Keeping my eyes down, I grab a pair of gloves, ignoring Killian’s concerned gaze before he leaves and I move to Hayes’ side.
The bullet went straight through, but it needs to be stitched close and his arms are bleeding from pavement rash. Readying the needles, equipment and disinfectants, I try like Hell to keep my eyes on my patient—my fiancé—more so than the horrible memories looking to take me under again.
If I give in, I’ll vomit everywhere.
“Collins,” he says, licking his lips. His eyes are barely open. He probably has a concussion.
“I’m here.” I say, threading my needle. Cutting away his jeans, I strip him of his boots and remove the fabric from his wound. I can’t help but be relieved—the bullet hit his thigh but missed his femoral artery. A few centimeters lower, and he’d be dead.
Those blue eyes catch me, needle high. “It’s alright.” He gestures to his body. “Look, I’m alive.”
“Alive, sure,” I snap. “But you could’vedied.”
“Were you worried about me?” He smirks, eyes closing. “I never thought I’d see the day.”
“Of course I was worried.” I pierce his skin and he winces. Gently, I pinch the skin, keeping the needle underneath. Picking up another needle, I administer a nerve blocker. “Going into his territory? That’s suicidal, Hayes.”
He licks his lips, smiling slightly. “Is that the only reason you care? You were worried about setting off a war between your sister and my brother?”
Clearing my throat, I make a stitch with a flick of my wrist. This is easy. Bickering with him, using my skill, this soothes my mind. “Why else would I be worried?”
“Because you’d miss my tongue game?”
“Fuck off, Hayes.” I keep sewing.
“You know,” he begins. “You were the last person I thought about.”
My hands freeze, my heart stalling in my chest. “What?”
He nods, face uncharacteristically serious. “Right before I passed out. I was looking at the stars—the North Star specifically. And it was this bright ball of white—welcoming, warm. It made me feel, I don’t know. Safe. At peace.”
He rolls his head, tiredness creeping into his vision. “It reminded me of you.”
“Me?” I’m far from peaceful. I’m dirty, tainted?—
“You care,” he continues, oblivious to my internal struggle. “I’m the hitter for a clan, with issues galore, and you care about me.” His thumb traces my lips. “At least I think you do.”
My heart seizes and I pause, unsure what to say.
“You show me the darkest bits of your soul and trust me with it—and I feel more at home in the dark with you, than I ever did alone in the light.”
His eyes flutter close, and I finish the wound. “I love you, Collins,” he slurs and I gasp, breath stuck.
“Hayes, I—” he passes out. Between the blood loss and the concussion, his brain shut off and forced him to rest.
Thank God for me. Everything he said was what I wanted to hear and yet… It was the result of a concussion. Of a stressed mind and delusional thoughts.
Packing up my things, I bandage his body and pull a sheet to cover him. He didn’t mean it—he couldn’t. There is no way Hayes would love someone like me.
Shutting the lights off in the med lab, I make a note to tell Killian he’s here. He’ll be sore, but it’s better for him to rest. And for me to erase everything he said, so it doesn’t break my heart when it is the morning, he doesn’t remember.
31
COLLINS
It’s Saturday. Show day. The crowd outside is a distant buzz that used to fill me with anticipation—now it’s dread.
Bruno is here. He’ll be watching.
