Page 69 of Healing You
“Gatsby.” She squeezed out his name, her throat constricting as she rushed to untie the bandana and give him breathing room. Grabbing her water bottle, she doused his neck and under his arms to cool him down. His eyelid flinched with the wetness, and she pressed her palm to his chest again. She felt a light flutter of a heartbeat. “Oh, God. Oh, Gatsby. Stay with me. Stay with me.”
Moving the water bottle to his mouth, she tilted some of it onto his tongue, but it only dribbled right back out onto the grass below. She looked down, noticing a couple droplets of blood on the blades of grass closest to his face.
The tears were falling in a steady stream, and as she looked closer at his face, a smear of red dripped out of his nose. Fumbling for her phone, it nearly slipped out of her hands as she dialed Steve's number with trembling fingers. “This can't be our goodbye, Gatsby. This isn't how it ends,” she whispered, as the phone rang.
“Eve?”
“Gatsby,” she hiccuped. “He's... something's wrong.” The words came out in sobs.
The phone drifted out of her grasp, and she looked up to find Ronnie standing over her, with her phone to her ear.
“She's at the corner of Market and Willoughby, Steve. Hurry.”
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S teve hadn't driven this fast since he was a teenager. He didn't bother stopping at lights or signs if he could help it. As long as the roads were clear, he paused, then blew right through them. Ronnie was on speaker phone, and he had them keeping a damp, cool cloth on Gatsby until he could get there with a bag of fluids he had grabbed from his clinic.
The cop waved him through, thanks to someone giving the race guides a heads up. He stopped, not bothering to properly park, and jumped out, rushing to where Yvonne, Ronnie, and Gatsby were lying in the grass nearby.
Yvonne was sobbing, hunched over Gatsby, and Ronnie had one hand on the dog and the other around Yvonne's shoulders.
“Shh, he's here. He's here,” Ronnie said.
“Oh, God, Steve. What have I done?” Yvonne cried, bending down and pressing her lips to Gatsby's head.
“You didn't do anything, Eve. Deep breaths for me, baby.” Steve knelt in the grass, handing the fluids to Ronnie. She assisted him without him even needing to ask. “Call Dawn. She's somewhere on the race route. Have her meet me at the clinic as soon as possible. I'm going to need the help.”
Steve slipped on his stethoscope and listened to Gatsby's chest. There was a light thrum of a heartbeat. But far too quiet and infrequent for his liking. He tightened his grip around Gatsby's nearly limp front leg, until one vein protruded, then pushed the needle in, beginning the IV drip while Ronnie held the fluid bag for him.
“Come on, big guy.” He looked around, making eye contact with Jonah thirty feet away. Jonah looked almost as startled as he was, as Steve waved him over. He needed all the muscle he could get to lift Gatsby without disturbing him or the IV.
Jonah came over with hardly any hesitation, the expression on his face horrified. “Is he d—”
Steve cut him off with a shake of his head and a quick side-glance to Yvonne. Ronnie had resumed her position holding her, one hand still grasping the fluid bag. “I need help getting Gatsby into my car where I can blast the AC. His core temperature is too high.”
Jonah nodded, tugging his earphones out and throwing his phone onto the grass. “I'll take his back legs.”
On the count of three, the two men lifted the hundred pound dog as Ronnie opened the back seat of Steve's car, following steps in front of them with the IV bag. Gatsby's eyes fluttered open, his tongue drifting out in a half-hearted kiss of Steve's hand that made his heart ache. A trickle of blood dripped out of the dog’s nostril and down Steve's hand.
They got the dog situated in the backseat before he, Ronnie and Yvonne climbed in the car. “I'll sit in the back with him,” Yvonne said, but Ronnie had already climbed in.
“I've got his IV hook up,” Ronnie answered her gently. “We'll be at the clinic in no time.” Steve turned the AC up high, directing all the vents directly to the back before flooring it back to his clinic.
Then, looking to Steve, she said, “Dawn's already prepping your procedure room.”
“Thanks, Ronnie.”
Beside him in the passenger seat, Yvonne wasn't buckled in. She was on her knees, her hands resting on Gatsby's back legs, which were cradled in Ronnie's lap back there. Tears flowed freely down her face.
Panic seized his body at the sight of her not buckled into her seat. All it would take was one wrong move. One other driver not paying attention and she would be thrown through his windshield again.
“Eve, babe, I really need you to put your seat buckle on,” he said as calmly as he could manage. Sweat poured from his brow and thank God he was stuck at a red light with other traffic. Because he wasn't sure he could hit the gas pedal right then if he tried.
Big hazel eyes stared at him through a pool of tears, but she did what he asked without further arguments. Then, once buckled in, she twisted back to hold Gatsby's paw again.
The light turned green. And still, he couldn't go. His grip on the steering wheel tightened, his teeth digging into his lip so hard he could taste the coppery blood spilling on his tongue. This was what happened when he tried to let his loved ones live their lives. He should have spoken up sooner. Fully informed Eve of the potential problems with Gatsby running in this heat.
“Steve, it's green,” Ronnie said.
