Page 104 of Double Standards

“Cassie, is he breathing?” Hunter bellows through the phone, his voice sharp and commanding, yanking me out of the haze of panic.

My gaze drops to Axel’s chest. The shallow rise. The trembling fall. “Y… yes,” I stammer, my voice cracking as my lip quivers. Axel squeezes my hand with the last of his strength, and I can’t stop the tears spilling down my cheeks. His dark eyes, usually so unreadable, so resolute, are glassy now, brimming with fear and pain.

“It’s bad, Hunter,” I whisper, barely audible over the rush of my own heartbeat. The words feel like surrender. “There’s so much blood.” My voice breaks again, the horror too big for language.

“I know,” Hunter says firmly. “It’s going to be okay.” His steadiness cuts through the chaos, a fragile lifeline. “I’m on my way. Ryder called the ambulance. They’re close.”

In the background, I hear the guttural roar of an engine, the blare of a horn, tires screeching against pavement. Then the line clicks off, leaving behind a silence that screams louder than any siren.

I clutch Axel’s face with both hands, desperate to anchor him to me, to this moment, this breath, this life. My forehead presses to his as the wind howls around us, slicing through the night like a blade.

“Axel,” I whisper, my voice shaking. “Don’t leave me. Please, don’t go.”

His chest stills.

“No!” I sob, pulling him closer. “Don’t you dare. Don’t you fucking dare.” I’m pleading now, breaking apart in real time, unable to stop the tidal wave of dread closing in around me.

The snow keeps falling. The blood keeps pooling.

And I just hold him. Because it’s all I can do.

Chapter Thirty-Six

They say your life flashes before your eyes, but the truth is—it doesn’t. How could your brain possibly replay every pivotal moment, distilling it down to a single snapshot of each event? It can’t.

My life never flashes.

Instead, the present stretches out, agonizingly slow. Cassie’s face comes into view, creased with worry. Her trembling lips move, but the words are muffled. It feels like my insides have been filleted and set ablaze. The pain is so intense, it dulls itself into numbness.

I daren’t look down. I know the second I do, the agony will triple.

So, I focus on Cassie. She’s gripping my face, pleading with me to stay.

I want to stay.

God, I want to fucking stay.

The heartbreak etched into her tear-stained face crushes me. I don’t want to leave her like this.

My throat tightens. Then she disappears from view.

Panic claws at me. This can’t be how I go. Not like this. Not alone.

But before the despair can take hold, she reappears, phone in hand, crying out for help. I can’t make sense of her words, but I feel the pressure on my abdomen.

I groan, the pain clawing its way up my throat and spilling into the street.

“I’m sorry,” Cassie sobs, guilt cracking her voice as she tries to help.

And just like that, the fear dissolves. Cassie’s presence eases the ache. I’m not alone. I’ve had my share of injuries. It comes with the life I lead. I’m used to bleeding. I’m prepared for pain.

But I’m not prepared for the look in Cassie’s eyes.

There’s no hiding the terror there. And the second she whispers, “It’s bad,” I know. I know I’m not walking away from this.

My heart pounds erratically, like it’s trying to break free from my chest, desperate to keep me tethered to life. Each breath is a battle, ragged and uneven, scraping against the inside of my throat like broken glass. My lungs burn with the effort, hollow and aching, gasping for whatever fragment of oxygen they can steal. It hurts—God, it hurts—but I try anyway. I force the next inhale, then the next, because stopping feels like giving up.

The darkness is patient. It creeps in from the edges, slow and insidious, wrapping around my limbs like a vice, dragging me under inch by inch. It whispers promises of peace, of quiet, of an end to the agony. Part of me is tempted. It would be easier to let go.