Page 46 of Broken Warrior
“Fin, baby? Fin?” I hug him tighter to my body, his back against my chest. “Goddamnit, Fin, don’t you die on me! You fucking fight. You hear me? You fight.” He snores again and lets out another raspy breath. “Goddamnit. I love you, you big jerk! You can’t die on me. I need you, Fin. I love you and so does James! We need you, damnit! Please don’t go...”
I start bawling, completely fall apart, but I don’t stop talking to him, yelling at him, begging and pleading with him to stay. I pinch his arms, slap his face, rub my knuckles along his sternum so hard they tear. I do everything I can to get him to give me something, to show some sign of life other than the death rattle I keep hearing.
“Tate?!”
Jackal.
Oh thank god.
“In here!” I shout from the bathroom, my throat raw and sore.
He throws open the door less than a second later, Jackal in nothing but a pair of basketball shorts, his cut and boots, his hair a complete disaster and his face one of total panic.
“Fuck!” he yells. “Fuck me, you son of a bitch.”
Two more bodies darken the doorway, Doc—Sofie’s dad—I know from when he treated James’s burns after we got here, and Pope, I think. I don’t know him as well, maybe met a handful of times, but I know he’s the club’s chaplain, he married Zak and Dori, and if he’s here to read Fin his last rights he can fuck right off.
“He gasped when I got him under the water,” I say, barely able to keep the panic out of my voice. “He gasped really loud but he didn’t wake up. Just the same snores, the rattling... he didn’t wake up.”
“Let’s move him.” Jackal bends and reaches out but Pope grabs his shoulder and steps all the way inside the bathroom.
“Leave him,” he says so low I almost miss it. “His position won’t matter if we’re too late.”
“What?” I screech. “No, I thought you had Narcan? Doesn’t that work better if he’s on his back? I thought—“
“If Spider wants to live, he will.” Pope reaches into the pocket of his sweats and pulls out the pen of Narcan. “Give him a reason to stay, Tate. Hold him tight, lay back as far as you can and give our brother a reason to stay.”
So I do.
I lay back as far as I can, position Fin and I as flat as we can go, hold him hard and continue whispering my words in his ear.
I love you.
Fight.
I need you.
Stay with me.
Please don’t go.
Over and over I whisper those words, pray Fin can hear me and watch as Pope kneels next to the tub, uncaps the pen and starts muttering his own prayers. His gunmetal gray eyes flick to mine and he nods, grabs the small tear in Fin’s jeans with one hand then rips it wide open to expose his thigh. Pope takes a deep breath as I hold mine, and he lifts his hand, aligns it for a straight shot, then jabs it into Fin’s thigh and presses the plunger all the way down.
I start counting as I close my eyes.
If he doesn’t wake up within the next two or three minutes, Pope will have to give him another dose, which he is clearly prepared to do because he pulls out a second pen and gets it ready.
One minute.
“Please, Fin,” I whisper and kiss his temple. “Please wake up, baby.”
Two minutes.
I open my eyes to see if his breathing has changed and when it hasn’t, they snap to Pope then Doc and Jackal, Fin’s cousin openly crying and clearly ready to call 911.
Three minutes.
“Why isn’t it working? Why isn’t he waking up?!” Jackal booms. “Goddamnit. Why isn’t he…”
