Page 63 of On Fire

“Don’t move,” I say.

“What are you . . . doing?” Another tremor wracks his body.

“Hold still,” I say. “Look at me, Nic.”

His eyes can’t seem to focus.

“Nic. Look at me.”

“Finn,” he tries to move his eyes in Finn’s direction. “Get . . . him out. You . . . all get out,” he says again. Then softer: “Please.”

Finn stands right next to us. “I’m the one not going anywhere. Still here.” He reaches around Mateus, who is nearly on his knees trying to see, and puts a light hand at the small of Nic’s back. “We’re getting you out of this.”

He looks at me and then Nic. “I have to tell Carlson.” He steps back and I hear “Jim Graham,” before I turn my internal volume down.

I can’t afford to listen. All I want is for Nic to find me, see me, focus on me. Bryce and Mateus are working as quickly as they can. They can’t afford a wrong move.

“Nic,” I say one more time. “I’m right here. Look at me.”

Then his eyes, those navy blues, fix their gaze on me and I stare right back at him. Into him. Into his soul.

“I’ve got you,” I say, wishing I could do more than just pinch two wires.

“Clear!” calls Mateus and scrambles around Nic to help Bryce on the other side. My hand shaking, I let go of the dead trip wire, then immediately wrap my arm around Nic, lifting him slightly. He gasps in pain or relief—I can’t tell.

“Stop,” Bryce says.

I freeze.

“Almost, Keller,” he says, his back to me. Sirens wail in the background. Then to Nic. “Hang in there, boss.”

“Keep looking at me,” I say quietly.

He does. His face is calm, his worry is for us. His skin is white now and a sheen of sweat covers every exposed part of his body. He’s starting to slip in and out of consciousness and his breathing is a raspy, shallow, Herculean effort. I need him to know how I feel. I need him to understand that in this moment, I don’t care what anyone thinks.

This is about us. Just us.

“I need you . . . to leave me,” he whispers. “To be . . . safe.”

My heart thuds in my chest with sudden anguish. I am safe with you. He is not the threat—his love is not the threat. Whatever threat is out there, we will handle it—together.

“I am safe. Right now. This is where I belong.”

Then, in front of everyone, I kiss him. His lips quiver against mine, and I stroke his cheek. Another tremor, this time harder, wracks his body, and I have to pinch the trip wire hard. Bryce takes a deep breath and Mateus holds the pen light.

“You have to hold still,” I whisper. “We need you to be very still.” He tries, his chest shaking with competing needs: to breathe and to be still. His abdominals quiver.

“Keep looking at me. This is us. Right here. I’m not letting you go.” I feel another shudder begin, and I hold him tight, wishing I could just get that weight off his arms. We stop the tremor together by making sure we keep staring into each other’s eyes. And he lets out a small sigh—of relief? Of hope? Of nothing? I catch the smell of blood on his breath. Not good. I grip him tighter.

“I don’t know . . . how long I . . .” he says.

“Hang in there, man, we’re almost there,” Bryce says quietly. Sirens wail outside and I’m sure it’s McKinley’s unit. Stay where you are.

Without dropping my gaze from Nic’s face, I ask “Finn, can you text—”

“I’m on it,” Finn says. He needs to text McKinley to stand down and step back. No one else should enter.

Nic’s eyelids flutter.