Page 128 of Wrong Pucking Jersey

Her friend is helping her out of pity.

The more I think about it, the less bad I feel.

In the end, she tried, and people will see that with the videos that will circulate on TikTok in the masses. Just call her a hero for never giving up.

She’s just doing it for looks. This will help her with this internship and secure a job.

She’s not doing this in the goodness of her heart.

No one does anything from the goodness of their heart anymore. Just go viral, get clicks and fame, and watch the opportunities come to you.

The abrupt sound of a gasp, followed by coughs, makes me flinch.

People gasp.

Others sigh in relief.

“Jessica!!” The mother is crying out in screams.

No fucking way.

The little girl is gasping and coughing up blood.

It’s all over my girl, staining her face and the top of her scrubs, but Mikayla is already working on assessing the girl’s body while Dimitri moves the girl’s head to the side, so she won’t choke on her own blood.

“That’s it. Let it out. You’re going to be okay, Jessica. Help is here. We’re going to take you to the hospital, alright?”

“M-M-Mo-Mommy,” the little girl croaks, and the woman in question is pulling out of the men’s hold and next to Mikayla.

“Mommy’s right here, baby girl. My sweet Jessica. Mommy’s here. Right here. You’re going to be okay, alright? Just breathe for me.”

The child is struggling not to cry, but the mother is running her hands through her hair and consulting her while Mikayla manages to scoot back and take the phone to give the operator a full report.

The helicopter is overhead, a wired rope descending with an orange stretcher and two medical professionals in bright neon gear.

Soon, everyone is moving back to make space. Mikayla, Dimitri, and the new paramedics are in full emergency mode, using big-ass words and other vocabulary I’ll never understand.

The sirens are in the distance, the police lights coming from up the hill.

I look back to Mikayla to see her bow her head to the paramedics who look to be applauding her for her work.

Everyone watching is cheering and applauding their persistence.

She takes a few steps back, and I don’t know what possesses me to move, but with a few blinks, I’m behind her—my arm immediately hooking around her waist to catch her from falling completely back.

“Fuck, Mikayla?” My voice is rough. Hard and yet filled with more worry for her than the damn child who’s trying to fuck up my future.

“Shit. Mikayla?” Dimitri is next to her in an instant.

I don’t like that at all.

“I’m fine,” she admits. “I… just get a tad dizzy when I exert myself. No big deal.”

No big deal? She’s literally going to pass out.

Sure. I haven’t seen Mikayla pass out or deal with those obnoxious panic attacks she used to have since she was twelve or whatever, but the woman in my arms is pale as a ghost, dripping in a cold sweat, and can barely keep her eyes open.

Not good.

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