Page 88 of Tango
God, please.
“Let’s get him loaded.”
I pull away from Dylan as they raise the gurney and roll Tucker away.
“Go,” Dylan tells me. “Stay with him.”
Nodding, I follow the paramedics. My entire body feels numb as I move down the halls of a place I once knew so well it was practically a second home.
Three bodies have been covered with sheets in the hallway. I keep my gaze straight ahead, trying not to pay too much attention to the war zone as we move through it.
Frank Loyotta is waiting on the lower floor, talking to some police. When he sees me, his gaze darkens. He offers me a single nod then moves away from the officer he’s talking to. I glance behind me as he passes then see that the brothers and Nova have brought Ramiro out. The man I thought was my closest friend wears a furious expression as he glares at me.
Wilbur Huck is kneeling on the pavement, cuffed beside Darren.
Darren looks from the gurney to me then grins. It’s all I can do not to rush over there and ram my boot into his face. But Riley is right—anger will do me no good. I need to be there for Tucker.
He’s all that matters.
“Here.” Dylan holds out a paper cup of coffee to me.
Even though I’m not sure I can stomach anything, I take it from him. Maybe doing something that feels relatively normal will pull me out of this immobile misery where I can’t do anything but wait. It’s the worst.
The doctor hasn’t been out since Tucker was wheeled into surgery, and none of the nurses will tell us anything.
Bradyn and Riley are lingering near the doors while Elliot and Nova are sitting down on my other side. Dylan’s been pacing, though now he takes a seat beside me, his own coffee in hand.
All of their dogs remain at their sides like shadows.
Except Tango.
He’s at my feet, his brown gaze trained on the doors leading to the back as though he knows that’s where Tucker is. Leaning down, I run my hand over the top of his large head. “I’m sorry, boy,” I whisper. He doesn’t even look up at me.
Sitting back in the chair, I close my eyes for a moment as the tears threaten all over again.
Four hours.
It’s been four hours since the ambulance arrived. Tucker crashed twice on the way here, and both times, I prayed harder than I ever have, begging God not to take him.
“Are you okay?” Dylan asks.
I open my eyes and sit forward then take a drink of the coffee. It has no taste as it slips down the back of my throat. “No.”
“He’s going to be okay.”
“How can you be sure?” I ask Dylan. “How can you—” I trail off, my chest aching.
“Tucker is the strongest man I’ve ever known,” Dylan tells me. “If anyone can pull through, it’s him.”
“He lost so much blood.” I stare down at my hands. Blood is still crusted to my upper wrists, but I did what I could to wash some of it off before taking a seat. I start picking at it now, trying to scrape the rest of the blood away.
Maybe then, it won’t feel so real.
Maybe if I’m clean, I can pretend everything is going to be okay.
* * *
“He’ll be okay.” Dylan reaches over and gently covers my hand.
