Erik raises the shirt, and blood sprays.
“Yeah, that’s arterial. Lie down, sir. Let’s get some gauze on it and start an IV.”
Without a word, the Viking complies.
When we reach the hospital, he’s not happy that they want to roll him straight back and leave me in the waiting room.
“She stays with me.” Erik hops off the gurney, surprising the paramedics and me. “I can walk.” Taking my arm, he guides me to the nurses’ station.
The triage nurse starts to point to the registration desk until I step forward.
“He suffered penetrating trauma from an explosion. We think the bleeding is arterial.” I keep my tone as polite as possible. Medical people don’t like being told their jobs. It’s always better to express concern and ask for help. I jerk the shirt up to show her the blood-soaked clothes and gauze. “Shouldn’t he go straight back?”
The nurse’s gaze rakes over the blood and then eyes me. “Take him to Trauma 2,” she says to a nearby tech.
I’m flooded with relief that he’s going straight to a room. Once we’re inside, I grab a stack of gauze pads from the counter and press it against the area.
The paramedic in the hall tells someone that the patient is the championship-winning GU football player, Erik Sorensen. He doesn’t mention the bleeding, which causes me to fume. I understand that it’s noteworthy to them that he’s a star athlete, but right now it’s more important to stress that blood is pumping out of him with every heartbeat.
“Sit down, and put pressure right here,” I say, putting his hand over the gauze.
As soon as he sits on the edge of the stretcher, I stalk out of the room to the desk. “Hey, can we get a physician in the trauma room please? He’s bleeding heavily. The gauze is soaked.” My voice is faster and higher than I’d like.
“He’ll be right in,” a nurse promises.
When I return to the bedside, there’s blood pooling on the stretcher and dripping to the floor in cherry red drops. I put my hand against the gauze and press harder. His jaw tightens.
“I’m sorry. I have to stop the bleeding.”
When the physician finally comes in, I’m feeling dizzy myself from standing in one place and seeing so much blood. I step back to give the doctor room. He dons gloves and pulls the gauze away. There’s another spurt of blood from the very deep gash.
“I’ll step out.” I wobble, and the world grows dark around the edges. I start to go down to a knee and drop my head to control my descent, but then hands grab me and I’m lifted.
My head swims, and I go out.
21
ERIK
Arya looks deathly pale. “Check her,” I say, holding her in my arms. “She was in the blast, too. Make sure she’s all right.”
The doctor leans over and checks her vitals. “Just a faint. She’s all right.”
The guy’s wire-rimmed glasses and frizzy curls make him look more like a poet than a doctor. “I need you to lie down, Mr. Sorensen. There’s quite a bit of blood. I need to take care of it right now.”
I glance around. There’s no other stretcher or even a chair.
I set Arya on my stretcher, near the rail. Then I remove my coat and toss it in the corner. It’s ruined anyway.
“Shirt off and in a gown,” a nurse says. “And let’s get her out of here. I’ll—”
"She’s fine right there,” I growl.
Casanova blew up my front entry with a package addressed to her. Arya’s not leaving my sight. I haul off my sweater and shirt and then lie down next to her.
The doctor pours water into the wound. I grind my teeth as I feel the pinch of forceps and a needle going in. A burning heat starts right along the edges of the cut.
Arya stirs. “What happened?”
