Stirring Attraction(56)

“No,” she said, turning her attention back to Dominic. Her gaze traveled south to his black Big Buck’s T-­shirt. The right side looked wet. And below his shoulder, blood pooled, seeping out from beneath him.

“You’re bleeding,” she said.

“Gunshot,” he said. “And it had to be my right shoulder.”

Oh God.

“I need to call an ambulance,” she whispered.

“On their way. I had Noah call the cavalry when I left. My dad’s probably leading the charge . . .”

“They’ll be here soon,” she said, trying for reassuring. It wasn’t a question. The paramedics needed to get there. He needed help. They had to save him.

She stared at the blood, her mind racing through the first-­aid course she took every year as part of her teacher training. Gunshot wound. Lots of blood. Apply pressure. Soak up the blood.

Hands still trembling, she pulled off her white shirt and pressed it against the wound on his chest. “That’s better,” she murmured as the fabric turned pink, then red as the color spread.

“Thanks for calling me,” he said, his lips curved into a smile.

His lips . . . She could see his mouth. A thin layer of stubble covered his jawline.

“You trimmed your beard,” she muttered. The mundane fact, so unimportant to whether he lived or died . . . but she couldn’t stop looking. Not that it mattered if he had a beard a mile long or not. She loved him.

He chuckled. Then he grimaced as if laughing delivered a strong dose of pain. “Noah said you’d like this better. I also wanted to bring you flowers. Today. Later. I was . . .” He drew a sharp inhale.

“Dominic, please—­” She glanced down at her hands, now covered in his blood as she pressed her shirt to his wound. The white fabric was bright red. He needed an ambulance. Now.

“I was giving you time.” He managed the words through ragged gasps for air. “And space.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Two days?” She’d kicked him out, yet this time he planned to spin around and come back to her. He’d respected her request, but he hadn’t disappeared for good. Maybe he couldn’t. Maybe he’d meant it when he said he loved her . . .

“I know,” he muttered. “I waited too long. But it was Noah’s idea. Blame him. And I still—­” He inhaled sharply. “I still drove by every morning and every night. Last night I came by five times. I’m sorry, Lil. I know you wanted . . . wanted me to stay . . . away . . .”

He drew another ragged breath.

“Shh,” she murmured. Outside she heard the sirens growing closer and closer. It was her turn to laugh as relief seeped in. Help was coming. “They’ll be here soon.”

“Noah told me to tell you I’ll mess up,” Dominic whispered. “Again and again. In the future . . . I’ll keep fucking up, Lil. Noah knows it . . . I know it . . .”

Mess up?

“You saved me,” she said firmly. “If you hadn’t rushed in . . .”

Louis Stanton had hurt her once. This time, he might have killed her. If Louis had discovered that she’d called a bar instead of the courthouse . . .

“I had to, Lil.”

“They’re almost here,” she said. “The paramedics. You’re going to be OK. They’ll help—­”

“I’ll be fine.”

She nodded, clinging to his certainty even though the blood beneath her hands told a different story. The sirens stopped in front of her house and she glanced at the door.

“Look at me, Lily.”

She tore her attention away from the rush of footsteps on her front steps and focused on his pale, oh-­so-­familiar face, his deep green eyes.

“I’m not leaving you, Lily. Not this time. Not ever again if I can help it.” His eyes closed. “But I might . . . I might need a little . . . nap.”

The paramedics burst in as the love of her life passed out on her kitchen floor.

“Help him,” she begged, tears rushing freely down her face now. “Please, help him!”

Hands wrapped around her bare shoulders and drew her away from Dominic. “You can ride with him, ma’am,” a deep voice promised. “But let us take care of him now.”

She wrapped her arms around her waist and watched. More bodies filled the room. Men and women in uniforms. Forever’s chief of police rushed in and the sea of ­people parted for him.

“Lily, you’re all right,” Dominic’s father said, his expression transitioning to relief. Then he looked down at his son. “Oh God. Oh no. Dominic.”

“He was hit in the shoulder,” one of the paramedics called as they prepared to carry him out to the waiting ambulance.