Page 131 of Last Light

I try to speak and can’t. My throat clamps down over nothing.

“He’s not dead,” Mack says hurriedly. “Didn’t mean to scare you. He keeps asking for you.”

“He’s awake?” My knees are wobbly, so I brace myself against the wall.

“Nah. He’s totally out of it. But he keeps calling for you. Won’t stop. We got the bullet out and stitched up the wound. He’s lost a lot of blood, but I think he’ll be all right as long as he doesn’t get a fever or infection. It wasn’t a good shot, and it didn’t go in very far. But he won’t settle down. Figured it might help if you’re with him.”

Travis is pale and sweating when I go into the room. He’s not wearing a shirt and has a large bandage over one shoulder. His eyes are closed, and his hair is plastered to his skin.

A sheet covers his lower body, and as I watch he pushes it down with a groan. His eyes are closed, but when I approach the bed, they open wide and he lifts his head. “Layne!”

He’s staring at nothing. Obviously delirious.

I speed up to a clumsy stumble and lean over the bed, grabbing for his hand closest to me. It’s not the hand of his wounded shoulder, and he’s got it stretched out, groping blindly. I cling to it with both my hands. “Travis. Travis, it’s okay. It’s okay. I’m right here.”

The doctor is a nondescript, middle-aged man wearing beat-up khakis and a dirty golf shirt. He’s standing next to the bed, looking down at Travis. “Be careful. He’s been flailing. We had to hold him down so that I could get the bullet out.”

Travis’s fingers squeeze around mine painfully. He’s still shifting on the bed, but he turns his head in my direction. His eyes are closed again. “Layne,” he murmurs.

“I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

It takes a few minutes, but Travis’s body finally relaxes.

The doctor lets out a long breath. “Thank God. Poor guy had to go through the whole procedure without pain medication. We don’t even have whiskey to settle him. But the bullet didn’t damage anything vital. I really think he’ll be all right if he can rest and not pull out the stitches. Can you stay with him for a while? Seems like you’re the one he wants.”

I’m still clinging to Travis’s hand, and I sit down in the chair that Mack drags over for me. “I’ll stay.”

***

IT’S A FEW HOURS LATERwhen Travis wakes up.

I’m still sitting in the chair. My back is sore, and my hand is killing me because Travis has been holding it in a death grip the whole time. I’m so tired and drained that I’ve leaned my head back and closed my eyes. I’m not asleep though.

I jerk in surprise when I hear Travis’s hoarse voice saying, “I get a bullet in the chest, and she decides to take a li’l nap.”

I straighten up with a gasp. His eyes are open and resting on me. They’re bleary but aware, and the corner of his pale mouth is turned up.

I say the most irrelevant thing. “You took a bullet in the shoulder, not the chest. It didn’t even do much damage.”

“Hurts like the devil.”

“I’m sure it does. But I wasn’t taking a nap.”

“Okay.”

I’m feeling rather weepy, but I try to keep my composure and smile. “I had to rest my eyes because it was taking you forever to wake up.”

“Sorry I was so slow.”

“That’s okay. I forgive you.”

We gaze at each other for a minute. His fingers have finally loosened over mine, but he doesn’t let go of my hand.

Finally he murmurs dryly, “I told you to run.”

“I know what you told me. But you don’t really think I’m going to automatically do everything you tell me, do you?”

He huffs. “You never have before.”

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