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HALLIE

Song- Hold On, Chord Overstreet.

I fall down onto the ground beside him and pull his head onto my lap, taking over from Finn to put pressure on the wound.

Finn is as cold as ice as he gets off the phone to the emergency services.

“They’ll be a couple of minutes,” he says coolly.

I glance over at the twins, currently dragging the man who shot Conan into the back of Finn’s Range Rover.

Conan coughs and I stroke his stubble.

“We’re getting you help, beastie. Just hang on.”

Fuck. I want to scream. Tell him not to leave me.

He shakes his head, and I rest my forehead against his. I can’t let him see the panic in my eyes. I need him to fight one last time.

“Trouble, if I’m going to die, just please make sure you’re holding my hand when I go. Maybe that way, we’ll get another shot.”

Tears stream down my face. I put more pressure on the wound, his warm blood coating my fingers.

“No. Don’t say that. You’re not going anywhere.” My voice starts to break.

He lifts his hand to my face, his thumb chasing my tears away.

“Can you at least let me say those three words now? I need you to hear me say them, because I mean it. I want you to be the first and only person in my life to hear it. Please.”

A sob catches in my throat, and I press my lips to his.

“Say it,” I whisper.

“I love you, Hallie. I didn’t realize you could feel a love like this before you. I love you. I love you.”

This hurts. The ache in my chest nearly consumes me.

“I love you, Conan. I’ve never stopped—how could I? You’re my soulmate. We will get you through this. And then you can tell me again. Every day.”

He coughs, and my resolve starts to crumble.

“Forever?” He can hardly get the word out.

I pull back to assess him. His eyes are heavy. I discreetly slide my hand to his throat, but his pulse is getting hard to find. When I feel his chest, it’s beating quick, ragged.

No. No. No. No.

“Yes. Forever, beastie.”

A tear slips down his cheek.

“Hallie,” Conan whispers.

I look down just as his eyes flutter closed and his body goes limp.

“No—no, no, no!”

I carefully lay him flat on the pavement, my hands shaking so violently I can barely lace my fingers together. I tilt his head back and start chest compressions.

“Come on, Conan. Breathe—breathe for me!”

My tears drip onto his chest as I count, pressing as hard as I can.

“One, two, three—Conan, please!—four, five?—”

I can’t get enough air into my lungs. I’m sobbing so hard I can’t see straight.

“Finn! He’s not—he’s not—” I scream.

Finn drops to his knees beside me and wraps his hands around my wrists, gently pulling them away.

“Hallie. Let go—I’ve got it.”

“No—”

“Hallie.” His voice is flat but unyielding. “You need to let me do this.”

I choke on a sob as he eases me back. My hands hover over Conan’s face like if I just touch him, he’ll open his eyes again.

“Come on, brother. Fucking fight,” Finn shouts, pressing on Conan’s chest with steady, practiced force.

The paramedics crowd around us, the bright lights blurring with my tears. My hand is ripped from Conan’s, and my heart breaks watching him get lifted onto the stretcher.

“We need to get him into surgery,” the lead paramedic tells us.

“Take him to St. George’s. I’ll have them prep an O.R. I’m Dr. Finn Quinn.”

“Got it.” They nod and slam the door shut.

“Come on. Let’s go.” Finn leads me back to my car. I hand him my keys with trembling hands, and he follows behind the ambulance as closely as he can.