Page 32 of Hidden But Not Safe

He removed it and tossed it away. His fingers slid around, finding her pulse. It was slow and uneven. As long minutes passed, the thrum of it became stronger.

But her skin remained cold and pale.

Fentanyl-laced drugs didn’t always let the Narcan work on an overdose.

Naz went for another one. He repeated the process in her other nostril.

After another couple of minutes, her eyes lifted, the pupils narrowed pinpoints at first.

They slowly enlarged as she began to sputter and choke. He used his hand on the back of her neck to lift her higher, sliding in behind her to support her shoulders.

The next choked sound was more of a growl, but it was a sound. Meg wasn’t dead.

“Wha—” She coughed, trying to sit up more, and he helped her. Her head flopped back on his chest with a groan. “Wha’d you do?” she slurred.

Naz brushed the hair off her face before using his palm to wipe the dried saliva from the corner of her mouth.

Her hand lifted, hovering over his, then dropped, nudging the second used Narcan he’d let fall to the bed.

She lifted it, struggling to pull away from him as she let it tumble to the floor. “You sprayed me? You piece of shit.” She slapped at his hand, and he let it fall away, pushing her up to sit on her own.

She turned to face him. “You ruined a perfectly good high!” Her hand fisted, and she hit him, but the swing was weak.

He wiped his hand against his jeans. She could be as mad as she wanted. Her face was no longer pale, but warm with color. She was furious, and he’d never seen such a beautiful sight.

She continued to hit him but then slumped into him, her face pressing into his chest and her body beginning to shake. “Why?”

Naz wrapped his arms around her back, pulling her into his lap. It felt like it’d been forever since she’d been there, but it also felt like his last recent memory, the days in between all a blur.

“Why save me?” she asked, a catch in her voice. “Better if I go that way. High and happy.”

He curled his arm under her legs so he could pull her in even closer. She hung limply in his arms, not trying to draw away.

“Meg.” Her name came out on instinct. He hadn’t thought of the word at all before saying it. The second time was deliberate and took longer to drag out. “Meg.”

She started to sob. Her face pressed into his neck, soaking his skin.

“Don’t do this!” she cried. “No one cares if I die. Don’t act like you do.” The words stuttered and stopped as she gasped.

His cheek rubbed against the top of her head as he continued to hold her.

“It’s better. Dying is better than what’s coming.” Fear filled her voice as her body shuddered. “Just let me go next time.”

His concentration narrowed down to the woman in his arms, the pressure in his chest.

“No,” he said.

Meg let out a sound of frustration, but her arms wrapped around him, clinging. Her sobs quieted, and she rubbed her nose on his shirt as she snuggled in tighter.

Naz waited, worry drumming in his head, but when she didn’t slip back into her overdose after a half hour, he lay back on the bed with her, turning on his side so she could curl in against him. At the hour mark, he accepted that she really would be okay.

Whatever ‘okay’ meant. For now, it meant alive.

Her hands shifted over his arms. He wasn’t sure whether she was checking to see if he was there, making sure she was still there, or doing it for no real reason. The brush of fingers was soothing.

“A bed is softer than that damn warehouse,” she mumbled, her hand curling around his neck as she snuggled into him.

His own lack of sleep and drained panic caused him to doze in a bed for the first time in a long time.

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