Page 124 of The Butcher's Wife

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He scrambles back, tripping over his robe to get to his front door.

I spin to Dom and kneel at his side.

And my heart stops in my chest.

He’s dead—no, no,wait, he’s breathing. He’s unconscious.God, please.Blood soaks his shirt. Whose blood?

I can’t—I won’t be able to get him into the car. He’s too heavy, and I’m not strong enough.

I try anyway, tears streaming down my face as I drag him along the ground to the passenger seat as the ambulance circles closer. I might as well be hauling an entire fridge into the air as I shove his upper half against the car body. His blood is hot, sticky, and slippery.

I can’t lift him inside. I can’t lift his whole body into the car.

“Dom,” I cry urgently. “Dom, please. Please wake up.”

He rolls his head. His eyelashes flutter.

“Just stand a little, and I’ll handle the rest. I need you to get inside, please.”

He wheezes. I bite my lip so hard I taste blood. Then I slap him—hard.

“Stand!”

With monumental effort, he brings his legs underneath him and pushes. Together, we heave him into the passenger seat.

“Don’t you dare fucking die on me,” I say as I dive into the driver’s seat.

I’m not sure if I imagine it, but I think I hear him laugh a little.

I break a hundred traffic laws on my way to the nearest hospital.

30

DOM

I’m in heaven.

An angel hovers over me, a thoughtful look etched into her beautiful face.

The first thing I do is laugh.

The angel frowns.

Heaven? Me? Saint Peter must be a shitty sort of clerk to let an undeserving bastard like me in. Good things really do happen to bad people.

With honey blonde hair brushing against her shoulders, the angel floats to my side.

She looks exhausted. A twinge of worry touches me.

Maybe this is hell.

“Dom?” she asks uncertainly.

My memories come crashing into me with the force of a semi-truck.

“You have to get out of here, now,” I croak, sitting up. “The cops, they?—”

“Look who’s awake,” a quiet voice says.

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