Page 7 of Men Who Yearn
He can’t walk.He’s not a threat.
Without thinking, I crawl to him.
“You’ve been shot,” I say.
“I misjudged his aim.”He groans again as I help him up.“We have to get out of here.Quick.”
I put my arm around his shoulder.“Can you walk?”
He nods.“A little.”
“C’mon.”I pull him with me towards the open road and all the way up the mountain road until we reach the gates where we pause for a moment.“That fucker slipped right past the guards.”
“He was on campus grounds?”I ask, shocked.
“He undercover.The guards didn’t notice the logo on his boots, but I did.I lured him out so he wouldn’t be able to hurt more students,” he answers.“But I didn’t anticipate one of them being outside of campus walls.”
I rub my lips together, knowing full well he’s talking about me.
“Can you take me to my office?I have supplies there.”
“What about the nurse’ office?”I ask as we head inside the building.
“She’s not working tonight, I sent her home to rest after dealing with… a lot, lately.”He peeks to the side of the stairs.“There’s a staff-only elevator in the corner, behind the staircase.”
“Good, because I’m not dragging you up these stairs,” I say, and we head towards it and step inside.
He holds up his keycard and the door closes, leaving only silence.I look down at his pants which are staining crimson red fast.But when I look back up, he’s staring right back at me, and it catches me off-guard.
The doors open and I pull him along with me towards the third door on the third floor, room 333, the dean’s office.
We go inside, and I kick the door closed as he struggles to get to his chair, where he takes a breath, and then places his gun on the desk.I stare at the metal that just ended someone’s life with ease.The man who pulled the trigger is sitting right across from me.
But am I afraid … or intrigued?
He points at his desk.“There’s a first-aid kit in there.Bottom drawer.Can you grab it for me … please?”
The way he sayspleasehas my knees trembling.
I approach the desk and sift through the drawer until I find what he wants and open it.There’s gauze and alcohol pads in there, a few bits and pieces I can use, but not much.
I walk to him and go to my knees in front of him.
“What are you doing?”he mutters.
I look between his legs at the wound protruding through his clothes, but his index finger lifts my chin and forces me to look into his eyes.
God, those eyes.They never manage to break my gaze.They’re so bright and yet … deeply haunting.
“I need to look at the wound,” I say.
“You don’t have to—”
“Let me do this.”
I gently nudge his legs open to take a better look.
“I can’t put on the gauze like this, Mr.Rivera.”
