Page 75 of Manhattan Tormentor

“Holy shit,” I hear. Bates is beside me. The commotion must have brought people out of the bar because the next thing I hear is the shrillest scream when Raene comes crashing through the gathered crowd as she falls to her knees. “Sage. Oh, my god, Sage. What happened? It’s okay, it’s going to be okay. Don’t move.”

Thatcher is right behind her and it’s him I point at, “get down here and help me.” As shook up as he looks, the tall kid drops immediately. I turn my eyes to the hysterical sister. “Raene, look at me.Fucking look at me, “ I yell to be heard over her crying as Sage tries to reassure her he’s fine. He’s far from fine. “Call an ambulance, you tell them what happened.”

I knee around to Sage’s head, and put my hands under his neck, securing it in place.

When I was twelve, mom made me do a CPR class. She was on a charity board for underprivileged kids or something utterly boring like that. She thought it would look good by having her kid take a safety class. I thought I’d forgotten everything, it rushes back in flashes. “We need to get him in the recovery position,” I tell Thatcher. With precise instructions from me, we have him positioned safely in moments.

He groans from the floor, disorientated from being flung twenty feet and landing like a rock. There’s a nasty road gash on the side of his face, blood oozes from a forehead cut, his t-shirt is torn along the shoulder, and he’s also lost a sneaker somewhere.

“Bates, make sure the blubbering asshole doesn’t leave.” I growl at my buddy. I want the cops to drag the fucker off by his throat.

“On it,” Bates issues.

“Wha-what happened?” Sage groans. I’m upside down to him, holding his neck in place. Thatcher is at his feet and Raene is holding his hand, trying to call her parents. I hear sirens, thank fuck.

“You had a fight with a shitty SUV and the car won.” I watch his eyes flicker open and close. They open again as he groans in pain, and then they stay closed.

Fear pounds my chest. My mind screaming for me to do something, to fix him.

“Hey, Fierro, you need to stay awake, can you do that for me?”

“Yeah,” he intones slowly. “Hurts…all over. Where…you? Can’t see you.”

I move my head over his so he can, “right here, keep those eyes open until the ambulance gets here.”

His sister is crying, and his other friends don’t look any better. “You’re gonna be fine, Sage.”

“Don’t call mom,” he wheezes. “she’ll be upset.”

I tune out their back and forth. Swallowing my fear as I concentrate on the steady thrum of his pulse under my fingers. It’s strong, but he keeps drifting off. Dipping over him so my mouth is at his ear, I say his name a few times.

“Jesus, you’re loud, Maverick. What?” He mutters around a cough.

I need to keep him cognizant, so I pluck at anything to engage him.

“What’s your favorite food?” He doesn’t answer and I press him, “come on, Sage, tell me what you like to eat.”

“Sandwiches.”

“What kind?”

He groans but we lock eyes upside down and unfelt emotion stirs inside me. I feel it pounding through me, clawing its way out to protect him, make him okay.

“I can eat anything in a sandwich.”

“You sound like a glutton.” I rib, and he tries to smile but groans in pain instead.

It’s a blur after that as the ambulance and cops arrive within minutes of each other. The cops sort out the crowd and the two paramedics take over on the floor. The female paramedic smiles at me as she fastens on a neck brace. “You did well securing his neck, it’s probably helped your friend a lot.”

My friend.

He’s not my friend, I want to scream as the rage bubbles inside me. He’s somethingmore. Something bigger. Wordless, I watch them load him onto the rig. Thatcher and Raene climb in with him.

Everything in me roars that I should be the one going with him. I need to be there, but I watch them close the doors and drive off.

Bates stays with me while I talk to the cops, telling them how I saw the moron driving like a NASCAR boy racer. When we break off, I don’t know I’m headed for Bates’ car until I’m almost there. His hand lands on my shoulder.

“What the hell was all that about?” He asks.

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