Page 24 of The General's Captive

He scowled at me but there was no real malice behind it. I could see his lips twitching as he fought off giving me the full force of that devastating grin of his.

“Well, I guess there is only one thing for it then,” I said, after looking toward the parking lot and then back to his broken ankle.

“Yeah, and what’s that, Cute Girl?”

I tried not to blush because, clearly, this was his new nickname for me.

Instead, I did what I always did by masking it with humor, telling him…

“Time to get your ass in a shopping cart.”

How to pack a wound and stop the bleed.

1- Assess the situation:

Ensure your own safety and wear gloves if available. Locate the source of the bleeding.

2- Prepare materials:

If available, use sterile gauze or clean cloth.

3- Pack the wound:

Open the wound and fill the wound cavity completely, making sure to apply pressure.

4- Apply direct pressure:

Place your hand directly over the packed wound and Maintain firm pressure for at least three minutes. If the bleeding doesn't stop, apply more gauze and continue holding pressure.

5- Secure the dressing:

Once the bleeding is controlled, apply a pressure dressing to hold the packing material in place.

6- Immobilize the injury:

Keep the injured area as still as possible to prevent re-bleeding. Unless you have to drag Riley’s ass back in a car.

7- Seek further medical help:

If you need a hospital, you’re fucked.

As soon as I mentioned the cart, his face was a picture and he instantly tried to get up, making me put my hands on his shoulders to hold him back.

“Don’t be an idiot!” I snapped, looking straight to his wound, expecting it to start gushing with blood.

“No fucking way I am getting in a cart. I will fucking hop out of here.”

Wow, someone came back to life.

“Well, that would be stupid, because all that work I just did trying to save your ass from bleeding out is going to mean shit.”

He scowled back at me.

“Yeah, and what do you think it is going to do when you try and hoist my two-hundred-and-forty-pound ass into that cart, huh? Like that shit won’t… ahhh!” This ended in a cry of pain and I was quick to give him an unhelpful, ‘I told you so’ look.

“Well, I can’t exactly go down the disabled aisle and pick you up a wheelchair, this is Costco, not hospital supplies,” I stated lamely.

“Is that even a thing?” he countered, making me roll my eyes.