“Okay,” I declare. “That’s enough.”
I slide out of his arms before he can protest and grab his arm, bracing him.
“I’m fine,” he insists again, though his voice is rougher now.
“You’re bleeding and you’re about to pass out,” I snap as we continue outside.
Outside, an ambulance screeches to a stop at the curb. Paramedics jump out, grabbing equipment and relief floods me so quickly my knees almost give out. The paramedics rush toward us.
“What’ve we got?” one asks quickly.
“Knife wound to the side,” I tell them.
“I don’t need…” Jayce starts.
“You do,” I cut in sharply.
He looks at me, surprised and I shove him gently but firmly toward the ambulance.
“Get in the ambulance, Jayce.”
“Sutton—”
“Now.”
For a second he just stares at me, then his shoulders drop slightly in reluctant surrender.
“Fine,” he mutters.
The paramedics help him climb into the back and I follow right behind him. Inside the ambulance, they sit him down on the bench. One paramedic carefully pulls Jayce’s shirt up and whistles softly.
“That’s a decent slash.”
“It’s not that bad,” Jayce mutters.
The paramedic shoots him a look.
“Sir, you’re pale, sweating, and dizzy. I’m going to go ahead and disagree.”
Jayce exhales slowly and leans back against the wall of the ambulance. They clean the wound quickly, wrapping his middle with gauze to slow the bleeding.
“You’re going to need stitches,” the paramedic explains. “We’ll take you to the hospital.”
Jayce opens his mouth to argue, but I cut him off again.
“We’re going to the hospital.”
He glances at me, then sighs.
“Fine.”
The ambulance doors slam shut, the siren wails, and the city blurs past outside the windows as we race toward the hospital.
Later that evening in the hospital, the chaos of the day has finally faded into a distant hum. Now it’s just the steady beeping of a monitor and the muted sounds of nurses moving through the hallway outside. Jayce lies propped up in the hospital bed, the white sheets rumpled around his waist. He’s shirtless, and the fresh bandage wrapped around his waist stands out starkly against his tanned skin.
The doctor said Aubrey’s knife caught Jayce just below the ribs, missing anything vital by inches. The blade sliced through muscle but didn’t puncture any organs.
Jayce will need a few weeks to recover. The muscle has to heal before he can even think about getting back on the ice, which means at least three weeks before he’s cleared to skate again, but he should be one hundred percent by the Cup if the Night Hawks make it that far.
