Page 86 of Reluctantly His

“Yeah. Hey, Reid. I haven’t heard from you in a while. Can I call you back after I’m off shift?”

“No, goddamn it! I’m on a yacht called the Fortune.”

“About two miles off of the harbor,” he finished for me. “Right, yeah, I have their manifest. What’s going on?”

“There was a gun attack on the boat. I need medical choppers to me now.”

“I don’t know if I can authorize?—”

“Shut the fuck up and listen. Hunter is down. I have a civilian with two GSWs, one to the chest and one to the gut.”

“I’ll have two choppers en route to you, and I will be there in two minutes. Clear the sun deck. That is where they will have to land one at a time,” he said, and the line immediately dropped.

I looked back down at Charlotte.

Her eyes were closed again, and my heart froze.

Immediately, I reached up and placed my fingers gently on her neck.

Her pulse was faint, and her breath was shallow.

Visions started to flicker before my eyes.

First of the life we could have had.

What it would have been like coming home to her after every mission, making love to her every night, and fucking her hard every time she mouthed off to me.

Watching her play her cello every single chance I got, whether it was for a packed concert hall or she was alone in our home playing just for me.

Then another vision flashed before my eyes that made my heart hurt, and an unfamiliar stinging tickled behind my eyes and on my nose.

Charlotte looked lovely in a white dress and walked down an aisle of rose petals lit only by candlelight as she moved toward me, ready to say the vows that would bind her to me, just me, for the rest of our lives. Her eyes were filled with tears of happiness, and her smile was bright and so full of life.

Then the vision shifted to another future. One where she was still dressed in white, but she wasn’t walking. She was lying completely still, her hands placed on top of a small bouquet of flowers while mourners walked past her one-by-one to pay their respects.

That would not be her future. I forbade it.

It wasn’t long before I heard the familiar sounds of the medical rescue helicopter.

I looked around, ensuring Charlotte and I were far enough on the side to not be in their way, but close enough that I could get her on board with minimal movement.

I picked her up, cradling her delicate body in my arms, holding her to my chest with one hand wrapped around her, still putting pressure on the wound in her stomach while the wound in her chest was pressed against mine as firmly as I could without causing too much pain.

The last thing I wanted to do was hurt her more.

This was all my fault.

She was on the brink, and it was because of me.

The first chopper landed, two EMTs rushed out, and I laid her out on the floor gently, letting them check her out.

“Have you been putting pressure on these wounds the entire time?”

“About two minutes after she was shot. There are no exit wounds, so I was putting pressure on them, trying to slow the bleeding.”

The first EMT nodded and then spoke to the radio on his shoulder. I couldn’t make out what he was saying over the engines and the wind being whipped by the blades.

“Then you probably saved her life,” the second EMT said. “There’s nothing more we can do until we get her to the hospital. We have emergency services waiting on the roof at New York Presbyterian.”

---