His takes me in the shoulder, spinning me around.
Mine takes him between the eyes.
He drops. I drop.
"Boone!" Mara's hands are on my face, my chest, my shoulder. "Oh God, Boone, stay with me."
"I'm okay." But my voice sounds far away. The edges of my vision are going gray. "Did I get him?"
"You got him." She's crying now, tears streaming down her face. "You got him, you idiot. Now stay awake."
"Mara..." I reach for her face, but my hand doesn't quite make it. "I need to tell you..."
"Tell me later." She's pressing something against my shoulder. Her sweater, I think. Trying to stop the bleeding. "Tell me when you're not dying on me."
"I'm not dying." But I'm not sure that's true. "Mara, I love you."
Her hands still. Her breath catches.
"I know it's only been five days. I know it doesn't make sense. But I've planned for every contingency in my life, and I never planned for you." I force my eyes to focus on her face. "You're my chaos. My beautiful, brilliant chaos. And I love you."
"Boone Garrett." Her voice is fierce, even through the tears. "You don't get to tell me you love me while you're bleeding out. That's not fair."
"Life isn't fair."
"Then you better survive this so I can tell you I love you too." She presses harder on my wound. "Because I do, you stubborn, controlling, impossible man. I love you."
Footsteps. Voices. Cade dropping to his knees beside me, medical bag in hand. Deck shouting orders. The distant sound of helicopters.
But all I can focus on is Mara's face above me, her tears falling on my cheek, her voice telling me to stay awake, stay with her, don't leave.
"Not going anywhere," I manage. "I promised."
Then the gray closes in, and I let it take me.
CHAPTER EIGHT
MARA
The waiting room at Whisper Vale Medical Center smells like antiseptic and stale coffee.
I've been sitting in the same plastic chair for four hours, still wearing Boone's blood on my sweater. Vivian tried to get me to change, brought me clean clothes from somewhere, but I couldn't make myself do it. Couldn't make myself wash away the last physical proof that he was alive when they took him from me.
Cade worked on him in the field. Stabilized the bleeding, managed the shock, kept him breathing until the medevac arrived. He'd looked at me with those gentle eyes and said the words "he's strong" and "the wounds are survivable" and "we got to him in time."
I'd nodded and said nothing and felt absolutely nothing.
That was four hours ago.
Now I'm sitting in this plastic chair, surrounded by Guardian Peak team members who've rotated in and out to check on me, and I'm counting the tiles on the ceiling because if I stop counting, I'll start screaming.
Two hundred forty seven tiles. I've counted three times.
"Mara." Vivian lowers herself into the chair beside me, her pregnant belly making the movement awkward. "The surgeon's coming out."
I'm on my feet before she finishes the sentence.
The doctor is a tired looking woman in her fifties, surgical cap still on, mask pulled down around her neck. She looks at the assembled group of massive, armed men filling her waiting room and doesn't even blink. Small town medicine, I guess. You see everything.
