Her Destiny (Reverie #2)(50)

“I’m gonna get you free,” he says between gritted teeth. “Just give me…a…moment.”

Frowning, I wait, twisting my wrists this way and that to assist him. Nick doesn’t sound right. His breathing is shallow and his voice raspy. As if he’s in pain. He presses against me as he undoes the last of the knot and his bare skin is cool to the touch.

When the knot is undone and I’m free again, I back away from him, gasping when I see the slow trickle of blood sliding from the bullet hole that mars his left shoulder. “Nick, you’ve been shot.” I rear up on my knees and take the scarf that David used to bind my wrists and wrap it around Nick’s upper arm. He winces and grunts when I touch him, his face going even paler if that’s possible, and I pull him into my arms, hugging him close.

“You’ll be fine,” I whisper against his ear, looking around for Hal. Where is he? “We need to call the police, call an ambulance. We need to get you help.” And David, I add silently. We can’t just let him bleed out on Krista’s bedroom floor. We don’t even know the extent of his injuries.

“Just glad…you…didn’t get…shot,” Nick murmurs against my neck. He’s leaning heavily against me and I’m trying my best to bear his weight but it’s hard. He weighs a ton. “I tried my best…to save you.”

“You did save me,” I murmur, brushing my fingers through his hair, clutching him close. “I’m fine. And you’ll be fine too. I promise.”

“What about…him?” I feel Nick lift up and I know he’s looking at David. “He hasn’t moved, Reverie. Do you think he’s dead?”

“I don’t know. Don’t worry about him. We need to concentrate on you.” In the distance I can hear the faint wail of a siren and relief floods me, making me nearly lose my grip on Nick.

“He was my…best friend. All…three…of us were friends. I didn’t know he felt like…that about…her.”

“Stop talking.” I shush him, murmuring silly words of comfort, yelling “in here!” when I hear the paramedics burst into Hal’s apartment. They rush inside the bedroom, the police following right after them, asking to clear the scene for evidence, and then someone is picking me up by the shoulders, making me stand.

“I don’t want to leave him,” I say as I start to cry, my arms feeling empty, my heart aching. “Please.”

“You can ride in the ambulance with him, honey,” a female paramedic says, her voice full of sympathy as she wraps her arm around my shoulders and leads me away. “Come on, let’s get you checked out before we load you up.”

The paramedic leads me out of Krista’s bedroom and I see the police are talking to Hal in the living room. He looks terrible, his expression full of remorse, his shoulders slumped. I wonder if the police will arrest him.

If David’s dead, would they have to?

“Is the other boy okay?” I ask the paramedic once I’m seated in the back of the ambulance. “Is he going to live?”

The paramedic doesn’t answer me for a while, just goes about her business of checking my vitals, her fingers probing the delicate skin of my wrist where I was bound before she checks the knife wound on my neck. “You’re lucky that blade didn’t penetrate your skin further,” she murmurs as she applies antiseptic to the cut.

I meet her gaze and try to compose myself. “Please,” I whisper. “Tell me what’s going on.”

She sighs and slowly shakes her head. “Your boyfriend is fine. The bullet seemed to go clean through his arm. They’re bringing him into the ambulance right now. The other one…his injuries are more severe but I think he’s going to make it.”

“You do?” The relief that floods me is overwhelming. I know I shouldn’t care if David lives or dies after everything he’s done but I don’t wish death on anyone. Even a boy who holds a knife to my throat and threatens to kill me.

“Yes,” she says with a firm nod. “Now let’s get you situated before they bring your boyfriend in. You can talk to him then, okay?”

“Is he conscious?”

“He’s lucid, yes.”

I wait for the stretcher to come into the ambulance and within minutes it appears, Nick lying on it, his eyes closed, his arm bandaged. I lean over him, pressing a kiss to his forehead, and he smiles.

The sight of that smile sends my heart racing to the sky.

“I look bad, huh?” he asks, his voice faint, that smile still curling his lips.

“You look tough.” He looks beautiful. A little pale but alive, the bandage wrapped tight around his bare arm, his chest and stomach on display, his shoeless feet covered with mud. “I’ve never seen you look better.”

“You’re just saying that because you’re glad I survived.” He cracks open his eyes. “That scared the shit out of me.”

“Me too,” I admit.

“When he had that knife to your throat, I thought…” He shudders and closes his eyes. “I thought I was going to lose you.”

I take the hand of his uninjured arm and lace our fingers together tight. I don’t ever want to let him go. “I’m still here.”

“Yeah.” He swallows and winces. “Me too. My arm hurts like a son of a bitch.”