Page 148 of Beyond Protection
I climbed up. The doors slammed. The ambulance lurched forward.
Eamon reached for my hand.
"I came back."
"Yeah. You did."
Through the rear window, Ma's house receded.
Eamon squeezed my fingers. "Love you so much."
The city blurred past. Snow on the windows. Sirens cutting through the night.
He'd come back, and we'd survived.
The ambulance interior smelled like disinfectant and blood. The EMT—HARRIS on his name tag—worked with detached efficiency. IV line in. Pressure bandage secured. Vital signs were called out in numbers that showed his blood pressure was dropping, and that wasn't good.
"How far to the hospital?"
"Six minutes."
Eamon held tight to my hand. His eyes were open but unfocused, pupils dilated.
"Stay with me," I said. "Eamon. Look at me."
He turned to match my gaze.
"Not going anywhere," he managed.
"Good. Because I have questions."
"Questions." Almost a laugh. "Now?"
"Yeah. What's your coffee order?"
"Black. Two sugars."
"Favorite jazz album?"
"Kind of Blue. Miles Davis."
"First thing you're going to do when you get out of the hospital?"
"Kiss you." No hesitation. "Then sleep for a week."
"In that order?"
"Definitely that order."
The ambulance swayed through a turn. Harris braced, one hand on Eamon's shoulder to keep him stable.
"Three minutes," Harris announced.
Eamon's hand in mine was too cold. I rubbed my thumb across his knuckles, trying to warm him.
"Tell me about Portland," I said. Desperate to keep him present. "Your apartment."
"Small. Top floor. Good light."
