Twice.
He pulls back, and starts compressions again. I hear the bones shifting beneath his palms, the wet drag of blood soaking the dirt beneath them.
I can’t breathe.
I press my hand over my mouth, feel the tremble in my ribs. My stomach twists so violently it hurts.
His name slips from me, cracked and trembling. “Knox…”
Behind me, I hear a sound that splits the air.
A ragged, choked, shattered sound.
“Knox!” Ryker cracks, and when I turn, I see it.
His whole body is shaking. He drops to his knees beside me, his hands trembling so badly he can’t keep them still. “No, no, no, no, come on, man. Come on, brother!” He breaks completely, tears running down his face as he leans over Knox’s other side. “You don’t get to fucking leave. Not you, too.”
“Let him work, let him,” I try to touch Ryker’s shoulder, but he’s already pressing his hands into the dirt, eyes wide and glassy.
“Do something!” he yells at Sean. “Please, please, just keep working, fuck, he’s not breathing, Sean!”
“I’m trying!” Sean barks. “Just let me work!”
Sean stops and listens.
His fingers go to Knox’s neck, his eyes narrowing.
Nothing. No reaction. No relief.
Ryker shakes his head, tears streaming now. “Don’t do this, Reaper. Don’t leave us.”
I’m crying too, barely breathing, my fingers digging into Knox’s arm, whispering, “Please.” Please come back to me. Please.”
And then,
Sean exhales, eyes wide. “Got him.”
We freeze.
Knox’s chest rises.
He’s back.
My sob hits like a punch to the gut. I crumble forward, pressing my forehead to his chest. I don’t care if it’s soaked with blood. I just need to feel him. I just need to know it’s not over.
Ryker breaks completely beside me. His head drops down, hishands still shaking as he reaches for Knox’s stomach, pressing his palm there like if he lets go, Knox will slip away again. He whispers his name over and over like a mantra, like a prayer.
“Knox… Knox…” He sobs.
And for once, the man who always teases, always smiles, and always keeps it together for the rest of us is the one falling apart.
Because losing Knox isn’t an option.
Because none of us survive without each other.
Sean wipes sweat from his brow, already opening his bag again. “I need to give him blood. My type is O negative. It’ll hold him.”
He pulls out a needle, ties a strip of leather around his upper arm, and taps for a vein. “You,” he points to me without looking. “Here, press down. Don’t stop.”
