Page 93 of Worshiping Faith

I give them all the same tender but efficient care, no coddling, no wasted words. I don’t have time to baby them, and they wouldn’t want it anyway.

The steady presence at my side is Trip. Always there. Always watching. Eyes never leaving me.

“You’re going to be fine,” I murmur to the last man, the one who barely even flinched when I dug two bullets out of him.

It’s only when I look up and realize there’s no one left that the real weight of it crashes down on me.

I need to stop.

I need to rest.

I need to eat before I collapse and become another patient on the goddamn table.

But I still have to check on them. Watch for infections. Keep some of them down.

Like Dax, who needs to be down for days if he wants to fully recover, not that he will.

And Jinx.

I exhale, rolling my shoulders. One more thing. Then I’ll stop.

I turn toward the supply cabinet.

Grip steps into my path, arms crossed. “You look ready to drop,” he says. “What do you need?”

“IV lines. Saline. Antibiotics,” I start. “For Jinx.”

“I got her.”

It’s Zachs. His voice cuts through the exhaustion like a goddamn spark to dry grass.

I whirl at the sound of it, and suddenly, I’m moving. I don’t think. I don’t hesitate. I don’t even say hello. I just wrap myself around him, arms locked tight around his neck.

“Zachs.” His name is a breath of pure relief. “I heard gunfire, and I…”

He chuckles, but his voice is warm. Steady. “Easy, Doc. We’ve got an audience.”

I feel his lips press to the top of my head, and my chest tightens. I pull back to look at him, at the blood coating his clothes, his hands. My heart skips, then drops. “You’re hurt?”

“Nah.” He waves me off with a smirk. “Picked up a nick. A graze, really. I’ll handle it myself.”

Like hell he will. “Sit the fuck down, Zachs.”

I shove him back until he hits the edge of the exam table, tearing off the bloodstained paper and yanking down a fresh sheet.

“Bossy,” he teases, even as he lets me push him down.

“I wonder why,” I mutter, already grabbing supplies.

I notice Trip slip away without a word.

Zachs is here. Trip’s babysitting duty is over.

Which means I’ve got one less set of eyes on me.

And one very annoying, very injured sniper to put back together.

“Where am I looking?” I ask, scanning him. There’s blood everywhere, but if it were all his, he wouldn’t still be upright.