Ash turns to me. "You ready?"
I look around the apartment one last time. The blood on the floor. The shattered door frame. The life I thought I was coming back to.
I know what I want.
I think I've known since he woke me up from that nightmare and told me I was safe.
"Yeah. Let's go."
***
The back of Ash's Bronco isn't built for a seven-foot orc.
They maneuver him in, fold down part of the back seat. His head and shoulders end up in my lap, all that muscle and mass slumped against me.
This is the first time I've held him. He's always been the wall between me and everything else. Now he's bleeding in my arms and I'm the one keeping him here.
Maya climbs into the front seat. Ash takes the wheel.
"Keep pressure here." Maya reaches back, guides my hand to the bandage on Diesel's shoulder. "Hard as you can. You're not going to hurt him."
I press down. He flinches. My other arm wraps around his chest.
"Eden." His voice is barely there. "I need to tell you—"
"Shh." I brush my fingers over his forehead. His skin is clammy, cooler than it should be. "Rest."
"But—"
"Rest." I smooth the hair back from his face. "We have time. I'm not going anywhere."
He looks at me. Heavy-lidded, fighting to stay open.
"Holding you to that."
I can't speak for a second. "Do."
He exhales, his whole body going slack, his eyes closing.
I hold him, keeping pressure on his wound, watching his chest rise and fall.
***
Maya's clinic is in the center of town. Vargan and Knox are waiting when we pull in—blood already drawn, bags ready for transfusion.
They carry Diesel inside. I try to follow, but Maya blocks the door.
"Surgery. Could be hours." She points toward the house next door—hers. "Shower. Sleep. I'll come get you when he's out."
"I'm not leaving."
"You're covered in blood and running on fumes." Her voice softens, just barely. "He's going to need you when he wakes up. Take care of yourself so you can take care of him."
Crow walks me next door and finds me clean clothes. I shower. I don't sleep.
I'm back in the clinic before my hair dries, sitting in the chair someone put next to his bed.
Now he's still, his olive skin gone gray at the edges, bandages wrapped tight around his shoulder and side. Machines beep in rhythms I've memorized.
