Page 38 of Alphas Like Us
He’s in critical condition, and he can’t know what I know. I’ve never lied to him, but I can’t tell him this. Right now, I’m the first and last defense againstfatality.
“Oliveira!” I shout, the night sky rumbling as sheets of water pound the pavement andus.
Oscar leaves security’s car and sprints to me. “What do you need?” He crouches so neither of us has toyell.
“The trauma bag.” We keep one in security vehicles in case the concierge doctor needs supplies. “You’ll find a needle decompression kit, and get me an umbrella.” I almost have to shout since he takes off running. Realizing theenormity.
“Farrow…” Maximoff inhales a ragged breath, forearm tucked to his chest. He tries to gesture me closer, but his fingers onlytwitch.
I hover over my boyfriend, my palm on gravel above his head. Rain thumps against my back but helps keep his chest and facedry.
“You’re bleeding…” He tries to reach out again, to helpme.He grimaces, his armimmobile.
“Don’t,” I say. “Just relax, wolfscout.”
His eyes drift to my temple. “You’re bleeding, youknow…”
I touch my temple, the cut small. “It’s nothing. Tell me how youfeel.”
He licks his lips. “I feel…great.” His Adam’s apple bobs. “Like I could fly to the moon, pick us up some lunch, take my Audi out for a spin.” His eyes melt against mine before flooding with pain. His facetwists.
I stroke his dark, wet hair out of his face. “It’s not lunch time and you don’t have alicense.”
He almost grimace-laughs, and then he coughs roughly. Really roughly, and suddenly, Maximoff solidifies to marble. He notices blood splashed onpavement.
He’s coughing upblood.
My head swerves to the car. “Oliveira!” He has to be struggling to find the kit. I check the time on Maximoff’swristwatch.
“Farrow…” Maximoff says, swallowing, his teeth stained with blood as he winces. “Just…tellme.”
He wants to know what’s wrong with him.It’s killing me. It’s killing me.“Maximoff—”
“You’ve never…held anything back before…” He takes a shorterbreath.
My eyes sear and well, but rain washes my agonized face. I’m dying…with him. I take a deep, punctured breath and get my shittogether.
Breathe.Give him what hewants.
Likealways.
Gravel digs in my palm as I shift closer. “You have a flail chest; ribs four through seven are fractured,” I say. “Hemoptysis, coughing up blood, indicates a pulmonary contusion.” Off his confusion, I say, “Your left lung is bruised.” That’s not the serious injury. This is… “You’re in severe respiratory distress on the affected right lung. Neck vein distension, no breath sounds, tracheal deviation. It’s a tension pneumothorax. Your broken rib collapsed your lung, and now air is filling in the pleuralcavity.”
I don’t explain how at this stage the pneumothorax can cause obstructive shock. Lack of blood flow to the heart, and the heart will stop pumping blood to hisbody.
Maximoff nods slowly, listening. Understanding. He’s good at that, and he knows. I know he knows that this could be fatal, so I say, “I’m not going to let you die. You hearme?”
He grimaces, blood still filling his mouth. “You’re…smarter thanme.”
“Stop.” I need him to say how I’m the know-it-all asshole. How he could’ve regurgitated all this shit just as easily as me, even if we both know that’s nottrue.
I help lift his head as hecoughs.
His forest-greens stay on me, screamingloveme.
Loveme.
And he says, “You’ve always been smarter thanme.”
