Page 91 of Over the Edge

“You’re going to be fine,” I said, the words coming out more like a command than a reassurance. Like I could make it true through sheer willpower.

Flynn’s amber-brown eyes found mine, a hint of that infuriating spark still there despite everything. “Worried… about me… princess?”

Yes, I was. But I rolled my eyes because, even bleeding out on a stretcher, the man couldn’t stop being insufferable.

His gaze softened as he looked at me, something vulnerable breaking through the pain. “Don’t... look so scared. Not... dying on you.”

But the monitors told a different story. The line jumped erratically, each unsteady peak making my heart stutter in response. Alistair’s movements became more urgent, his usual methodical calm giving way to the controlled urgency of a man fighting a losing battle. He reached for another syringe, injecting something into Flynn’s IV line.

“Pressure’s dropping,” he announced, his voice tight. “He’s going into shock.”

“Do something,” I demanded, my voice cracking despite my effort to keep it steady.

“What do you think I’m doing?” Alistair snapped, then immediately softened. “I’m sorry. I’m doing everything I can.”

Flynn’s grip on my hand weakened, his eyes losing focus as they drifted past me to some middle distance. The color had drained from his face completely, leaving his skin with a waxy, translucent quality that terrified me more than the blood.

“Flynn,” I said sharply, squeezing his hand. “Stay with me.”

His lips moved, forming words, but now sound came out. Still, I knew what he was saying.

I love you.

Oh, God. He was saying goodbye.

I tightened my hold, as if I could physically anchor him to consciousness through sheer force of will.

“Stay with me,” I whispered, leaning closer. “You promised, remember? No dying.”

A ghost of a smile touched his lips, but it faded almost immediately as his eyes rolled back. The monitor emitted a high-pitched, continuous beep that I could hear despite my headphones and the roar of the rotor.

“Fuck! He’s crashing!” Alistair shouted, already reaching for the defibrillator. “Nolan, how much longer?”

“Ten minutes!” Nolan called back, the helicopter lurching as he pushed it harder.

“He doesn’t have ten minutes!” Alistair positioned the paddles. “Clear!”

I let go of his limp hand even though it was the last thing I wanted to do.

Flynn’s body arched off the stretcher, then fell back limply. The monitor continued its unbroken wail. Alistair hit him again, and again, each jolt lifting Flynn’s body in a macabre dance that seemed to mock life rather than restore it.

“Come on, you stubborn bastard,” Alistair muttered, his face shining with sweat as he adjusted the settings and positioned the paddles again. “Not like this. Not today.”

I watched, frozen, as Alistair shocked Flynn a third time. The cabin seemed to contract around me, the walls pressing in, the air suddenly too thin to breathe. This couldn’t be happening.

Not to Flynn.

Not after everything we’d survived.

Not when he was the first person I’ve loved since losing my sister.

Ethan moved beside me, his hand gripping my shoulder in silent support. I hadn’t even realized I was shaking until I felt the steadying pressure of his fingers.

“Flynn,” I whispered. “Please, stay. I want you to stay.”

The monitor hiccupped, a single, faint blip interrupting the continuous tone. Then another.

“We’ve got rhythm,” Alistair said on an exhale. “He’s holding, but just barely. The knife nicked an artery. Between that and the neural agent interfering with clotting...” He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to.

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