Page 78 of She Gives Love a Bad Name

“Grant!” I drop to my knees and gather him in my arms. So much blood. It’s everywhere. I turn to Claude who’s on the phone.

He hangs up and tosses clean towels to me. “Compress the wound. Help is on the way.”

I barely register a scuffle by the door as I press clean rags to the bullet wounds. “Don’t you dare die on me,” I growl, willing him to breathe, to survive.

The bar explodes with chaos when Mickey and the other officers burst through the door. They must have heard the shots. I let them take care of Billy and his men. Eddie meets my gaze and swears before dropping beside Grant to give me a hand.

“Please, don’t die.” Tears blur my vision as I brush his hair away from his face, leaving a streak of blood across his cheek. I want to punch him, to demand he can’t die. “Please. I love you. You can’t leave me.” Sobs choke me, but I can’t give in to the emotion. Not when there’s still a chance. “Live, damn you.”

The cops drag the quarreling mobsters from the building in handcuffs. Billy goes without a fight, catching my eye before disappearing from view. I can’t worry about him. Not right now.

The scream of a siren outside tells me help has arrived. I whisper a prayer, hoping they’re not too late. A team of medics comes in the door and pushes Eddie and me out of the way. Their quick assessment burns in my numb ears. The next thing I know, they have him loaded on a gurney and are rushing back out the door.

“Where are you taking him?” I chase the medics out to the street.

One of the EMTs puts up a hand when I try to climb into the ambulance. “Whoa there.”

I repeat myself. “Where are you taking him?”

“Columbia.”

The last glimpse I have of Grant is his ashen face with an oxygen mask and three medics hovering over him, keeping pressure on the wounds. Keeping him alive. The door slams shut, and the sirens wail, echoing through the streets as the ambulance speeds off.

Claude comes up beside me. “Come on. I’ll take you to the hospital. I’ve already called Rob; he’ll meet us there.”

The adrenaline pumps through my veins. I barely remember making it to the emergency room or Claude’s soft conversation with the nurses. They hand me some towels to clean the blood from my hands. My shirt is ravaged with red. It’s ruined.

I’m ruined.

Without Grant, there’s nothing.

And I didn’t tell him how much I love him.

The tears fall freely, and I’m buried in my own grief.

Claude speaks with the nurses, the doctors, and another man I vaguely recognize from the night I met Grant.

It all feels like a drug-fueled trip. I can’t focus on anything. My heart aches. I just want answers. Certainty.

A coffee cup appears before me, and I take it with numb fingers. “Thanks.”

“Of course.” Claude sits beside me on the waiting room bench.

I sip the coffee, letting the warmth soothe my hoarse throat.

“He’s in surgery.”

“Is he going to make it?” I stare into the Styrofoam cup, unable to meet his gaze.

“They don’t know.” He wraps his arm around my shoulder and pulls me against him. “He’s strong, Quinn. All we can do is pray.”

His words unleash a fresh torrent of tears. “I can’t lose him, Claude. I love him.”

“I know, sweetheart.” He holds me steady, grounds me. “He knows it too.”

Grief settles around us like a storm gathering intensity. The noise and chaos around us fade into the background, and I surrender to the pain. At some point, exhaustion pulls me under, and I fall asleep tucked against Claude.

A gentle nudge wakes me. “Quinn.”

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