sting. Blood. She lost too much blood. I nervously clasped my hands behind my head, never feeling more useless.
“You.” Chase pointed at a ponytailed yellow blending into the periphery and hissed, “I want two units O neg, and two more type and crossed as soon as it’s ready.” Before she picked up the wall-mounted phone, Chase’s venomous tone stilled her. “As in, fucking RUN down to the blood bank and get it. NOW.” He turned his focus back on Tal. “Move. I need to see.”
The medic backed off under Chase’s instruction and the two yellows rolled her on her side. Chase tore the heavy bandage from her wound, dropping it to the ground and splattering the white tile with blood. Her blood. My eyes shifted focus and panic punched my gut. I wasn’t prepared for the sight of the round gaping hole torn through her flesh or the violent spurts of fiery blood. I slapped a hand over my mouth, forcing back the flaming sickness rising up. My heart pounded in my throat, threatening to cut off what was left of the air still squeezing through. The surrounding half glass walls started closing in, increasing the temperature to near sweltering. Yet I was frozen in hell. My feet were cemented.
I bent over, fighting for more oxygen, the approaching darkness coming fast. Just breathe, I chanted to the accelerated thud deep in my chest. Come on, Teeps, not like this. Not like this. No way I would ever leave her alone, she needed me. And as long as I was alive, I would fight for her. This was not our story, hell no.
Voices started echoing in every direction.
“Where’s portable X-ray? I need c-spine, chest, and pelvis.”
“A-line’s in.”
“Her hemoglobin’s four, we need that blood.”
“Get me a Foley cath.”
A taller guy grabbed a sealed square kit off the top of the cart and ripped it open. Now on her back, he bent her knees up and spread her legs. The cement beneath my feet cracked and I jolted forward. I was consumed with an irrational anger. My woman was not just another trauma, a ragdoll open for the room to see. Oh hell no. My already flaming insides were now an uncontrolled wildfire. I cursed that Roy Wayne was ever born. The intensity of this terror, the rage brimming to a head was crushing. It was choking me.
“Sir, we’re going to have to ask you to wait outside.” A nurse half my height stepped in front of me thinking she was halting my progression. Good luck with that.
Chase saw I was about to lose my ever loving mind, snagged a gown off the shelf, and loosely covered her. “Go, Ash.” He wasn’t asking, and I wasn’t listening. He pulled down his goggles and ripped off his mask. Then my best friend said, “I’ve got her man, I’ve got her.”
Trust. It was all I had.
I hated hospitals—did I mention that?
“Over here.” I raised my arm so they could see me.
“What did they say? Is she okay, did she wake up, did they call Chase ... I tried to get him on the ride over, he wasn’t answering. He always answers me, always.” Lil was spiraling back into hysterics. I selfishly wanted to tell her to get a grip because my only focus was what was going on in the trauma bay. But then I remembered that she just had a gun pointed at her face and witnessed a psycho with a grudge off himself in the middle of her living room. We all deserved to be hysterical.