Page 138 of One Secret

'Darcy!'

Maybe he just wants a reply to his love confession.

I never did answer him did I?

"I love you... There is only one plan now and that's to get you home safe... It's all I can think about. It's all I can do."

The blasting of guns has stopped. I don't know why. Perhaps we've ridden the waves out of range. Perhaps Cyrus has shot the last two men on the boat.

Perhaps the speedboat got a flat tire.

For some reason, I find this uproariously funny. But it hurts to laugh, hurts to smile... hurts to breathe.

'Darcy, baby...'

Hands are on my face, turning me to face the sky. When did I close my eyes? That's silly... I try to open them.

I'm on the deck too, slumped against the main control console, but I don't remember sitting down.

'You're gonna be all right,' Cyrus is saying. Which seems a fairly lofty and bold claim if you ask me. 'Baby, you're gonna be fine.'

I scream as searing pain erupts through the top left of my chest, pounds through my shoulder, and then pours like lava along my arm. Or at least, I think I scream. I do in my head. I don't actually hear much besides an ugly gargle. I taste bloody iron on my tongue.

Ugh.

I blink and a blurry image swims into view:

Cyrus. Knelt before me. Shirtless.

For a second I wonder if I've slipped into full hallucinations until I realize he's pressing his wadded-up shirt to my wound.

His features are so contorted they look misshapen. His eyes so full of pain, it's like he's the one who's shot.

Maybe he is.

I try to ask if he's all right, but Cyrus shushes me.

'No talking,' he tells me. 'No talking but stay awake for me, all right?'

No, I need to talk. I'm certain of it. There's something I need to tell this man. This powerful, deadly, and out-of-his-mind-with-panic man...

I open my mouth but he shushes me again.

'Ssh, baby. It's gonna be alright. Jaime is seven minutes away. Just hold on for me and we'll get you fixed up. Come on...'

Seven minutes. Cyrus and his punctual accuracy...

I try to take a deep breath but it catches in my chest and doesn't want to come out. I try to count out the seconds to keep myself conscious.

I don't doubt Cyrus but it sure feels like a whole lot longer than seven minutes to me.

Long or short though, Cyrus is there. He talks to me. Sitting there, on a boat, in the middle of open water, presumably with a neighboring vessel of corpses just floating nearby... Cyrus talks to me.

He tells me about his place in Rome. Says how he wants to take me there. He talks about getting someplace new. Of buying me a place. He tells me how happy I'm going to be, how I won't have to worry about anything...

By the time I'm drifting in and out, the darkness creeping in on all sides, Cyrus sounds choked up. He talks about our little girl, says how she's going to be a ballerina. Or a soccer player, or an astronaut. He doesn't care which, just so long as she's healthy.

And the entire time he talks, all I can think is...

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