Yours: A Standalone Contemporary Romance by Jasinda Wilder Read Free Book Online

wounds.” This is from Delaney, the ER resident on duty this morning, shouting as she runs beside a stretcher. “Pulse is thready and fading. Blood type O-neg.”
    I’m running beside the stretcher, visually assessing the victim. Young, black, adorable. Innocent. Terrified. His eyes roam and flick and flit everywhere, seeking something to fix on. He’s in agony. Knows he’s dying.  
    “Hi, sweetie,” I say, getting his attention. “What’s your name?”  
    “Mal—Malcolm.” He’s gasping; there’s a whistle to it. Shitshitshit. “Am I—am I going to die?” His voice is barely audible.
    Probably. I just smile down at him, calm and sweet. “No, honey. Of course not. We’re gonna take super great care of you. Okay? You’re going to be fine.”
    “Promise? Mama…Mama needs me.”  
    “Is your mama here?” I ask.
    “No.” He groans, arching off the stretcher as pain ravages him.  
    We get the gurney into a room and really get to work. The paramedics who brought him in are assisting. Delaney is calling the shots as the senior nurse on duty, and I’m hooking up Malcolm to the monitors.
    He’s gushing blood from at least four different entry wounds, despite the triage efforts by the paramedics to slow the bleeding. One to the chest, two to the stomach, a fourth in the thigh. It’s a miracle he’s even conscious, let alone lucid. Little fighter.  
    “Do you know where she is?” I have to keep him talking, keep him awake. “Malcolm? Does your mama know you’re here?”  
    He cries out as Delaney stabs a local anesthetic into his chest around the sucking wound there. He cries out again as she probes into the wound, digging in before the medicine has a chance to take effect.  
    “No, no—Mama…Mama’s at work. I was s’posed to be at school.” He’s trying like fuck to be a man, I can see it. Refusing to cry, refusing to scream. God, if I had half the courage of this little guy. “She’s gonna be so—so mad at me.”
    “No, honey, no. She won’t be mad. She’ll just be glad you’re okay, all right? I promise, your mama won’t be mad.”  
    Delaney glances at me, and I really don’t like the look in her eyes. Nor do I like the slowing beeps of the heart monitor. His eyes roll back into his head. The godawful whistling from his chest wound can be heard over the ambient noise. But it’s the stomach wounds that are killing him. Stomach acid is leaking into his body.  
    “I’m dying, ain’t I?” He looks up at me, and even after three years of ER triage, it never gets easier, the lying to patients.  
    “No, Malcolm, baby. Delaney is fixing you up, okay? We’re gonna take care of you. I promise.” I’m working like crazy, trying to stop the bleeding in his thigh. It’s not stopping. The paramedics slowed it, but it’s not stopping. I’m in his thigh, hunting for the severed artery that’s spouting blood like a fountain. “Where were you, Malcolm? If you weren’t at school, where were you?”
    He’s fading. My heart squeezes. Going to have nightmares about this tonight. His eyes, scared, beg me to save him.  
    “Playing—ball.” He blinks hard, sucks in a breath. Finds my eyes. “It hurts. I’m cold. I don’t want to die. I don’t…Mama?”
    He’s got brand new Jordans on. The pristine white leather is dotted with blood. Basketball shorts. A little big. Why do I notice these things? He’s tied his shoes in a big fat triple knot, to keep the laces up out of the way. There’s a big perfectly round drop of blood right on the tip of his left shoe. I watch his toe flex in the shoe, flexing the leather.  
    “Malcolm? Stay awake for me, baby.” I’ve found the artery. I pinch it off with hemostats, but it’s not gonna save him. Delaney is still working on his chest. “Malcolm? Who’s your favorite basketball player, Malcolm?”  
    He’s not responding. He sees me, but he looks confused. Blinks become flutters. Then a long unfocused stare, his eyelids