Page 10 of Brutal Vows

I grab her shoulder and push her down onto her butt so she doesn’t injure herself further.

“You—” I point to the nearest woman, “sit with her. Don’t let her get up. The ambulance will be here soon.”

I rush outside.

A woman in a wedding dress attends to the man with the worst injuries, so I scan the rest of the mayhem and dart toward the man with blood pouring from his thigh. I whip my sweater off over my head and press it to his wound. He screams. I offer him terse assurances.

Despite my focus, the emotional upheaval of those around me sinks under my defenses and merges into the growing black hole in my soul.

While I lean all my weight on the man’s wound, I search for the next victim who needs care.

The woman in her wedding dress tears a strip of fabric off her skirt and uses it to stanch the flow of blood from her patient’s wound.

An older man with a gut rushes forward and drops to his knees beside me.

“I’m an Army vet. I’ll hold pressure until the paramedics get here. The group of ladies over there won’t accept my help, but one—”

Alarm spears through me as I realize a heavily pregnant woman hunches over and clutches her stomach in the middle of the group. I grab his wrist and pass the compression job over to him as I rise.

The woman in her wedding dress calls out commands behind me, so I focus on the gaggle of women despite the man sitting on the curb with a large gash across his back.

I push the concerned women aside and address the mother.

“Where are you hurt?” I ask.

She shakes her head and grimaces before straightening.

“I think I was already in labor. I’m fine. My husband went to get the car,” she says.

When a visual check shows no signs of trauma, I nod and say, “That’s probably for the best, since the first few ambulances will be taken. Does anyone else—”

My words catch in my throat as I turn and meet slate-grey eyes. In a black tuxedo with tattoos peeking out from his collar, the man stalking toward me is the most handsome man I’ve ever laid eyes on, but the lethal prowess in his gait and the fury in his glare send streaks of alarm through my veins.

I’ve never seen him before—no woman with a libido would forget the perfection of his face—but the hatred in his eyes seems to indicate recognition.

Fear curls around my spine, and I consider bolting toward the parking lot, but a woman in her early twenties with a deep laceration on her cheek steps in front of me. I shake my head to clear away my ridiculous musings and snap back into first responder mode.

With a few calm words, I assure the woman she’s fine and press the corner of her jacket to the cut on her cheek.

When the ambulances arrive, I move the gaggle of ladies out of the way and manage the lesser cases as I watch the woman in her wedding dress out of the corner of my eye. Her ability to orchestrate the chaos into a polished symphony fills me with awe, and when the paramedics thank her, my need to show her my appreciation overwhelms me. I rush into the clinic, weaving around the worst of the mess, and grab a packet of wet wipes before darting out onto the sidewalk.

As she ducks under the police tape, the sunlight glints off her white dress, highlighting the crimson stains and torn fabric.

My lungs burn and black dots dance in my vision, but I dart after her and duck under the tape.

“Hey! Excuse me,” I call out.

She stops and turns. Her glassy eyes show her mental fatigue, but she offers me a small smile. I stop a few feet awayfrom her, aware most people need space to recover after a shocking event.

“You can come into the clinic and wash up, if you want,” I offer.

She shakes her head.

“Then take these,” I say as I step forward and place the wet wipes in her hand. Despite the blood caking our digits, relief travels up my arm at the touch. It may be the least intimate touch imaginable, but it’s the most non-trauma-related skin-to-skin contact I’ve had in weeks.

Awkwardness barrels through me as I realize I’ve held her hand for longer than was socially acceptable. I let her go despite wanting to cling to her and force myself to step back.

Worry heightens my senses even as exhaustion adds a hundred pounds to each of my limbs. She looks ready to lie down on the sidewalk and take a nap too, so I search the area for her groom. I fight a wave of disappointment as I realize the man I saw earlier is probably her new husband.

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