“What the hell happened to you?” I demand, already grabbing his arm, my eyes scanning the wound. Entry wound in his upper shoulder. Bleeding, but not arterial. No immediate spurting. That’s good. That’s good.
“I got a little distracted,” he claims like it’s that simple.
“A little?” I press harder against the wound without thinking.
He winces. “Liv-”
“You’re shot,” I snap. “That’s not ‘a little distracted,’ that’s- hold still.”
“Iamholding still,” he groans, raising his other hand slightly.
“You’re bleeding through your shirt!”
“I’ve been told that happens when you get shot.”
I glare at him.
He actually has the nerve to look mildly amused.
“Alex.”
“I’m fine.”
“You are not fine.”
“It’s a through-and-through,” he says simply, voice calmer now, more serious. “Missed anything important.”
“You can’t know that just from looking.” I pause. Reassessing the angle, position, and blood loss. Actually, he might be right. Damn it. But that doesn’t stop the adrenaline. Or the fear clawing its way up my chest.
“You need pressure and-”
“I’ve got pressure,” he asserts, nodding toward the officer who’s holding gauze against the backside his shoulder. “See? Professional help.”
I exhale sharply, somewhere between a laugh and a shaky breath.
Behind him, movement catches my eye. Alice and Jett rush past with a gurney and a loaded patient.
Scott.
My heart lurches. What feels like an eternity ago, when all this bullshit had just started, he’d been shot too. Now he looks pale, too pale. But his eyes are open.
“Scott!”
He turns his head slightly, spotting me. Even now,even now, he manages a crooked grin.
“Nah, it’s cool,” he calls out, voice weak but unmistakably sarcastic. “I’ll be fine. Just your partner over here bleeding out. No biggie.”
I stare at him, half horrified and half furious.
Alice rolls her eyes. “You know it’s not that serious, Scott,” she says, adjusting the IV line. “We already got the bleeding under control.”
“Wow,” Scott mutters. “Way to ruin my dramatic moment. Thanks, Alice.”
Despite everything, a short, disbelieving laugh escapes me.
He gives me a thumbs-up, barely, then they’re moving again, loading him into another rig.
Gone.
