“I’d like that.” He sputters on a cough, a sad little smile playing on his lips that tears at my heartstrings.
I peel back the layers of fabric to look at the wound. Kohen prepared me for this exact scenario. He sat me down one night while we were still at school and walked me through everything I needed to do if either of us were ever shot. I refused to listen to it at the time or comprehend why he insisted we carry a first aid kit on us. Now I realize it’s because he was always willing to die for me.
It’s why he made me learn how to fight. How to point a gun, shoot, and throw my fists to cause a knockout blow. After all this time, it’s because he thought he might not be here to see it through. He wanted me to be prepared in case he had to leave.
But he doesn’t get to just die on me. I still need to kick his ass for all the shit he pulled on me when we were kids.
“Yeah?” I say, trying to keep him talking. “Maybe we get those words tattooed too, huh? We don’t have any matching ones.” I yank his top up and gag at the sight of the blood pooling on top of his abdomen.
“You keep copying my style.” The words are barely audible, referencing our outfits from prom.
“I need to seal your wound. Okay?” I say, trying to keep my voice calmer than I feel. I bite down another surge of acid as I squeeze my hand between his back and the floor to feel for a second wound. Unzipping my coat to grab the first aid kit on the inside pocket, I rip straight into the gauze. “I’m so sorry. This is going to hurt.”
Bile lurches up my throat at the sound of his groans, and I narrowly stop myself from retching at the squelching noise his body makes when I push the gauze as deep into the wound as I can without doing more damage and tape more of it over the gunshot.
“You’ve always been the one to save me,” he whispers.
It sounds like the confession of a dying man. I choke as my tears slip past my lips, spreading their salty taste over my tongue. Fuck, I can’t lose him.
“You saved me too, Pyro.” Blood smears over my cheeks as I try to wipe away my blurry vision. I put my gloves and both of our masks on and move into a crouch to grab one of his arms. “I need you to walk for me. Can you do that?”
“Anything for you,” he slurs, then winces as I try to pull him onto his feet.
Kohen stumbles. My body protests but I manage to haul him back upright and tuck his arm securely around my shoulder. He sways like deadweight against me as I try to get us to the stairs and out the door.
My own legs threaten to give out, and it only becomes harder to walk when we step onto the slippery gasoline.
“Just a couple more steps, and you can have a break,” I lie, pausing to lean against the wall to catch our breaths.
I pull him forward again, each step a more monumental struggle than the last. My heart sinks as soon as we reach the top step. Pushing him down seems like a viable option, but something tells me I’d cause more harm than good.
“Baby, I’m going to need you to hold on to the banister while we go down, okay?”
A grunt is his only response.
I manage to catch him before he falls headfirst, but he does exactly as I say, even though I’m sure it only worsens his wound. Nausea rips through me from the exertion of carrying half his weight, and my head swims from inhaling the gasoline.
He crumbles onto the floor at the bottom step and makes noattempt to sit up. I help him lie back and put another fresh layer of gauze over the wound with my shaking hands. “You can hang on for me, right? I’ll be right back.”
He mumbles something that sounds like yes, and I take it as my cue to sprint down the driveway to the front gates, passing piles of duffle bags as I go. The sharp winter air burns my wet cheeks as my boots pound against the concrete. An ache forms in my ankle and doesn’t go away even as I reach the gates.
Nothing matters but getting Kohen to a hospital. I don’t give a shit what happens to me; whether I get sent to prison or killed, Kohen lives. This is all my fault. This was my quest for vengeance, and I dragged him into it. I left the fucking gun on the table, now he’s hurt.
It should be me lying on the bottom step, bleeding out. It should be me making peace with my demons before meeting them all in hell.
“Fuck,” I scream as I slam the Open button on the gate.
I push myself harder as I sprint down the street toward the car. I need to be faster. I need to be at the hospital right fucking now. If he doesn’t see a doctor soon, he’s going to fucking—
No.
He’s going to be fine. He’s a fighter. He’s all fury and fire. This isn’t how he dies. This can’t be how our story ends.
My fingers shake as I grip the key and unlock the car. Every second feels like hours as I rip past the gates and tear down the driveway at breakneck speed. My entire body trembles from the combination of adrenaline and fear. The car screeches to halt as close to the front step as humanly possible.
“I’m here,” I call, opening the back door before I bound up the steps.
Kohen hasn’t moved from his stoop on the stairs, and the battle with sleep is clear in his eyes as they drift open and shut. “I’m bleeding everywhere,” he mutters.
