Page 68 of Vital Signs

Even knowing I was wrong. Even knowing he'd hate me.

I found the Narcan in the glove box, hands shaking as I tore open the orange case.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, already reaching for him. Tears blurred my vision, falling onto his face. "You can hate me later. Please just hate me later."

I pressed the spray into his nostril and pushed the plunger. The medication hissed into his nasal cavity.

I pulled Hunter from the driver's seat, laying him flat on the van floor. I leaned down, my ear near his mouth, watching his chest. Almost no movement. Just occasional shallow gasps. Not enough.

"NIKITA!" I screamed, voice ripping through the winter air. "HELP ME!"

I positioned the heel of my hand on his sternum. Locked my elbow. Pushed down hard.

The first compression shocked me with its resistance. Hunter's chest barely gave under my weight. Was I doing this right? Annie had shown us once on a mannequin, but this was different. This was flesh and bone. Living tissue that wouldn't bounce back like plastic.

"Don't you dare die," I grunted, pushing again. Harder this time. Something shifted beneath my palms with a sickening pop. A rib? Had I broken something? Was I killing him trying to save him?

My shoulders screamed from the effort, but I didn't stop.

Footsteps crunched through the snow, and Nikita appeared at the van door.

"Narcan?" he asked sharply, already pulling out his phone.

I nodded, not breaking rhythm.

He immediately dialed. "War. Emergency. Walmart parking lot, north side. Overdose, respiratory depression, possible cardiac arrest. Narcan already given. Yes. Now."

Barely a minute after administering the Narcan, Hunter's body jerked violently. His back arched, limbs stiffening as hiseyes flew open. He gasped for air, face contorting in confusion and pain.

"What—" he choked, immediately retching. His body convulsed as he vomited weakly onto the floor of the van. Sweat erupted across his skin even as he started shaking from chills.

His eyes darted wildly around the van, unfocused and panicked. He tried to sit up, then fell back, muscles spasming uncontrollably.

"No, no, no," he moaned, arms wrapping around himself as withdrawal seized every cell in his body at once. His teeth chattered violently. "Fuck, make it stop."

My stomach twisted. I'd saved his life, but thrown him back into agony. There was nothing to do but witness his pain until War arrived with proper medical help.

When his gaze finally found my face, there was no recognition at first. Just raw animal panic and pain.

"Hunter, it's me," I said, reaching for his hand.

He jerked away violently, his whole body recoiling. "Where am I? What's happening?" His voice cracked, words slurring together.

"You're safe. I came back. I didn't leave you."

"Misha?" The word sounded torn from his throat. He squinted at me, struggling to focus. "You... you left."

"I got arrested," I explained, hands hovering near him, afraid to touch. "I tried to get back to you. I swear I tried."

Hunter's body convulsed with another wave of withdrawal symptoms. His jaw clenched so hard I could hear his teeth grinding. "Hurts. Everything hurts."

Nikita knelt beside us, his expression unreadable as he assessed Hunter's condition. "War is three minutes out. Lucky he was visiting Annie this morning. Otherwise, it would have been forty minutes from Columbus."

Hunter remained conscious but barely coherent, mumbling disjointed phrases between bouts of shivering and muscle spasms.

Another black SUV screeched into the parking lot minutes later. War jumped out, medical bag in hand, followed by Paxton. They raced to the van, War immediately taking control.

War's eyes swept the scene: Hunter barely breathing, my hands still wrapped around him, the raw desperation written across my tear-streaked face. Something shifted in War's expression—recognition. He'd seen me desperate before, after Roche. This was different. More focused. More personal.