Fight to the Finish (First to Fight #3)(79)
Dimly, from somewhere else in his brain, he saw others burst in with the fire extinguisher. Heard the fire alarm sound. People yelling, thundering down the bleachers in an effort to get outside. Heard someone yell his name. Saw someone shoot white foam from an extinguisher at the fire.
And then felt hands drag him from the closet. He squinted as though he’d been living in a cave for a year as Brad and Tressler hooked him under each arm and dragged him back into the gym, then toward the nearest exit. He could walk. He was walking. Wasn’t he? Or was he floating? And why didn’t his left leg want to hold him up?
“Sweeney.” Coach Ace was on them as soon as they left the building. “Look at me, son. Look at me. Let me see your eyes.”
“No, look at me.” Marianne pushed the huge coach aside. For a tiny thing, Graham thought with a loopy smile, she was a bulldog.
Ha. Bulldog. Marine. So fitting.
“Hey. Hey, buddy. Woo hoo.” She snapped and brought his attention back down to her. And he sat with a thud on a curb. “Hey now. There we go. Eyes on me. Follow the finger.”
He did, though it felt like his eyes wanted to cross instead. “Where’s Kara?”
“What’s today’s date?”
“Kara,” he said again, coughing with it.
“She’s with another trainer. Look at me. Focus. Date, please.”
He just looked at her, into those blue eyes, full of concern and near tears. “Kara,” he whispered.
Marianne looked up, then said, “Bring him over to her. If he’s sitting next to her, maybe I’ll actually get something done.”
He felt himself be hefted back up—floating again—and let himself glide to another clump of people. Kara lay in the grass, half-propped in Greg’s arms, being attended to by a man dressed much like Marianne, only wearing black and gold. Army colors. He seemed competent and caring, and Graham could kiss him.
Brad and Tressler settled him down next to her, and he immediately grabbed for her hand. It hurt, thanks to the raw burns from the fire, but he couldn’t have cared less. She squeezed weakly, looking at him with those glassy, unfocused eyes again. The man held an ice pack to her temple, another at her shoulder.
She tried to say something, but he heard nothing. He leaned in, fighting when Tressler tried to keep him upright. “What, baby? What is it?”
She whispered, nearly toneless, “Did you win?”
He blinked, then looked at the trainer attending her. “What?”
Marianne sat beside him, settling an ice pack on his left knee. He hissed in at the cold.
“She’s got a concussion, probably. The ambulance should be . . . there. There we go. I hear them. They’re going to take her to the base hospital. You, too, sweetie.”
He watched her a moment, saw a silent tear track down her cheek. Marianne was normally so strong. So formidable. She had to be, to keep up with a group of hardened Marines. But just now, he saw the soft side. And it worried him that she was struggling to hold on to her professional, tough exterior. It meant there was something to worry about. “I’m going with her.”
Brad started to speak, but Marianne shook her head. “That’s fine. I only see two ambulances anyway, and Levi’s going to need the other. Go with her. Your knee will be fine. Keep this on it, and then twenty off. Ask for another one at the hospital when you get there. And have them wrap your hands with some ointment. Don’t you dare argue.”
Marianne stood as paramedics raced over, one carrying a straight board.
He leaned down, near her ear as Kara watched the proceedings with wide eyes and an uncomprehending look on her face. “It’s going to be fine, sweetheart. I promise. I’m not letting you out of my sight.” He kissed her gently, careful not to move her head at all. “I love you.”
“I love you,” she mouthed back, before he had to scoot away to give the paramedics room to work.
*
KARA awoke, for the nineteenth time it seemed like, to dark. Finally. Too many people poking, prodding, invading her personal space, shining bright lights and not letting her close her eyes had left her angry. And she was hungry. So hungry she’d morphed to “hangry.”
The thought made her smile a little, and miss Zach so much it hurt. She tried to roll to her side, but that hurt, so she turned her head very slowly. She’d made the unfortunate decision when they’d first brought her in to try and sit up too fast. That had resulted in dry heaving and more pain. Lesson learned.
The sounds of life hummed outside the curtain, but at least the lights in her own little cubicle were lowered, and the curtains seemed to help block most of the rest. There was no clock though. It could be four in the afternoon, or three in the morning. They’d removed all her jewelry when she’d come in for the MRI and CAT scans. She’d fallen asleep before they’d given her the results. Given she wasn’t in surgery, or on some special head trauma floor, she could safely assume she was going to make it.
Graham sat beside her, as he had since they’d brought her in. Slumped over in an uncomfortable position for sleep. She’d tried in vain to shoo him out the door to make it to his match, which he’d laughed at. While she’d been getting an MRI, he’d been in the ER himself getting his knee X-rayed and his hands bandaged. He’d fractured his patella, alongside minor burns on his hands. No boxing for him, and likely no exercise for several weeks. The fact that he got hurt assisting her made her stomach cramp. But God . . . thank God he’d been there.