Page 31 of Camden

Stephanie

It is Stephanie Monroe. Rylie gave me your number.

I could kiss Rylie. She said she was going to help, but I wasn’t expecting this.

Camden

I’ll have to thank her. Are you still at girls’ night?

Stephanie

They actually just left. Ry said you were at the bar.

Stephanie

I was wondering if you were still there or if you could possibly talk right now?

A smile tugged at my lips, and warmth spread through my chest.

I probably shouldn’t get my hopes up, but this was a step in the right direction.

I moved to reply but froze when a loud crash was followed by a blood-curdling scream on the dance floor. The stumbling girl from earlier laid sprawled out on the floor with a giant piece of glass sticking out of her arm.Shit.Usually, the place was crawling with cops and EMTs because it was owned by a retired police officer, but no one moved toward the bleeding girl. Either no one was here or if they were, they were all too drunk to respond.

Porter probably would’ve responded if he hadn’t taken so many shots and didn’t have his face stuck in the redhead’s cleavage.

Mainly for that reason.

Her drunk date moved toward her, and my stomach dropped. The sight had me yelling across the bar for him to stop, but he didn’t. I watched in slow motion as the dumbass reached over and yanked the glass from her skin. The blood flowed more freely, like a river of red from her arm.

Shit, it must have been deep.

One of the first things you learned about triage is to the foreign object in place until you’ve reached the hospital. You never knew if it nicked an artery and the leaving object in place might keep you from bleeding out.

Obviously, the idiot didn’t know that or was too drunk to realize what he’d done. Sitting my beer on the counter, I shouted over my shoulder for the bartender to call for an ambulance and to bring me the first aid kit I knew the owner kept stashed behind the bar. I ran out onto the floor before waiting for a response. The drunken idiot tried consoling her as she continued to bleed. Kneeling next to her, I stripped off my button-up shirt, leaving me in only a black t-shirt. I ripped off one of the long sleeves and created a makeshift tourniquet right below her elbow to help slow the bleeding, which was difficult because of all the alcohol running through her system.

“Hi. My name’s Camden. What’s yours?” I asked as I examined her arm. A crowd of former dancers stood off to the side, watching.

She winced but took a deep breath. The tears slowed. “Olivia,” she hiccupped. I didn’t know if it was because of the tears or the intoxication. I glanced up at her face, giving her a reassuring smile. Clearly, she had quite a bit to drink. Pupils dilated and flushed skin. Sweat-soaked hair stuck to her forehead.

“Alright Olivia, I’m a police officer. I’m going to see what we have going on.”

She nodded shakily. “O-Okay.”

“This was in her arm,” the guy said from a few feet behind me.

I rolled my eyes, focusing on Olivia, but spoke over my shoulder. “I know. You should’ve left it in.”

“It was a dirty beer bottle,” he slurred. Or at least that’s what I thought he said. “Leaving it in makes no sense.”

“I t-tried to tell him,” Olivia whispered, and I peeked up at her. If not covered in beer, sweat, and dirt from the floor, she might’ve been pretty. Not as pretty as my girl, but pretty nonetheless. She smiled at me, batting her dark, tear-coated lashes like she wasn’t bleeding all over my jeans or here with another man.

I bit my tongue to keep from spouting off something rude at the blatant interest. “Smart.”

“I’m in my first year of med school,” she said, but I didn’t respond. Her arm didn’t look too bad. The wound still oozed, but the flow had slowed down. Grabbing the second half of my ruined shirt, I pressed it against the open wound, tightly. Almost to the point of bruising.

“Here you go, Cam.” The bartender sat the first aid kit down next to me and held a bottle of water in my direction.

“Can you open that for me?”

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