The hospital. The team. The Amatos. Ten minutes. Maybe less if I drive like I mean it.
I weave through traffic like death’s riding my bumper and she’s bleeding out beside me. My palm is slick. I can’t think past the smell of iron.
She shifts. Barely.
“Stay awake,” I whisper. “Stay with me.”
I press harder, hand shaking so badly I can barely keep pressure on the wound and the wheel straight at the same time.
“Beda.” My voice breaks around the name. “Beda, we’re almost at the hospital, okay? We’re almost there.”
“No hospital,” she whispers, and a ghost of a smile pulls at her lips. “No hospital.”
It’s our thing.Ourjoke.
It breaks me.
“I know, baby,” I say, rough and shaking. “No hospitals. But not this time. This one—we need this one, okay?”
Her head tilts toward me. Her eyes are barely open.
“I’m tired.”
“No.”
“I just need… sleep.”
My voice cracks. “No. No, no you don’t.”
I press harder on the wound. She gasps, jerks under my hand, and I feel like the fucking devil for it, but her eyes snap open again.
“Stay with me,” I whisper, then louder when her gaze slips. “Stay with me.”
She blinks, slow. Fading.
“You’re the one who said—” My throat closes hard enough to hurt. “You said wherever I go, you go.”
Her lashes flutter again.
“So don’t do this,” I choke out. “Don’t you fucking do this to me.”
Her breathing catches shallow. Wrong. Too light. Too far apart.
“Because if you go now, Ayla…” My voice tears apart on her name. “I can’t follow. I can’t go where you’re going.”
The road blurs in front of me. Red lights. Headlights. Horns. None of it matters.
“And I won’t survive it if you leave me.” My grip slips on the wheel and I nearly lose the turn, wrench it back at the last second. “I won’t.”
She’s closing her eyes.
“Ayla!” I shout. “Don’t you fucking leave me. Don’t you close those eyes. Ayla!”
I’m screaming by the time I tear into the hospital lot. The brakes squeal as I jump the curb, tires jerking hard over concrete. I park. I don’t kill the engine. I’m immediately out of the car.
I yank her door open and haul her into my arms.
She’s limp.
