Page 44

CHAPTER 43

Noah

H is knees buckle, a crushing sound as his body falls to the ground.

“Reed!” I yell, rushing over to him. Gripping his shirt, I try to hold him up, but it’s useless. Reed is much bigger than me, and my noodle arms can barely open a jar of peanut butter.

“I—fuck,” Reed grits out.

“What’s wrong? What happened?” I rushed out. My hands run over him, confused about what's wrong with him. This can’t be exhaustion; it couldn’t be. I know we’re both tired, but Reed is strong.

“Help m—get me to the couch.” Reed pushes himself off the ground, hissing as he climbs to his feet. It’s not until I wrap my arm around his waist that I feel something warm and wet.

“Reed, wh—what is this?” I pull my hand back, oxygen leaving my lungs as I look down at his blood coating my skin.

“Just get me to the couch.”

Each step we take feels like an eternity before we make it to the couch. I try to ease him down, but Reed basically throws himself down. A sharp groan escapes from his mouth, only adding to my worry.

“Reed, I–I, what do I do? You’re bleeding. Why are you bleeding?” It’s like my brain can’t comprehend what’s happening.

“Just, shit, help me lift my shirt up.”

“Shouldn’t you—we should take your shirt off?—”

“No,” Reed snaps.

Tears burn in my eyes as I kneel to the floor, my brow furrowed in confusion.

“Wouldn’t it be easier if—you should take your shirt off.”

Reed's gaze meets mine; his eyes darken in annoyance. He’s clearly set on not taking his shirt off, and while I want to question him, I don’t. Taking a deep breath, I blow it out before leaning forward and pinching the bottom of his dark gray shirt.

He leans back, allowing me access to pull his shirt up to his chest. My eyes focus on the wound on his side.

“Uh…”

“Just tell me; I’m barely hanging on here, love.”

“It—it looks like a divot.” I nearly gag at the sight. A chunk of him is missing, and it’s bleeding profusely. I’m not even sure how he made it this far.

“Alright, go to the bathroom, find any medical supplies you can. Towels, gauze, anything.” He orders. Nodding my head, I climb to my feet. “Kitchen, grab any alcohol, liquor.”

I turn around, tripping over my feet as I rush from the living room into the hallway. Opening doors, I find the bathroom and tear open the cabinets. Luck must be on my side when I find a medical kit.

“Oh, thank you, Jesus,” I mutter under my breath. Grabbing the kit, I run to the kitchen, opening nearly every cabinet. Who doesn’t have liquor in their house?

Panic claws at my throat as I tear apart the kitchen trying to find anything that would clean his wound. Tears slip down my face, causing my vision to blur.

I’m so stupid. It’s all my fault. If I hadn't left Reed in the first place, none of this would be happening. Jake and Molly, their family wouldn’t have been killed. Reed wouldn’t be bleeding out on the couch. It’s me. I’m the problem.

“Where is the fucking alcohol?” I mumble out loud. My voice breaks, emotions getting the better part of me. I hate it. I hate that I’m weak. Leaning back against the counter, my gaze scans over the cabinets as if I would have missed something.

Freezer.

Of course!

I rip the freezer open; the stench of moldy food hits me, but a bottle of whiskey is sitting there on the shelf. I gag, bile rising in my throat as I grab the bottle and race back to the living room.

I stop in my tracks; Reed sits there with his head leaning back against the couch. My heart drops to my stomach.

“Reed?” I whisper. The world blurs; everything around me muffles as if I had been plunged underwater. I drop to my knees beside him, my hands hovering over his still body, afraid to touch him. My eyes scan his chest, waiting for it to rise. His lips are too pale, blood spreading over his side onto the couch.

“No, no, no,” I whisper, shaking my head, denying reality itself. This can’t be happening. Terror clamps around my throat, tightening until I can’t breathe. He can’t be gone. He can’t be. Not him, not Reed. I didn’t get the chance to get to know the real him. I didn’t get the chance to tell him I love him. Because I do. I love Reed, and now I’m never going to get the chance.

Tears fall, vision blurring as I shake my head. My mind claws for the memories of us—the sound of him laughing when I said something stupid. The way he rolled his eyes when I would spit random facts out. I didn’t have enough time.

We didn’t have enough time.

He takes in a ragged breath, “Took you long enough.”

I choke on a sob, breaking out in a smile.

“You scared me! I thought you were dead!” My mind barely processes that he’s actually alive before I smack my hand down on his leg.

“OW, fuck!” Reed slams his eyes shut.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, so, so, sorry.”

Reed slowly opens his eyes, a small tug of his lips. He’s smirking at me. Of course he’s smirking at me.

“Okay, now, you need to stop the bleeding.” I nod along, reaching inside the medical kit. I pull out a bunch of gauze, ripping them open. Pressing the once-white material against his side. Reed grits his teeth, a hiss escaping from his mouth.

“I know, I’m sorry.”

I keep a firm grip on the gauze, pressing tightly. Reed takes a frayed breath, shaky and pained. After what feels like forever, the blood slows; only a small patch on the gauze sits behind.

“Use the alcohol and pour some over it; quickly press more gauze to the wound and put tape on the edges.”

With shaky hands I grab the bottle and hold it over his side. It feels wrong to be pouring alcohol out like this. Back in my day it would be called alcohol abuse, and Mallory would kick my ass for this.

“No worries, take your time,” Reed mumbles.

“I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic, but that’s fine,” I start rambling, slowly pouring the liquid over his side. “You know I’m still mad at you. You let me leave, and I-I just don’t understand. Don’t get me wrong; I shouldn't have left. But I–I—you, don’t keep secrets from me. I don’t like it. My parents, you see, my parents were always keeping secrets from me. Always hiding something, and I hate it. Honesty is the best policy, and I live by that now. So maybe moving forward we—we should be honest with each other.” I stop pouring the liquid, quickly placing more gauze against the wound. Reed hisses, his muscles tensing.

“I know, I’m sorry,” I mumble, tapping the gauze to his side. Sitting back, I sigh in relief that it’s over.

“Help me up; we need to get some rest.” Reed doesn't have to tell me twice. Climbing to my feet, I hold my hand out, pulling him to his feet.

“We should get you cleaned up.”

“Tomorrow, we need to get some sleep.”

Nodding, I wrap an arm around his waist, being mindful of his side. Slowly we move through the house to the back room. Closing the door behind us, I help Reed to the bed.

The sudden realization that I could have lost him hits me out of nowhere. I heard the gunshot, but Reed didn’t react like he had been shot. He was more worried about me, and I hate that.

“Stop thinking so hard over there,” Reed mumbles.

“I could have lost you.”

“You didn’t.”

Tears form in my eyes, vision blurring. My gut clenches at the thought. I would’ve died back there?—

“Noah, get in the bed,” Reed growls.

Kicking my shoes off, I ease myself down next to him. It’s not until his arm wraps around me that I finally break. I cry for Molly, Jake, Sara, and Anglea. I might not have known them, but it doesn’t hurt any less. I cry for Mallory and Rue.

“Sleep, love, I’m not going anywhere,” Reed whispers against the top of my head. And it’s not until then that I let myself slip off to sleep.