As he watched, blood pulsed out of her body, as if in time with her heartbeat.
“Slate?” she whispered. “I can’t breathe very well.”
Lowering her shirt, he clamped his hand over the wound. Hard.
This time, Ashlyn cried out in pain, arching into him, trying to dislodge his hand.
“No, stay still,” he ordered. His words sounded weird to his own ears.
Ashlyn stopped moving, bringing a hand up to grip his wrist tightly. “He shot me?” she asked.
“Looks that way. But don’t worry, you’ll be fine.” Slate knew he was talking out his ass. He had no idea if that was true or not. If the bullet nicked her heart, she’d bleed out in a matter of minutes. He rose on his knees and pressed harder on the wound, desperate to keep that from happening.
“Oh, God, Slate!” she wheezed in an anguished tone.
“No!” he practically barked at her. “Do not go there. You’re going to be fine!”
But a tear escaped her eye, sliding down into the hair at her temple. “I love you.”
“I love you too, but don’t you think this is the end. I just found you, I’m not losing you now!” Where the fuck was his team?
He knew it probably wasn’t a fair question; it felt as if hours had gone by since he’d arrived, but in reality it had only been a matter of minutes, not enough time for his team to get here yet. But the truth was, he needed them more now than he ever had before.
A sound behind him had Slate whipping his head around, but he didn’t let up on the pressure on Ashlyn’s chest. If Aiden hadn’t actually died when his head busted open after hitting that shelf, and he’d been able to get a hold of the gun once more, Slate still wouldn’t lift his hands. Someone would have to fucking shoot him to get him to leave Ashlyn’s side.
But it wasn’t Aiden. He was still lying motionless where he’d fallen. It was James. He looked tired, and definitely not one hundred percent all there. He’d propped himself up against the doorjamb of his kitchen.
“I called the police,” he said. “They’re coming.”
As relieved as he was to see the older man alive, Slate couldn’t do anything but nod and turn his attention back to Ashlyn. “Hear that, babe? Help is on the way. No, don’t close your eyes! Keep them on me.”
He could tell she was trying to cling to consciousness but was losing the battle.
“Slate,” she whispered.
His throat closed up, and Slate swallowed hard. Ashlyn needed him to be strong right now. He couldn’t lose his shit.
He opened his mouth but before he could say anything, he heard footsteps in the kitchen. Then his team was there. Slate had never been so relieved to see anyone in his entire life.
“Mustang…!” he said, not hiding the anguish he felt as he looked up at his team leader.
Mustang and Midas immediately knelt by Ashlyn’s side. Aleck and Pid went to James, and Jag headed for Aiden. Simply having his team with him gave Slate hope.
“Gunshot wound to the left chest,” Slate told them.
“Okay, just stay where you are, keep that pressure on and don’t let go no matter what,” Mustang ordered.
Slate nodded jerkily and stared back down at Ashlyn. She hadn’t taken her gaze from his face. She was laboring to breathe but wasn’t panicking.
“You’re doing great, babe. Just keep breathing, no matter what. Hear me?”
“I hear you,” she said on a gasp.
Slate could hear Pid on the phone, most likely talking to a dispatcher about what was going on. He knew he needed to give his team a rundown of what had happened, but he couldn’t. All he could do was stare at Ashlyn and try to lend her his strength.
“You’re doing so good,” he praised.
“Am I going to die?” she asked.
“No fucking way,” he said, a little harsher than he’d intended.
“But he shot me…”
“He got me too,” Slate reminded her. “But I’m gonna be fine, and so are you.”
“I think…being grazed in the arm is…different than…being shot in the chest,” she wheezed.
“That’s my girl. Always disagreeing with me,” Slate said.
“Because I’m right and you’re wrong,” she said weakly.
Slate wanted to yell at the unfairness of what was happening. Intellectually, he knew this was a freak incident. She couldn’t have known Aiden would be at James’s house today. Hell, none of them had a clue he could be dangerous. And yet, here they were.
Sirens sounded in the distance, and Slate said, “Hear that, babe? They’re almost here. The EMTs will get you all fixed up and you’ll be as good as new.”
There was no color in Ashlyn’s face whatsoever now, and she was gasping for air. “No matter…what…happens,” she said between gasps. “I’ll never…regret asking you…to be my friend-with-benefits.”
“Best day of my life,” Slate told her honestly. “Took me too long to get my head out of my ass and see the treasure I had right in front of me, but I’ve never met a woman as perfect for me as you.” He kept talking because he was afraid if he didn’t, she’d close her eyes and stop fighting. “You made me less grumpy, less impatient, and more appreciative of what I have in my life.”
“But you still drive…too fast,” she said, attempting to smile. Then she closed her eyes.
“No! Look at me, babe,” Slate ordered frantically.
It took her a moment, but she forced her eyes back open.
“I love you. More than I ever thought I’d love anyone in my life. Don’t you leave me!” he begged, the tears finally breaking free of his iron control and slipping down his cheeks. “You’ve made me a better man, a better SEAL, a better friend. I need you!”
“It hurts, Slate,” she whispered.
“I know, and I’m sorry. But as the SEALs say, the only easy day was yesterday. Fight, Ash. For you, for me…for us.”
“I will.”
“I know it hurts, but the pain means you’re alive. Don’t give in, please!”
Ashlyn licked her lips and nodded. Then her eyes closed once again, and the tight grip she had on his wrist slackened before her hand fell to the floor.
“Fuck,” Slate whispered, tears steadily falling off his cheeks and onto her shirt, soaking into the material as he hovered over her.
“Everyone put your hands where we can see them!” a loud voice ordered, but Slate ignored it. He wasn’t moving his hands from Ashlyn’s chest. The cop who’d just entered the house would have to shoot him first.
It took a short while for the police to secure the scene and reassure themselves that the men in the house weren’t a threat. Not long after that, the first paramedics entered. And still Slate didn’t remove his hands. Mustang spoke for him, explaining Ashlyn’s condition and as much about the situation as he could.
“You need to scoot back,” one of the paramedics said. “We’ll take over from here.”
Slate couldn’t move. He was frozen in fear.
It was Jag who convinced him to let the paramedics do their job by saying, “You’ve done all you can, Slate. If you want to give her a chance, you need to let them do their thing.”