He could barely keep his eyes open, but they flashed with apology when he recognized me.
“Sorry,” he rasped, lashes fluttering. “I tried.”
“Tried what?” I asked, setting to work pulling away the wet gauze to take a look at his wound. I did my best to maintain a casual tone, not wanting to betray how scattered and terrified I was. Seeing Foster bleeding this much had a much more profound effect on me than when I’d come to his house and seen Sage on the floor. This man was my friend, my confidant. This was too much. This was all too much.
“Kevin.”
“Kevin is fine,” I said automatically, hoping it was true. Kevin was alive. I knew that because I’d seen him with my own two eyes.
“Is he?” Foster reached for me, his fingers slippery with blood.
“He’s standing.”
“Fuck,” Foster exhaled the curse and went limp beneath my hands.
“Alright.” I stepped back and let out a breath that trembled in my ears. Instructing the nurse on what I needed, we worked together in a frantic silence until the bleeding had stopped and Foster’s vitals had leveled out. He was stable and would be fine. As soon as I snapped off my gloves, all thoughts in my head went to Kevin.
I jogged out of the room, making a sharp right and heading toward the waiting room. I expected to find Kevin in one of the chairs, but he was nowhere to be found. I checked outside, thinking he had maybe stepped out for some air, but again came up empty. I called him, his phone went straight to voicemail, so I stopped at the nurses’ station.
“Can you tell me what happened to the man who came in with the gunshot victim in 217?” I asked, glancing up at the shift board to see if there had been any changes.
“He’s in 109,” the nurse offered.
“He’s admitted?”
“Probably not.” She shrugged. “He passed out after he arrived and hit his head. Dr. Meyers is back and is checking on him.”
I ran to room 109, yanking the curtain back and interrupting Meyers mid-sentence.
“Do you mind?” he asked, eyebrows pulled together in a frown.
“It’s fine,” Kevin said quickly, shoulders sagging.
“It’s fine,” I said at the same time, “he’s my fiancé.”
“I’m almost done,” Meyers said.
I bristled, but stepped back while he finished up.
Kevin leaned back in the bed and folded his hands together over his stomach. His knuckles were caked with dried blood and so were his clothes. I slipped out of the exam area, letting the curtain swish closed behind me. I stopped in the doctor’s lounge and grabbed Kevin a pair of clean scrubs and stopped by the nurses’ station to get some supplies. By the time I made it back to 109, Kevin was alone, his eyes closed.
“Are you asleep?” I asked, pulling the curtain closed behind me.
He shook his head, but didn’t open his eyes.
I sat down on the edge of the bed and unfolded his fingers, reaching for the bottom button on his shirt and working my way up toward his throat.
“Are you okay?” I asked, pushing the shirt off his shoulders and crumpling it into a ball. Where his clothes were marked with dirt and blood, his chest and stomach were clean.
“I’m not injured,” he answered, rolling his head to the side and opening his eyes.
I tapped his shoulder and he straightened, helping me get the clean shirt over his head. Then he leaned back against the bed and relaxed as I set to cleaning the dried blood off his fingers and wrists.
“That wasn’t what I asked.”
“I don’t know,” he admitted, going easily when I turned his hand over in mine.
“Can you tell me what happened?” I slid his engagement ring toward his knuckle to wipe away the blood that had caked beneath it.
