“Okay. Slow down. Tell me where you are.”
I do. In the background, I hear him grabbing his keys, slamming the door of his car, and burning rubber down the street.
“I’ll be there in five. Fuck it; I’ll run red lights. Make that three.”
“Okay.” I can’t do anything but stare at Ransom while Ethan drives, so I put him on speaker and set the phone down. “Has this happened before?”
Ethan hesitates. “Yeah. Usually, he calls one of my uncles. But I’ve been with him a few times when shit went down. I know what to do.”
Oh, thank God! “We have to help him.”
I try to remove Ransom’s duster so I can get a look at his injuries, but it’s like a second skin, clinging to his mile-wide shoulders. There’s a hole in the arm of the coat where a bullet ripped in…and blood now seeps back out. I’ll probably have to cut this off.
But there’s even more blood around his neck.
Do something besides stand there. Apply direct pressure, idiot!
I don’t stop to think, just strip off my sunny orange T-shirt and press it directly against the left side of his throat, where blood oozes alarmingly fast. When I wipe it away to look at the wound, I see a chunk gouged out of his flesh that’s not inconsistent with a bullet.
Oh, my god. Oh, my god. Oh, my god.
Trying to keep my head together, I wipe away more blood and look closer. It seems as if the bullet missed his artery…but just barely. And he’s bleeding a lot.
Shit. I settle the T-shirt over the wound again and press my bloody palm down.
“What’s going on?” Ethan asks. “What do you see?”
I fill him in, and he responds with a blue streak.
“I’m applying direct pressure, but he’s lost blood… I think he needs more.”
“Fuck. Dad and I aren’t the same blood type.”
“I’m O-negative.” The universal donor.
“Do you mind giving?”
Tears sting my eyes. “I’ll give him all I have if it will keep him alive.”
“Havana…” He sighs like he wants to ask me about my feelings for his father, but he doesn’t. “You’re at a vet’s office, right? You have medical stuff there? Antibiotics and pain meds?”
“Yeah.”
“Good.”
“Would he really get arrested if we called the police?”
Ethan doesn’t answer right away. “I’ve never asked too many questions. I didn’t want to know. Uncle Rand is a small-town police chief, and Uncle Rush has been a government operative for years. I know they’re on the good guys’ team. Dad and Uncle Ridge seem like they might be playing for the enemy. But he’s my dad.”
“I-I’m not judging. I just want to know.” Who I’ve lost my heart to. And who might own me for the rest of his life if he makes it through the night.
“That’s all I can tell you. I’m pulling up now.”
I hate to leave Ransom, but I have to unlock the front door for Ethan. “I’m going to disconnect. Give me a minute. And be careful out there!”
“Sure.” The line goes dead.
I scramble on my hands and knees until I find some bandages and accompanying tape on the storeroom floor. I tear my shirt from the wound and secure the bandage in its place. It won’t stop his bleeding, but it should slow the flow while I let Ethan inside.
On shaking legs, I stand and peer at Ransom’s too-pale face, trying not to give in to despair. “You can’t hear me but please, please…live.”
More tears fall.
Suddenly, a sharp rap on the door yanks me from my distress. I rinse my hands in the sink in the surgical room, dash to the front of the office, and turn the key to let Ethan in.
He gives me a quick once-over, raises his brow at my bra and jeans, then looks past me. “Where is he?”
I lock the door again. “Follow me. Anyone out there?”
“No one.” Ethan is right behind me as I lead him through the waiting area, into the surgical room, then to the back hallway.
He stops short. “Fuck. Let’s get him on the table and get his shirt off.”
“Yeah. Then I can see the damage. I know how to stitch him up. The doctor has shown me how to do some emergency care since I took over this weekend shift and…” I’m babbling nervously.
Ethan crouches beside his dad and slips his hands under his prone form. “Get on the other side. We’ll have to lift him.”
That makes me nervous. I’m not strong. I’m a couple inches taller than the average girl, but I’ve always been more curves than muscles. “What if I drop him?”
“You won’t. We have to do this now.”
“You’re right.” I need to keep it together.
On Ransom’s other side, I copy Ethan’s pose. Vaguely, I’m aware of my bra gaping, and Ethan is probably getting a great view of my cleavage, but if he cares about my boobs, it doesn’t show.
“Ready?”
As I’m ever going to be. “Yeah.”
“One. Two. Three!”
Together, we lift. My arms strain as I struggle to stand while bearing even a fraction of Ransom’s weight, but Ethan, bless him, plays football and works out. If his bulging arms and the tendons standing out from his neck are anything to go by, he’s supporting more than half the load.
Together, we get Ransom onto the board, then gingerly roll him onto the metal slab of the cart. As soon as he’s clear of Ethan’s arms, I kick the lever locking the wheels up, and we’re off.
In the surgical room, I flip on all the lights.
Ethan frowns at the bins of medical supplies. “I don’t know what half this shit is.”
This is where I can be useful. “I got it. Get his coat and shirt off. Find all his injuries. I didn’t even get a chance to check his legs or anything before I panicked and called you.”
He nods. “Go.”
I turn to the shelves that contain Dr. Robbins’s day-to-day surgical supplies. Syringes and gloves, check. I pull down vials of antibiotics and pain meds, doing the mental calculations she taught me on dosage per weight. Ransom isn’t an animal, per se, and I’ll have to estimate, but I hope this quick-and-dirty assessment will do in a pinch. Then I find some suture thread and a needle, along with some tubing that should work for a homemade transfusion kit.
It’s a blessing that Dr. Robbins takes on the occasional emergency patient. Along the way, I’ve asked questions. She always answers while she works, like talking through the situation helps her validate her care decisions. I’ve paid attention and memorized the important stuff since I want to be a vet someday.
I hate that all of this is probably way beyond my ability, but what choice do I have if Ransom won’t let me call professionals?
“Done,” Ethan says behind me. “Looks like a wound in his left biceps and a fucking bleeder in his neck, both where bullets grazed him. No penetrative wounds, and nothing on the lower half of his body.”
“O-okay.” It’s good information, but I’m so damn nervous. “Let me wash up, and I’ll get started.”
As I head to the sink and douse my hands in soap, Ethan follows. “What did he say to you? How did this happen?”