Fighting Fate (Granton University #1)(93)

Blood pooled from the hole, making the stain on his torn shirt grow bigger. She closed her eyes, prayed not to vomit, and slapped her hand over the area, pressing down hard.

Stanch the blood flow.

He gasped, and his muscles seized. Paige opened her eyes to find his own had opened. Gritting his teeth, he wheezed, “What…where…”

Moaning with relief, Paige kissed his hair, his forehead, the side of his face. “Shh. Don’t talk. Don’t talk. You were shot. You’re going be okay. You’ll be fine.”

Except she could feel warm liquid life ooze between her fingers. He wouldn’t stop bleeding. A chest shot couldn’t be good. Couldn’t be—

“Einstein?” he rasped, trying to look around but immediately falling still with an injured grunt.

“He’s…he’s dead.” Still too afraid to glance Einstein’s way to confirm her own words, she kept her gaze on Logan’s as she stroked his face. “It’s okay now. It’s over. We’re gonna get you help, and everything’s going to be fine.”

The only thing on him he could seem to move was his eyes. He kept shifting them around as if he wanted to assess the situation. Then he stopped, his glazed gaze landing on her face. “But blood makes you woozy.”

Of all the things to say. Of all the things to remind her.

Paige swallowed and gave a quiet nod, refusing to look at her hand pressed against his ribcage. Her stomach was already rebelling, and her head felt heavy. He went briefly out of focus in her vision. She concentrated all her attention on his face, making that the center of her universe.

He looked pale. Pasty pale. And he wasn’t breathing so well.

“I won’t leave you,” she promised, thinking how strange she sounded and wondering why she’d said that. People said such odd things in extreme situations. Her thoughts were so weird.

There was so much sweat on Logan’s face.

He covered her hand she was using to bandage his wound as if to comfort her. His fingers felt freezing against her own. “It’s okay,” he slurred. “You can pass out if you need to.”

Paige shook her head, refusing to leave him. Her lashes fluttered as she fought his suggestion.

What sounded like a stampede of clopping boots on concrete invaded her consciousness. She looked up just in time to see half a dozen military-looking men in black combat gear toting long rifles stream into the alley, shouting orders and questions.

“Oh, thank God,” she mumbled dazedly—they were saved—just as the blackness swarmed in and enveloped her.





Chapter Thirty-Five


SHIFTING IN HER SEAT, Paige decided the cushions in a hospital waiting room chair lost all sense of comfort after five hours. She straightened and twisted her spine to work out the kinks while she checked the clock on the wall.

Almost midnight. Thank the Lord. She was ready for this day to be over.

Weary yet wired, she pushed to her feet to pace again. Other worried families of other wounded Granton students had gathered in the same room. But she ignored them.

A cooking show began on the television hanging from the ceiling. Since the thought of food turned her stomach, she climbed onto the chair below the TV and turned the channel…for the tenth time today.

Pushing the next arrow, the next station in line flipped to CNN. Immediately, aerial footage of Granton sprang onto the screen.

“So far, there are six confirmed deaths, including the shooter, and at least two dozen injuries. Lisa, on the scene, has spoken with authorities and—”

Her vision graying at the fringes, Paige stamped the next button again, and no one in the waiting room objected to her hurry. The station landed on a cartoon of a carpenter with talking tools. She left it there.

But six deaths?

She stepped off the chair and stared sightlessly at the sea of worried faces surrounding her. It didn’t seem possible or real. She wanted to pull her hair and scream and make the day—the entire weekend—start over again…well, except maybe for last night, with Logan.

How could Einstein have done what he’d done?

And how could he say he’d done it for her, putting some of the culpability on her shoulders? She didn’t want anything to do with it, didn’t understand any of it, just wanted it gone. But mostly, she wanted to see Logan.

When a doctor appeared in the entrance of the room, looking grave, she held her breath. He called a name familiar to her, the name of someone she was sure she’d shared her chemistry course with last semester. A handful of people rose and followed the doctor into a tiny room to the side. The cries and wails that followed had Paige shaking all over.

One more life gone.

Blinking rapidly, she glanced toward the television as if she could still see the emergency vehicles flooding her beloved campus on the screen. She closed her eyes and tried to settle her erratic breathing.

Seven people. Dead. For no good reason.

Realizing news of the shooting had been broadcasting on CNN, a national network, Paige winced, thinking of Kayla, who had no doubt seen the coverage. She was probably worried sick. Paige strode from the waiting room, glad she had something to do while she waited for word from Logan’s doctor about how his surgery was going.

She approached the nurses’ station. She knew the hospital was busy—Logan certainly wasn’t the only gunshot victim with a critical injury who was being treated. But the nurses had been kind to her so far. They’d given her an extra pair of scrubs to wear so she could change out of her blood-splattered clothes. Then they’d let her use the phone so she could call Logan’s family because she’d left her cell in the dorm room when she’d snuck away from Tess and Bailey. One more request shouldn’t be asking too much.