Page 4 of Every Chance After

“Can’t argue with that,” he chuckles.

Though relieved at her lucidity, I know it won’t last. “Allergies? Medical conditions?”

“Nope. Neither.”

“Good,” I say as her eyelids flutter. “Don’t fall asleep. Keep your eyes on me. Um, I’m Tripp. Grady Tripp.”

“Can’t walk down the street around here without tripping over a Tripp,” she chuckles raggedly.

“My parents were… prolific.”

Uncle Wade groans with irritation as my leather satchel drops beside me, and he unwraps a new roll of paper towels salvaged from my truck.

Her lips edge into a wan smile.How is she smiling?She must be in shock. Time is getting away from me. Blood pools around her. I feel her weakening as if she’s liquifying and sinking into the earth, soon to be lost. A beached jellyfish, evaporating. My mind races. I’ve been in life-or-death situations like this thousands of times with animals, even once with a person. But my confidence puddles on the concrete with her blood. She’d already be sutured and in recovery if she were a dog.

Same rules apply. You’re a doctor. Stabilize the patient.

I apply pressure to the wound with wadded paper towels.I let this happen. Let myself get this tired.

Being the only farm vet for fifty miles in a rural area means I’m always on call. It’s not like I can turn down breech colts to have me-time. Mom’s said it for months.You’re working yourself to death, Grady.

But what else can I do?

“Marina, look at me,” I order. Her eyes peel open wide, and she nods.

“I won’t make it.” A slight divot between her furrowed brows for the first time reveals her distress.

I feel it, too. Fear for this woman, this stranger, multiplies with each passing second that help isn’t here, leaden weights against my chest. “Shut up. You’ll make it.”

“To the wedding,” she mumbles.

“Oh, hell no. You’re not making that. Sorry, darling.”Darling?There’s a word I never say.

“I’ll miss the wedding,” she breathes like she’s reporting the news back to herself.

“Stay with me, Marina. You’re all that matters now... Um, who’s the lucky guy, huh?”

“Ashe.”

“Sullivan?” The first thing that comes to mind ismama’s boy, but it’s unfair. I don’t know Ashe well. We weren’t in school together, but he probably shared a grade with one of my siblings. Even so, everyone knows Sunny’s Beach Market and the close-knit family that owns it, especially his intimidating mother, Cora, who heads the family and the business. “Well, I’d say you dodged a bullet, but it doesn’t exactly fit.”

Pain tarnishes her small laugh. She grimaces before tears slip from her eyes and run into her hair.

Wade extracts gloves from the bag beside me.

“Put these on,” he orders, taking over and applying pressure to the paper towel mound.

I do as he says, first sanitizing my hands and further assessing her.

The bleeding isn’t slowing enough. She goes ghost-pale, her eyelids fluttering. Her pulse grows weaker with each passing second.

I push the towels away and pour water over her wound. Then, taking a breath, I ease my fingers inside as gently as possible. She cries out, writhing but trying to stay still. I feel along her inner cavity, through skin and muscle, pushing through the damage until I source the main bleed. I pinch the wiry artery between my thumb and forefinger.

“Eyes open,” I snap when I see her slipping.

“Sorry,” she startles. “I’m trying.”

“I know. It’ll be okay,” I say, knowing she must be in incredible pain.

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